I received two packages in the mail the other day. Both were similar in one special, super-fantastic way. But at the start, I regarded each with suspicion.
I've never been a suspicious person. I always give people the benefit of the doubt, and I've been known to give someone a second or third chance. But all of that has changed ever since the evil genius from Wisconsin road into town. Now, I'm living in a world of human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together, and mass hysteria. I need an exorcism on my mailbox.
The first package arrived from Brian of 30-Year-Old Cardboard. I opened it with the precision of an explosives expert. What came out was an envelope with a handwritten message.
I have really come to loathe hand-written messages.
This is what it said:
Well, if that isn't a prelude to a bipping, I don't know what is.
I opened the envelope and was greeted by another envelope. It said this:
Great. Creative packaging designed to produce an atmosphere of suspense. This is definitely a bipping.
Inside that envelope was another envelope. Yet another message:
This was going to be the first Russian nesting doll-style bipping in recorded history. I could feel it.
Then, inside that envelope, another envelope. More messages. A rather ominous message this time:
Nothing? What does that mean? How do you bip someone with nothing? Brian apparently had brought bipping into a new frontier. And what do you mean by "enjoy"? What a strange word to use in a package such as this.
But this is what came out of the last envelope:
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My first autographed night card! One of my favorite night cards, by the way.
Not a bipping after all. Actually, a terrific card and gesture. Brian catered an autographed card to my specific interests. I felt gratitude, mixed with a little bit of shame. Because no one is allowed to experience purely positive emotions anymore. Thanks a lot, Thorzul.
Brian also sent a mix of Dodger cards. Here are my two favorites:
A mini Fernando Valenzuela card from that American Baseball set of the late '80s. I have plenty of Guerreros and Hershisers from that set, but this is my first Valenzuela.
One of those Pacific cards that couldn't leave the cardboard alone. We've got gold, we've got window insets. Somebody doesn't want to be ignored.
So, relieved, I put that package aside and turned a wary eye to the next one. This was from Ryan of The Great Orioles Autograph Project.
Something didn't look right. This time I called the police, got the neighborhood evacuated and carried the package into a vacant lot. Then I called in the explosives expert. Once we determined it was safe, I pulled out the contents.
Oh, great. More handwriting. And this actually specifically mentions bipping. I didn't care that the note seemed to deny that a bipping was taking place. I'm telling you, I trust no one anymore. I quickly called the explosives expert back to the scene.
However, when the package was opened, I received this:
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Suddenly, I remembered that Ryan had volunteered to get cards autographed for bloggers when he was at the Orioles' fanfest caravan, or whatever they call it. Since manager Dave Trembley is from my area and I've talked to him several times, I thought it'd be cool to get a card of his autographed.
Then I got busy, forgot to send the card, told Ryan that I forgot and promptly forgot about the whole thing altogether. It turns out Ryan had an extra Trembley card and got it signed anyway.
Once again. Gratitude. Followed by shame.
Ryan also sent this:
Nine more cards knocked off my 2008 Heritage want list. I'm so happy when I get cards from this set.
And that was everything. Not a single bipping. Well, Brian did mix in three Kirk Gibson cards that were the same, but I'm a five-star bipping veteran now. If you're not sending at least a half-dozen of the same card, I don't even notice.
That's me. Jaded, suspicious, cynical, freaked-out Night Owl.
I've never been a suspicious person. I always give people the benefit of the doubt, and I've been known to give someone a second or third chance. But all of that has changed ever since the evil genius from Wisconsin road into town. Now, I'm living in a world of human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together, and mass hysteria. I need an exorcism on my mailbox.
The first package arrived from Brian of 30-Year-Old Cardboard. I opened it with the precision of an explosives expert. What came out was an envelope with a handwritten message.
I have really come to loathe hand-written messages.
This is what it said:
I opened the envelope and was greeted by another envelope. It said this:
Inside that envelope was another envelope. Yet another message:
Then, inside that envelope, another envelope. More messages. A rather ominous message this time:
But this is what came out of the last envelope:
_NEW.jpg)
Not a bipping after all. Actually, a terrific card and gesture. Brian catered an autographed card to my specific interests. I felt gratitude, mixed with a little bit of shame. Because no one is allowed to experience purely positive emotions anymore. Thanks a lot, Thorzul.
Brian also sent a mix of Dodger cards. Here are my two favorites:
One of those Pacific cards that couldn't leave the cardboard alone. We've got gold, we've got window insets. Somebody doesn't want to be ignored.
So, relieved, I put that package aside and turned a wary eye to the next one. This was from Ryan of The Great Orioles Autograph Project.
Something didn't look right. This time I called the police, got the neighborhood evacuated and carried the package into a vacant lot. Then I called in the explosives expert. Once we determined it was safe, I pulled out the contents.
Oh, great. More handwriting. And this actually specifically mentions bipping. I didn't care that the note seemed to deny that a bipping was taking place. I'm telling you, I trust no one anymore. I quickly called the explosives expert back to the scene.
However, when the package was opened, I received this:
_NEW.jpg)
Suddenly, I remembered that Ryan had volunteered to get cards autographed for bloggers when he was at the Orioles' fanfest caravan, or whatever they call it. Since manager Dave Trembley is from my area and I've talked to him several times, I thought it'd be cool to get a card of his autographed.
Then I got busy, forgot to send the card, told Ryan that I forgot and promptly forgot about the whole thing altogether. It turns out Ryan had an extra Trembley card and got it signed anyway.
Once again. Gratitude. Followed by shame.
Ryan also sent this:
And that was everything. Not a single bipping. Well, Brian did mix in three Kirk Gibson cards that were the same, but I'm a five-star bipping veteran now. If you're not sending at least a half-dozen of the same card, I don't even notice.
That's me. Jaded, suspicious, cynical, freaked-out Night Owl.
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