What is it about stamps that appeals to me? How can I, an American that likes things “large, loud, and proud,” feel passionately about something so small? It was during my itinerant days when I would sit on trains to Transylvania for four days twiddling my thumbs that I decided that stamp collecting was as hip and cutting edge as body painting or outsider art. So I marched on over to every post office in as many off the beaten track locales as I could, and a very dorky hobby was born.
From there I became obsessed with anything that had to do with the mail system: paper, envelopes, mail trucks, questionable postal uniforms, sealing wax, the Pony Express. I even spent three hours in the Musée de la Poste in Paris when everyone else was at the Louvre.
Luckily, the National Postal Museum is just a few miles from my house and they are happy to accommodate my joy as I jump up and down with hunchbacks and outcasts of society every time a new stamp exhibit is unveiled. Hurrah!