What's the deal with Mail Routes? A less than informative research exercise.

I am waiting on a postal delivery. I rarely use my mailbox. I check it at best once a week. But today, there may be a check arriving and money is always a powerful motivator. However, I have no idea when my mail usually arrives. In the past I would not often be home during the delivery time. In addition my mailbox is across the street and the view is obstructed by trees. So unless I look outside at just the right moment, I am unlikely to see the mail truck drive by. So today's writing exercise will be focused on learning as much as I can about mail routes.

One of my first resources for this expedition is an article from People.HowStuffWorks.com. This is the first time I have encountered this website and the article is from 2017 so take this information with a grain of salt. The article, "Delivering the Mail to Your Home Is Way More Complex Than You Might Think" interviewed Brian Renfroe the executive vice president of the National Association of Letter Carriers. The National Association of Letter Carriers, also known as the NALC is the union that supports letter carriers.

When it comes to routes, according to Renfoe, rural and urban routes are two very different animals. This is usually due to the distance between mailboxes in rural areas vs. the density of urban areas. Understandably an urban route with hundreds of high rise apartments will likely function differently than a rural route with mailboxes more spread apart.

The article cites that the USPS uses several computer programs to create routes. Routes are based off not necessarily address but on mailbox location at that address. At my house the mailbox is likely nearly a 100 ft from my front door and as previously mentioned, across a fairly busy suburban street. The carrier can drive right up to my mailbox, saving time versus getting out the vehicle and walking up to my door.

Mail carriers come in a shapes and sizes and those statistics will impact a route as well. Longer legs may make routes shorter in reality. Shorter strides may make for a longer time to complete a walking route. The level of mail to be delivered factors in as well. However, actual route data seems to be impossible to find. This may be due to the fact that routes change during the week based on volume and employer schedules. It may be a safety factor. A list of when and where a federal employee will be could be a potential security risk for that individual.

I did learn of an interesting program that would help me know if my check was actually en route. The United States Postal Service now as a program called Informed Delivery. According to their official website:

"Informed Delivery is a free and optional notification feature that gives residential consumers the ability to digitally preview their letter-sized mail and manage their packages scheduled to arrive soon. Informed Delivery benefits the entire household by allowing users to view what is coming to their mailbox whenever, wherever – even while traveling – on a computer, tablet, or mobile device."

I tried signing up for this service and they couldn't send me a text to verify my identity. So I am waiting on a post card that will seemingly serve to verify that I am living where I say I am and thereby have a right to digital previews of my mail.

But the real question is, why? Would a digital image of this month's utility bill or the latest piece of junk mail actually provide value? Is this simply designed to make me feel more comfortable because I have seen a picture of what it to come? No more dread of the unknown when opening the mail box. In all honesty, the images will likely make me even less likely to make the trip across the street. If I know all that awaits me lurking in the dark cold of the mailbox, I will probably skip the trip until there is something that is worthwhile...or I until I get the feeling that it's so full, I'm going to annoy the mail carrier again.

My investigation did not prove very fruitful but it did kill enough time for the mail to arrive. I didn't see the truck. My pup, who was tasked with keeping a watchful eye, didn't alert me either. The check arrived as expected and I find myself a bit richer in probable useless knowledge about mail routes.

Bad Dreams, Worse Ideas in the Woods - Sunday Free Writing Fiction Exercise

A crunching sound exploded with each step, as his foot broke the icy surface of the snow covered path. Last night it had snowed, enough to obscure any past footprints or markings on the path. As dawn broke, the snow storm slipped from full flakes to falling ice. Coating everything with a glimmering thin layer of ice. In the quiet of the forest the crunching of his steps felt louder than expected. There was a bit of satisfaction with the sound. Breaking the silence seemed to make the cold fade for just a moment.





Dawn was a very welcome experience. It gave him some idea of how long he had been walking. In the dark of the night, it was nearly impossible to tell the time. The cold having caused his smartphone to die. It was a frozen brick in his pocket. Now nothing but another weight pulling him down.





It was foolish to leave the cabin in the middle of the night. Even in the moment of panic after the night terror woke him, deep down he knew the folly of going for a walk in the middle of the night. Especially in an unknown area, a forest no less. But at that moment, as the ethereal visions from the nightmare haunted his thoughts, fresh air and a moment to collect himself was more important than safety. His fear of the dream pushed him out into a new kind of nightmare.





It was the claws. The claws from the dream that spooked him out into the cold winter night. The image of those claws tearing through the tent, slashing at him, opening up such a gratuitous gash on his arm that he awoke clutching his bicep.





As his eyes opened - he knew within a moment that it was all a dream, a vision. There was no blood pumping out of his left arm. No visceral fluid seeping through his fingers. It was just a dream.





Walking without a map, in the dark, and in freezing temperatures turned out to be a nightmare in and of itself. He was lucky that he had the foresight to bundle up with gloves and a hat. Though heading out without either of them would likely have sent him home much sooner. Heading back to the cabin sooner might have prevented his current situation.





The current situation involved probable frostbite, a substantial amount of shame for getting lost in the woods and a palpable amount of panic. If the sun is up, that means he’s been walking for hours. Hours of walking potentially in the wrong direction.





When the light first broke through the trees, he was elated, with improved visibility he should find his way back to the cabin in no time. Yet as the crunching snow beneath his feet would attest, the path shows no indication of past travel or direction. Even the absence of his own footprints is disconcerning. It wouldn’t be shocking to find that he had wandered hours in circles in the dark. However, there are no prints, not even his own. Which means he could have been walking for hours away from the cabin.


Frostbite is a tricky bitch. The colder you get, the less you feel. Do you feel yourself slipping into the dark? Likely you feel less and less. As the cold claims more and more of you, more and more of you ceases to send the requisite warnings to the brain.





There is never a good time to get lost in the woods. Yet, in the depth of winter might be the worst of them all. Temps well below freezing. Wind chills creating additional danger. He was bundled. But the lack of feeling in his fingers and toes caused concern.





As it always does, the dawn brought with it a sense of hope, an idea of possibility. So he trudged on. Encouraged by the placebo effect of seeing the sun, convinced that the cabin was just around the next bend, or the next...

Interviews and First Dates - Same Difference?

Something that I have experienced lately is the weird emotional and psychological experience of a job interview. Either in person or on the phone, they are both likely awkward, tension filled, fraught with social and economic peril and in the very least, super uncomfortable.

Another thing that I have gotten very used to over the past few years are first dates. They are also full of social and potential economic peril. They impact emotional and psychological well-being. In person, via text or even those maligned dating apps, they are awkward, tension filled and absolutely uncomfortable.

It struck me how absolutely the same these two experiences are this week, as I changed clothes three times before an interview. A suit was too much. Khakis? - no. Jeans but which ones, distressed, label or the ones that feel the best. Has to be a long sleeve button up.

Polos are for when you have the gig or golfing. A sport jacket with jeans can be trendy or lazy. Shoes? Don't even start. Comfy or sending a message. Socks? Does anyone even see you socks? Who looks at socks?

Maybe this is the socks interview and I will mess it up. Fine. Noticeable but bland. Colors not characters. What you want them to know you're a geek? But the gig has numbers, so maybe you DO want geekness. But not R2D2 socks geeky. Maybe something with science. Do we have those? God, I hate math.

As I settled on jeans that I felt good in, the button up that I last felt success in, the boxers that I love (no on sees these but it matters), and vibrant but not geeky socks, sensible shoes that are bluetooth connected to my app so I can provide number proof to my "hard work" or at least "steps" - I came to the following revelation.

This combination was the same thing I wore on my most recent first date.

Is this just my go-to comfy outfit? Does this same more about me that the date went fine but I didn't pursue things further? Since this is the combination of my moderate success but ultimate avoidance, am I setting myself up for the same in this interview? Do I clearly overthink every little dog gamn thing?

So I changed shirts. The interview went well. I think. But I always think the interview/date/conversation goes well at first. It's the ego. Then the id takes the film back to the back of the brain and like a psychotic coach analyzes each moment by the second. The id tears the performance apart. 

The following day, I returned to the first outfit combination. Partly to try some new magic sauce and partly because sweat is a thing. Interview went well also.

The id did it's thing. Tore holes in the confidence and revised history to make certain that some jokes maybe didn't hit or that something was a bit out of bounds. This gives the id and its nightly mind terror minions plenty of ammo. They can craft a story based roughly in facts and yet toss in new levels of destruction.

Each night after the interview, the id took that info and turned it into a failed date night terror. In one, I had a stroke after a date on the walk home and my family posted on social media that I was in the hospital. (please don't do this family). So every woman I had dated in the past two years showed up to my bedside as I was in a coma. My id made sure that what I overheard trapped in the coma was them comparing stories about how bad the first date was. Thanks id.

The next night it was a first date that went good then bad. Much like the oldies tune of falling asleep at the drive in movie, "Wake Up Little Susie" this resulted in the couple falling asleep at a brewery, waking up and setting off the alarm, with the male portion of the duo being dragged off in handcuffs (not the fun way) for industrial espionage when it was revealed he had connections to a competitor.

As a fun bonus, both nights included the same brunette in blue scrubs. Some one that I couldn't place from reality, entertainment or literature. So, part of me is convinced I will meet her someday. Nice little twist of the knife there, id.

So what does all this mean? Are interviews the same as first dates? Roughly, yes. Does my id deserve some sort of contract with the CW to turn my torturous dreams into a teen dramedy? Also, yes.

Life is full of weird and awkward moments. Two of the worst I have recently experienced are interviews and first dates. But as always, my id remains undefeated in creating terrors worse than reality.

And next time I'm wearing the full on geeky socks.

The Meaning of 39

There are some birthdays that feel significant. Sweet sixteen comes to mind, though I certainly didn't throw a big party. You get to vote and potentially get drafted when you are 18 and not much else. At the age of 25, I've been told your car insurance would go down, but not when you are me. Twitter tells me that I should have some things accomplished by 30 or 35. And next year is the big 4-0 which probably means a mid-life crisis is right around the corner. But in the grand economy of social status and thought, turning 39 is pretty insignificant.

Which means, that I will spend a decent amount of time today trying to find "significance in the insignificant" - which would also have been the name of my emo cover band. So, as the well wishes and coupons from every company that has my email begin to flood in, here are some significant 39 related things.

It turns out that '39 is the title of a Queen song that I had never heard before. It was the B-side to "You're my Best Friend" and released in 1975. It is oddly haunting and has something to do with a ship and it's crew.

It is one of the few songs that Brian May sang for the band. According to Wikipedia "The song tells the tale of a group of space explorers who embark on what is, from their perspective, a year-long voyage. Upon their return, however, they realize that a hundred years have passed, because of the time dilation effect in Einstein's special theory of relativity, and the loved ones they left behind are now all dead or aged." 

Well that is a big unexpected and I'm not sure what it means for my birthday. But there is a real impulse to get a ship tattoo encircled by the lyrics: 

And the night followed day
And the story tellers say
That the score brave souls inside
For many a lonely day sailed across the milky seas
Ne'er looked back, never feared, never cried

39 is also the country code for Italy. So that's nice to know, if I ever need it. 

Last summer, Nelson Cruz became just the third player 39 years old to hit at least 39 home runs. Fingers crossed he breaks 40 next year. 

There is an independent film called The 39th, that looks at a certain political campaign in Illinois. According to the website;

"The 39th is the story of how campaigns are won and lost in Illinois today — the strategists, the people, the tactics — and what happens when a community comes together to take back local politics."

I have not watched it.

Jimmy Carter was the 39th President of the United States and coincidentally in office when I was born. I knew he was a farmer and former Governor of Georgia. I did not know that he graduated from the Naval Academy and worked on submarines, including in the nuclear submarine program. He only resigned his commission when the need to take over his family farm arose. I wonder how history would be different if he stayed in the Navy? 

The 39th parallel runs just south of Kansas City and Topeka. Kansas City is where my mom was morn and Topeka is a city in Kansas. 

On a bit of a morbid note some notable celebrities passed away in their 39th year. This fact is probably the only time you can have a list of people that includes Martin Luther King Jr., Anna Nicole Smith, Stonewall Jackson, Wild Bill Hickok, Amelia Earhart, Malcolm X and Dylan Thomas. 

Dylan Thomas wrote one of my favorite poems. It feels fitting to end on a vocal recording of it. 

Have Good Product or Good Service or Die.

So here is a thing I hate, businesses that are not good at anything. You're the spork of life. Trying to be everything and pleasing no one.

This is especially true when it comes to craft beer and taprooms in the Twin Cities area. I drink a lot. I am a horrible cook, so I eat out a lot. I do this at various establishments in the Twin Cities area, nearly every day. It continues to boggle my mind how many places can't provide either good product or good service. It's legit hard to find both in the same location.

I can imagine what you are thinking, if this jack hole doesn't like the product or the service, they can either learn to cook/brew/bake or GTFO.

Which would be great - except as a jack hole, I do not care to do any of that. I eat/drink/exist out in the consumer based economy and I at this time will use my made up right as an American to complain.

The places I visit exist in two spheres, which I define as good product or good service. Occasionally these overlap. More often than not, they do not. Rarely, there is a place that can't manage to stick the landing in either circle. These places I avoid unless there is an unrelated compelling reason to visit.

If you have good product I will forgive poor service. This "good" could be defined by price or quality. If you are a dive bar selling pints for less than $4. I do not expect exceptional service. I expect it to be dingy. To possibly have some questionable characters. To have a hint of danger just on the other side of a careless comment.

If the product is exceptional, I will wait. If the atmosphere is engaging, I will allow for a longer wait for my next drink or for food to arrive. In nearly every situation there is an opportunity to balance the scales.

If the service is exceptional, it covers up for a lot of mistakes. If the product is superior, a misstep or two can be forgotten. What can not be accepted is a failure on both fronts.

A two front war is often said to be a fool's folly. Yet the taproom, dive bar, restaurant is constantly fighting on those grounds. It may be why the failure rate is so high.

Today I bounced from space to space and I experienced the full spectrum of good product, good service, both or none. To me, it helped define the landscape of taprooms especially over the next five years.

Have good beer. Or. Have great service. If you have neither, you will cease to have problems to worry about.

The market is glutted. At least in my opinion. Yes, media will tell you that we are not at "max brewpub" as defined by MPR News. But I feel that this assumption is missing a major issue. We may not be at "max brewpub" by capacity or economy. But I feel personally, in my limited experience, that we are at a level where breweries, brewpubs and beer bars can no longer afford to be bad at both product as service.

An important thing that I will define is that product is separate from atmosphere and location. Each can paper over the cracks of poor product or service. In the local market we even have what I would call a few zombie breweries leeching off their location alone. They are mostly dead but just don't know it.

My focus is on the overall quality of product, service and existence. So I will not be naming names or calling out specific experiences. I visited several today but one visit is not a full picture of reality. So it makes no sense to shame or call out anyone. And since at best I have maybe 50-60 people who will read this, why poison their future experience.

I try to balance new places with places I know and trust. So today after visiting a location that I have been to several times a week for more than a decade, I decided to try a place I have been but once. It was clear that I was not a regular. It was post Vikings game, so the crowd was thin. I opened a tab and then after my first beer, the entire interaction with the 'tender was nothing more than a transaction. Never was I given a suggestion for my next purchase. Never was I asked how I enjoyed the last.  Money for product exchanged - never an attempt to encourage future visits. I had my three sample size beers, which were fine if not exceptional and I left.

Next was a place I have been to before and would likely not visit again, except for on this occasion, they were hosting a fundraising event for something I am also a supporter of. In the past I have not enjoyed their beer. But the space is nice, they always have solid food trucks and before today their service wasn't an issue.

You know when you walk up to an employee in their place of business and they seem annoyed you are making them do their job? Yeah. That was tonight. Employees would rather be anywhere but at work. Have any questions about the beer? Make it quick. Want to possibly keep a tab open? Nope. Already closed out. You the customer are an imposition.

The thing that makes it worse is, the beer, the product is meh. It's not bad but it isn't good enough to make up for the lack of effort from the staff. The location closed at 8. By 735 they were flipping over chairs and making the vibe, "get out". I stood up and one employee told me, "it's no rush" as they flipped over the stool I was just sitting on.

I took my glass of half consumed beer and set it on the bar. The contents were iffy at best and not worth the shade the employees were sending my way for daring to still consume my purchase 10 min before close.

This particular location will likely continue to exist. They have environment, momentum, food trucks etc to cover up their lack of giving a shit. I may even return if they provide a space for a fundraiser for something I support.

But here is the rub, they might not even be here in six months. There is no guarantee. As a brewery, tap room or beer bar fades away, so much time is spent on the outside influences, market environment, political landscape. Rarely does any one ask if they provided a good product, good service or both.

As the attrition continues, as each article about a dream deferred or a passion project that passed is thrown into the ether, ask yourself if the subject provided either or both good product and good service. The truth more often than not, to the unbiased, is that they found a way to fail on either or both accounts.

No - they aren't thinking about you/An Eye for An Eye?

In the past I have referred to myself as a "self-hating narcissist." In my definition that means that I think that I should be excelling at everything and hate myself for not accomplishing all of my hopes and dreams. In past therapy, I have been informed that this term, that I created for myself, is not really using the words in the right way. However, being a self hating narcissist, I ignored them.

I am also commonly the type of person who thinks that other people are thinking and judging me way more than they probably are. I assume that you have heard the statement that no one thinks about you as much you do. So it will probably come as no surprise that Research Confirms That No One Is Really Thinking About You.

While that makes a lot of sense, that reality flies in the face of my personal obsession - me. And what I think you are thinking of me.

I am also trying to be less of a self hating narcissist who believes that every attack is a personal affront and there must be retribution. An Eye for an Eye.

I probably spent a bit too much time in grade school reading the Old Testament. Or perhaps it was through learning about Hammurabi in Sid Meyers Civilization series. Though to be fair, I don't remember much on that in the game. Something that I do remember is a lot of violence in the book of Judges in the Old Testament of the Christian version of the Bible.

It was my favorite book to read - basically a collection of short stories about a warriors, prophets and judges. I even thought it could be turned into a comic book. "Judges - prepare to be judged" isn't the worst title ever. The level of violence and revenge in Judges always felt to me like it could easily slide from ancient Hebrew into the styling of Jim Lee and his artists/creators at Wildstorm. Perhaps I saw Judges as the spiritual predecessor to Team 7. I mean one judge stabbed a guy on the toilet and then escaped capture through the sewer system. Sounds a lot like a scene from Game of Thrones doesn't it?

Deep down, I know that an eye for an eye doesn't work. Gandhi himself revised the famous line to "An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind." That revision makes sense. It seems more mature, refined.

It doesn't make the primal need for retribution vanish. But logic interrupts emotion.

Except when it doesn't.

I am closing in on 40. I will be 39 in less than a week. But when I feel wronged, when I feel that there has been an injustice visited upon me. I might as well be a toddler inside my own head. While I might have thrown a fit and tantrum on the floor as a toddler, now I keep the hysterics and tantrums contained in my head space. Mostly.

Some times, I break and want to lash out. So I post some emo bullshit on social media or use one of my burner twitter accounts to be pick a pointless fight on Twitter. Or write a really strongly worded email that I never mean to send. Do these childish actions make me feel better? Perhaps in the moment. With the endorphin rush comes coursing through me. Like throwing a glass against a concrete wall. The explosion of shards and cacophony of sound overwhelms the space.

Then seconds later, all I am left with is a bunch of pieces to pick up.

So it is when I break and lash out. Later there are new consequences to pick up. Posts to delete. Twitter handles to burn. Emails that can't be unsent.

It seems to be a common experience in the world today. The cycle of perceived wrongs to justified righteous retribution leading to a mess that no one really knows how to clean up. Pick any topic. Politics. Religion. Interpersonal communication. Dating. Parenting. Health Care. Medication costs. Sports. Diet. Stationary bicycles as Christmas gifts. Avocados.

It feels more and more that our eye for an eye tactics are leaving more and more of us blind. Blind to the suffering of others, the humanity of all and thousands of other topics that you could easily substitute for any of the previously mentioned.

I don't do resolutions. But I am going to try and keep Gandhi's revision in mind going forward. I don't know that I will always be able to control my impulses. I know that I can probably never apologize to Dave in Cleveland or whatever his name was that blocked me after we argued over which baseball team had worse owners. I know that even when I pick up all the pieces, things can't return to what they were before.

Yet, I will try. I think that's something to be proud of.

Though I likely will hate myself for not thinking of it before Gandhi. 😒