You might reach the place by taking a right off University Drive onto Hastings Road, but the natural reaction upon entry is more along the lines of the quintessential Sesame Street tune: "One of these things is not like the other ones, one of these things is just not the same."

It's not the couch, the coffee table, or TV and DVD player -- those are standard fare for a living room -- nor is it the pair of Muhammad Ali posters, because every room needs decoration. It's what sits along the front wall that is the misfit -- the set of four, large tires that have been rolled right in the front door. Specifically, these are flashy, 18-inch Dub Trump spinners and tires. In the living room.

His wardrobe is seemingly quite extensive, as both closets in the room as well as the chest of drawers are filled to the brim. This assumption is confirmed by his later confession that, after five years of college, he still doesn't do his own laundry -- he brings it home to his mom, once every two months or so. "It is kind of lazy," he concedes.

A gigantic pile of football sweats, one pair for each of the five years he's been here, fills the entire top shelf of one closet, and hanging up is his impressive collection of jerseys, mostly of people to whom he has some connection -- Bryant Johnson's from the Arizona Cardinals, LaVar Arrington's from the Washington Redskins, Maurice Clarett's from Ohio State (he knows his lawyer). He also makes sure to showcase the old school All-American Football Conference Los Angeles Dons jersey of George Taliaferro.

"I have no idea if we're related," Taliaferro says. "But he was the first black guy ever drafted in the NFL -- you didn't know that."

Before leaving the bedroom, Taliaferro discusses his bed ingenuity -- instead of buying a bigger one, he pushed two together -- and the newspaper article about his younger brother -- "little Alex," as he calls him, is a cornerback headed to Delaware next fall.

The way out of the apartment is past the bathroom, through the kitchen and back into the spinner-adorned living room. If it were cold outside, Taliaferro could grab one of the countless jackets in the entry closet -- leather-sleeved Penn State Football, Eastern High School varsity football, or the specially-decorated Penn State championship one, complete with championship years and patches for the major bowls won. If it were very hot outside, Taliaferro would bask in his personal air-conditioning for a few final seconds before heading out.

"It's exclusive," he says. "I got like the only air conditioner here [in Graduate Circle]. It's just key."

Perhaps, but, oh, nothing can be quite as key as the final component of Taliaferro's crib, the one for which we have to take it to the parking lot -- only in true Cribs fashion, of course. And there, among Honda Civics and other very bland tan-colored cars, the shining former home of the Dub Trumps stands out -- the black, two-door 2001 Mercedes-Benz CLK430. Beautiful.

"I got this two years ago," Taliaferro explains. "It was a surprise from my parents since I was such a good kid."

On the trunk, the model name has been stripped and replaced with "PSU 43," in silver lettering. It has automatic transmission and what he considers a pretty standard sound system, and, though the regular wheels currently occupy all four sides, he's working on acquiring a set of black rims -- once he can sell the spinners he's got. As the finishing touch to a totally pimped-out ride, the windows are tinted, which he says gets him pulled over quite frequently at home in Jersey.

It'd be easy to explore the features of the Benz for a while longer -- listen to the sound system, lean back in the smooth gray seats -- but his rhinestone-studded cell phone has rung, his girlfriend has beckoned, and this Benz needs to roll out.

He offers up, however, one closing thought -- about those spinners.

"They're listed under Dub Trump," Taliaferro says. "Bid on them."