So the other day my daughter Casey was looking to make a purchase on eBay. She was using my computer, and upon completion I said, “Let’s see how much my books are selling for here.”
I typed in my name, and wound up here. As expected, some of my stuff can be had for $4.09, some can be had for … good God, what?!?!?!
A digression, but do not—under any circumstances—pay $51.97 for my Clemens book. Or $5.97, for that matter.
Anyhow, I noticed that one autographed book was available, which made me curious. When did I sign it? Where did I sign it? How long ago did I sign it?
It turns out the offering in question was “Love Me, Hate Me: Barry Bonds and the Making of an Anti-Hero.”
And it was autographed to a good friend.
Now, one might think this cause for bruised feelings. Nope. Just the opposite. I laughed my ass off, then showed the wife—who laughed her ass off. Books are great, and signed books are often greater—but far too often we feel guilted into keeping them around, for the mere sake of keeping them around.
My signature has no value.
But a good laugh—priceless.
