Ain't nothing keeping them from their appointed rounds

All hail the United States Postal Service!

My love for this quasi-governmental agency goes long and deep (that's what she said), and despite a rough time when first we moved to Halfassburg (i.e. the fuckers lost our first rent check and put me on a bad footing with my landlord, whom I even now refuse to speak to, three and a half years later), I'm feeling the love once again. 

Think about it: You put a stamp on a piece of paper, and within a couple of days, it goes wherever you want it to in the whole entire country. You can mail anything, to anyone. It's awesome! They don't even need a full address -- today, we got a gift for the baby from friends in Atlanta, addressed to "The Gleemonexes, 1138 Our Street." No town, no state, no ZIP code. Shatner knows when they sent it, but hey -- it's here! Kickass, huh? 

And now that I'm at home on leave, the mail is the highlight of my day, the way it was back in Texass, way before email. Do we have a Netflix? Perhaps it's time for the new issue of BUST? Is there a postcard from somebody traveling the globe, or Ohio? Ooooooh, Crate & Barrel ... WANT. IT. Whaaat, burial plots? What kind of grim mailing lists did my father-in-law get us on, anyway? Heh, alumni mag -- who's douching it up these days? Ugh, bills. Hey, my Michel-Schlumberger Wine Bench wines! awww yeah! 

And sending mail is rawktacular also. Baby and I go to the post office every day, to drop off bills, Netflixes, birthday cards, and -- of course -- handwritten thank-you notes. 

So, in conclusion: Get with the mail, y'all! 

And happy Thanksgiving to all the Damn Kids near and far. Shatner bless us, every one.