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by Paul Chaplin
Coin collecting, however, there's a muscular undertaking. I did that for a couple years, quitting finally when I acquired an 1857 "Flying Eagle" penny. I figured, what more can I possibly accomplish? And when you take into account that I also successfully owned an 1891-O Liberty dime, well, you can easily see that I was one heck of a coin collector.
I've thought a lot about it, and here's the deal: Who cares about stamps? They reek of impermanence and loss, and besides they're a dime a dozen: Governments print new stamps like McDonalds cranks out movie tie-ins. Don't even bother me about stamps, is my attitude. There is no swaying me. I'd have more respect for someone who collects old phone cords. [posted 12/98] |
I entered a rehab clinic last week.
Then I left almost immediately, because I was looking for
the post office, which was next door. Naturally the
experience got me to thinking about stamps (briefly, because
I don't know a lot about them and I really don't care to
learn at this late date) which led inevitably to the hobbies
and fixations of my boyhood.
I was a callow youth. At least I assume
I was. I mean who wasn't in those days? And I did collect
stamps, briefly, but I couldn't avoid the sense of sadness
that pervades that endeavor.
What is it about stamps as opposed to
coins? The phrase "stamp collector" has become synonymous
with any number of undesirable typologies, like "lives with
mother" or "has a specific place for his egg cartons," yet
for some reason a man who collects coins is assumed to
possess a kind of mystery sensuality.