PSA

Apropos of nothing:

My friend Steve once told me, "Self-pity is a waste of time." And when he said it, he just let the phrase hang there, unencumbered by analysis or anecdote. It was a turning point for me.

Relationships are hard. The first few rows will get wet. And we should think long and hard about our relationships, not only because it gives them value but also because relationships are incessant. People are coming at you constantly, whether you're ready for them or not, and every encounter is an opportunity.

But in the aftermath, we should also be eager to forgive ourselves for being weak or stupid. It is, after all, the dual citizenship of humanity. Fortunately, with perspective comes wisdom -- and, if you're lucky, a sense of humor. If we can manage to forgive others at the same time, even better.

A person can be sorry without feeling sorry for themselves. I have been known to loiter in the past from time to time, first rifling through the garbage and then wondering why I stink. But then I hear Steve's voice, and now I'm letting it echo here for a while:

"Self-pity is a waste of time."

Simulated Wood Grain

A few nights ago, I was lying awake in my childhood home, with the TV on and my parents already fast asleep. Everything was either a rerun or a Christmas Special starring Patricia Heaton, so I had taken to flipping around. I landed on some sort of home shopping channel -- you're probably familiar with the scene -- with some highly caffeinated and vaguely sleazy retail pimp plying his cheap garbage for his sixth consecutive hour.

But I stopped on this channel, because I noticed that it was a baseball card show. I don't know if it was because I was back in my old room, haunted by the musty ghosts of adolesence or because it was after midnight and I was bored stiff, but I suddenly became very interested in these baseball cards.

I remained on the periphery of its spell until the next item, a factory-sealed complete 1987 Topps baseball card set, only the coolest baseball set ever made. (I could justify this claim myself, but this guy does it for me, and better.) I was instantly transfixed.

This screaming salesman was offering the 1987 set, along with mint-condition Topps sets from 1986, 1988, 1989 and 1990, for $149.99, which sounded like a real bargain, based on my extremely limited knowledge of the baseball card market (which, in turn, was based on my recollections of the price guides I used to read 15 years ago). I kept thinking about the valuable rookie cards therein and the obvious investment value. I kept thinking about having that set as a prized trophy to keep in my house and pass on to my heirs, despite the fact that the cards came in a plain brown box and would instantly depreciate if I were ever to open it. It was like they were selling a piece of my childhood. I had to have it.

Like a zombie, I dialed the toll-free number and placed my order, suppressing any anxiety about giving over my credit card number. Within ten minutes, the set was mine. The euphoria lasted about two minutes.

Then I panicked. Did I just get ripped off? Obviously. For how much? I snuck into the computer room to check the going rate for these packs, and I suddenly felt very stupid. And then I felt guilty for all those times I teased my mom, all those times she was lulled into purchases like "limited edition" Star Wars movie posters or "antique Pez dispensers." I had no idea what merciless villains she was up against.

I called the 800 number again and, in a deep voice, curtly asked them to cancel my order. (This was not a problem. But if they had given me any static, I was prepared to say that my foolish son had used my credit card without permission. Thus was the height of my humiliation.) And like that, I was back in the present.

So from now on, I'm just going to zoom right past those shopping channels. But if anyone sees a good deal on that 1987 Topps set, please let me know.