Going Postal

If postage stamps are the window to our national cultures, these are troubled times indeed. (Like we needed a postal anecdote to remind us!) It is only in recent years that Britain has strayed from the tradition of having the ruling monarch's visage on all stamps, regardless of denominations. While I find the idea of licking the back of a living person's head to post a letter a bit odd, it nevertheless does avoid the question of finding appropriate and supposedly noncontroversial people and things to commemorate. But in true British fashion, the non-Queenie stamps have been more along the lines of Farm Animals of the World and the Beatles.

Now, I fancy myself someone with a bit of a philantelic impulse. When I stand in line at the post office, I always ask to see their book of stamps before making my selection. A Tribute to Space? Alaskan Wildlife? Breast Cancer Research? Decisions, decisions!

Today, I was looking forward to purchasing some Yip Harburg stamps. Yip Harburg? Why, the man who wrote Somewhere Over the Rainbow of course. A well deserved honor! A stamp you can sing along to while you lick. So imgaine my displeasure when my options today were between Ronald Reagan and the Purple Heart. I have no means to insult veterans whose heroism begot them such an honorable tribute, but in these war-stricken years, it's not the kind of message I'm interested in paying my Visa bill with. And Reagan? Please. I'll risk my credit rating to hunt down a flag stamp for fuck sake before I lick the back of that man's head.

But this post is about options. And how taken aback I am when I loose them. So there I am trying to explain to the nice man that no, thank you, did he have any others? After I rejected Ronnie's smiling face the third time, he dug a little deeper and came up with some guy I had never heard of: Robert Penn Warren. Who the hell is he? Where's Buckminster Fuller or Theodor Seuss Geisel when I need them! Hell, even Sickle Cell Anemia is better then a stranger. The guy behind the counter didn't understand my lament that how could I put someone on a stamp I didn't know. My sincerity failed to amuse him. After politely asking if he could look a bit further, his exasperation began to show and he tried Ronnie on me one more time. I begged for a flower. Anything. Even a stars n stripes. I was desperate. Thankfully, he begrudgenly went to the bottom of the stack and dug up 4 Marion Anderson Black Heritage stamps. I'm exactly not sure who she is either, but I could tell she's a singer from the picture, and who am I to stand in the way of celebrating the arts?

I have full confidence that there is little chance the mail I left with him will actually be sent. Is it my fault I take my stamps seriously?

Ps. Robert Penn Warren is a poet. How was I to know?