Trade You Three Lethems for a Moody

I wish I knew the amount of money (adjusted for inflation) that I spent as a kid on baseball and football cards.  I had boxes upon boxes stacked up, cards organized by teams, checklists kept, deficiencies noted.  My mom, always one to pick up on her kids' burgeoning habits, would buy me packs by the armload and every spare cent I could lawnmower into my pocket would go to keep Topps from hitting bottom.  Then all of a sudden, I quit.  Tired of the hassle of keeping up with the Brian Williamsons on the world; tired of getting cheated out of my J.R. Richards and my Bruce Benedicts; tired of trying to pry that stale piece of gum off the fat back of Bob Horner. 

Not even for Author Trading Cards will I go back.

{via}

Comments

[tito]

I can hook you up with an autographed Bruce Benedict...his dad was a friend of my mom.

[ed]

Oh man. A buddy and I were just talking about this last week! Who knew that someone already did this?

[tito]

salinger wrote fuckface on pynchon's bat

[ed]

Of course, I should also note that, up here in San Francisco, the Booksmith has been doing this for years. Well BEFORE Powell's.