Cal Ripken Jr., 1999 Upper Deck UD Choice #36

It's a good thing that I have a handful of faithful readers like Zach to pay close attention to arbitrary numeric milestones, otherwise I would never have realized that I was on the precipice of 2,632 blog posts. While it would be tempting to just hang up my proverbial spikes tonight, just as Cal asked out of the Orioles' lineup 17 years ago, nobody likes a copycat. Besides, sharing my collection and my scattered thoughts with you helps me to feel like there's some further purpose to my card-accumulating madness. So let's get started on the next 2,632, and in the meantime...does this butt-ugly card make anybody feel like drinking a nice, cold glass of Sunny Delight?

Brady Anderson, 1999 Upper Deck UD Choice #59

Today I begin the long and bittersweet process of moving out of the apartment in Columbia where I have spent the past three years of my life. It's always exciting to have a change of scenery, though, and I'll be moving in with another one of my friends. I just happen to be relocating to Silver Spring, twenty minutes down the road and the birthplace of Mr. Brady Anderson. Brady, of course, didn't stay long; he grew up in California and still lives there today. Another famous son of Silver Spring is angry comedian Lewis Black, one of my favorites. Lewis has said the following about my soon-to-be-home:

"Of course, there is no spring there, and I can assure you no one was mining for silver. Its only claim to fame is that it is the largest unincorporated city in America. In other words, we were too lazy to govern ourselves. Our town motto was 'I'd like to vote, but I don't feel like driving.' "

All kidding aside, as I type I am procrastinating. I can remember my college years, when I would have to bundle up everything of importance to me (electronics, books, clothing, various tchotchkes) twice a year and schlep it all from east Baltimore County to Chestertown, and then back again. Inevitably, I would wind up staring helplessly at piles of junk and wondering aloud, "Where did all of this crap come from?" I am a sentimentalist and a pack rat, without a doubt. But when I moved to Columbia, it was the first time I had to literally move everything that was mine in this world. It was such an incredible ordeal (there was a couch to extract from the basement, and I thought for sure that the effort would kill my poor father) that I was more than happy to stay put for a few years.

Today is the easy part; I'm boxing up nonessentials like books, warm clothing, CDs and DVDs, board games, and toys. Yes, toys. As someone who is firmly in touch with his inner child, I am in possession of several talking Simpsons figures and dioramas, not to mention a handful of WWE wrestling figures complete with a giant plastic Hell in the Cell cage structure. To be fair, the cage was a gift from friends. So I suppose I've put it off long enough. Wish me well, especially when the time comes to do the heavy lifting and maneuvering. I'm a fairly scrawny guy, after all; I am certainly no Brady Anderson.