First a word of thanks to all who contribute to this great site. Although I've used fountain pens on and off for almost 25 years, my interest has deepened (deep-penned?) recently, and I'm really impressed by the community of knowledgeable collectors and users that hang out here.
What's got me interested in this area is my irritation with the technological treadmill. I imagine most people will know what I mean by that -- the sense that every supposed improvement to my tools and gadgets actually takes me further away from where I want to be. My experience has been that modern, high-tech stuff, in other words, ends up being counterproductive a lot of the time. It takes a lot of energyto learn how to use, it includes random "features" that make no sense (why would I want a camera in my telephone?) and it's destined for the landfill after only a short useful life. And that's not to mention the aesthetics -- a lot of modern "gear" seems to be made of vile materials extruded from some toxic dump and shaped in such a way that it bugs me just to look at it.
So that's my rant. My coping mechanism is this: Wherever possible, I'm now using technology that existed when I was born, in 1959. For example, I use a safety razor and a nice badger brush; I wear a vintage Bulova watch; I read books and magazines. Obviously I'm not entirely consistent -- even this website didn't exist in 1959. But I can partly justify this particular breach of principle: I'm at work (after normal office hours), and my work requires a great deal of post-1959 technology...
Anyway, that's my little amusement -- living a bit more the way most people through history have done, i.e. with few if any significant "improvements", over the entire course of their lives, in the way they do things. And that's what brings me to fountain pens. (Ballpoints certainly existed in 1959, but they were even worse than they are now.)
I'll close with a modest anecdote. Last night I was at a church meeting, when a youngish (late 30s) man seated near me asked if he could look at my pen. I handed over my Sheaffer Canada snorkel (ca. 1960, I think), expecting him to say something like "Gee, a real ink pen!" Instead he congratulated me on being brave enough to use a snorkel, because about half of the ones in his collection leak. We then got into quite a conversation about pens, and I learned that his late father, a clergyman whom I had known slightly, was an avid collector all his life. The moral of the story is that you pen people really are everywhere.