I love getting mail. Maybe it’s because I rarely get mail, and maybe because when I get mail, it’s cool stuff like mental_floss issues and books I order from the Internet. But I even love getting junk mail! At least it gets recycled and gets to begin life anew as mail, maybe getting promoted Hindu caste-style to the level of important mail, like bills or letters from government officials.
I realize it’s not as efficient as other means of communication (point of fact: I love getting e-mail, too – even stupid e-newsletters from the New York Times or NPR or crap like that), but it’s a great feeling, when you open your mailbox and you find something – something mail-ish, not like a can of worms or a dog turd or anything.
And I kind of like how the mail works: you put a letter, with the appropriate postage, into a box, and through the power of the nation’s second-largest civilian workforce and a multitude of steps, the letter gets to where it wants to go – be it your next-door neighbor’s house (which, granted, is very inefficient) or across the country.
Mail is sort of a great equalizer – we all get it, we all send it. We all pay the same amount for it (well, except members of Congress, and even that’s just for mailing things to their constituents), and, to quote Newman, “the mail never stops.”
Just stop sending me those damn Pottery Barn catalogs, though. I beg of you.