Burnett 4.0

First, I promise that this will be the last post for... at least a week in which I am celebrating some personal milestone.

Second, Burnett 4.0 isn't some new software I've created. It's better.

Remember a couple of weeks ago when I wrote that Mrs. B and me (pictured below not all that long ago in Aruba) had hit the two year matrimony mark?


Well, I learned at that time that Burnett 4.0 (pictured below in a tiny, tiny still from an ultrasound done on Friday) was on the way. How cool an anniversary present was that? The doc says in that pic that Burnett 4.0 is "about the size of a diamond ring." That's a direct quote. I don't think that analogy would have occured to me. But then again, I'm no doctor.


So for the past couple of weeks I've been biting my tongue, 'cause Mrs. B (and both our mothers, the doc, his nurses, etc.) said the first trimester can be a hairy one till it reaches a certain point. He seemed to think by Friday it had reached that point. Do you know how hard it has been to sit on this one? I'm generally pretty good at keeping secrets upon request, but this one nearly killed me to keep. I did tell my editor, 'cause if ever on some random day I jumped up, grabbed my backpack, and bolted from the newsroom like OJ through the airport in a Hertz commercial I wanted my ed to know in advance that I wasn't crazy and was only running 'cause Mrs. B was having some sort of complication.

Burnett 4.0 is due in early '08. We're not sure on a name yet, though I've suggested James IV, whether its a boy or girl. For some strange reason that suggestion got a lukewarm reception, at best. Perhaps if I'd suggested it just for a boy's name. I won't give away the possible girl-only names, partly because I don't want to jinx anything and partly because I wasn't paying attention to those suggestions. I was too busy shouting some variation of woo-hoo! and celebrating with an eight-inch Padrón 1964 Anniversary Series smoke and a can of James-brand champagne (pictured below). I'm like Will Smith, btw, when it comes to good smokes. He said in "Welcome to Miami" that he never lights his cigars. He only sports 'em for show. If it's one of my good ones, as is this Padrón, I only chew the tip a bit. Then it goes back into the humidor. Unlike Will, one of these days I'll light mine.




I have to tell you that one of my early reactions to this news was relief. I could leave it at that and you would assume that I was relieved that Mrs. B and me are able to procreate. And you'd be partly right. Every couple, if kids are in their plans or dreams, hopes to have that option, right?

But the all-man half off my brain was relieved specifically because my soldiers apparently do march. There is something in how a guy is wired that makes him think he might not be "whole" until it is demonstrated that he is lethally armed. Why do we call them soldiers, anyway? Why not my "postal workers?" I mean, they did deliver. I've heard 'em referred to as "my swimmers," but I don't like swimming so much. So that one was out. I've heard 'em called "my boys," but in my vernacular "my boys" is a simple slang for my buddies. And I would just as soon run into traffic screaming and poking my eyes out - that includes my mind's eye - than picture my buddies as my boys.

And by the way, you hippies out there, "we" are not pregnant. Mrs. B is pregnant. I helped. And we'll do the nine months (total, of course) together, like Bonnie & Clyde, standing on our heads. I'll be there every step, etc., etc. But "we" are not pregnant. I hate it when I meet a guy and he's like "we're pregnant." Are you kidding me? "We?" I'll bet you're one of those guys who ties a pillow to your belly so you can further share the experience. How's this - I'm a distant member of the royal family, and "we" are not amused. Be real, guys. this is a first for me, so I'm no expert yet. But the pillow ain't cutting it. I plan to be supportive and helpful, but I won't know what it feels like. And for that I'm grateful. Even I'm smart enough to know that in the end the only thing I'll be squeezing out is sweat.

Till tomorrow, my friends.

PS. I tried to get Mrs. B to do that guest post, but she doesn't wanna. She says she'll stick to reading your comments. So leave lots of them. We don't want her bored.

Neuman!

Apparently this guy is managing my neighborhood post office.


And this guy is one of my letter carriers.


So's this one.


So I just met the real life Neuman! I didn't meet him in person. I don't know if he looks like Wayne Knight, but it had to be the mail guy on whom that character was based.

I didn't get any mail today. Some of you might consider that a good thing, if all you were expecting were bills or Dear John/Jane letters. I was expecting money...from someone else to me. So, at least on this day, I was looking forward to my always on time, there every day, usually in the neighborhood United States Postal Service letter carrier.

But he didn't show. And more important than him bringing me money that may or may not have arrived today anyway, he didn't take my outgoing mail, which included a bill, along the way.

So I called the post office, and Neuman answered the phone.

Neuman: Yeeeeees?

Me: Is this the (yada yada) Street Post Office?

Neuman: Yeeeeees. (Seriously, picture or imagine that guy who used to do the annoying train conductor's and department store salesman's voice on the old Jack Benny Radio Show and you'll get the voice.)

Me: Well, I'm calling from the 1900 block of (yada yada) Street. And I don't think we got mail delivery today.

Neuman: Hold on.

Me: OK.

Neuman, five minutes later: He went home already.

Me: Why? He didn't come to our block.

Neuman: Weeeell, why would you say that?

Me: Well, because it's after 5 p.m., I know the post office is now closed for the day, and the only thing in my mailbox is the bill my wife placed in it early this morning to be picked up.

Neuman: Hmmm. So you'd like me to assume that because a letter of yours wasn't picked up that your whole block was skipped?

Me: Well, if our whole block wasn't skipped - and assuming the letter carrier didn't just innocently, accidentally overlook us - then you guys have some 'splainin' to do.

Neuman: No we don't!

Me: Don't snap at me. I've kept a civil tone with you. But since we're playing semantics, if you want me to assume the rest of my block was serviced today, then should I also assume the letter carrier purposely skipped just me?

Neuman: Noooooooo.

Me: OK, so I should assume he skipped the whole block?

Neuman: Nooooooo.

Me: Who are you, Gary Cooper? (Actually, I didn't say this. But I really wanted to.)

Me, for real: OK, so maybe he just forgot and missed us. If that's the case, then no worries. But you can't blame me for calling out of concern, 'cause this isn't the first time we "apparently" haven't gotten mail service.

Neuman: Noooooo. That's not fair of you either. This is a veteran letter carrier who had your route today. He's very familiar with your route. There's no way he forgot to deliver anything.

Me: OK, so back to my original point. I should assume he skipped me or the whole block?

Neuman: Nooooooo, neither. But he maybe he came to your neighborhood and just decided to not take your outgoing mail today.

Me: Why? Was the envelope too heavy or something? It's been picked up every other day.

Neuman: Sooooooo. Postal regulations say that a letter carrier doesn't have to take your outgoing mail if he doesn't want to, unless your mailbox is curbside.

Me: You're familiar with this neighborhood, considering this block is just four blocks from your post office?

Neuman: Yeeeeees.

Me: Then you know the layout is such that there is a grassy swale lining all the sidewalks, so we can't have curbside mailboxes. They have to be "inland" a few feet, next to our houses.

Neuman: Yeeeeees.

Me: And that doesn't matter?

Neuman: Nope!

Popcorn break: At this point, I'm no longer annoyed that my mail didn't get picked up. I won't assume it didn't get delivered, 'cause maybe I didn't have anything.

Me: Listen, I'm not blaming you for my mail not getting picked up. But regardless of this curbside regulation every time I've placed an outgoing piece of mail in my box in the nearly two years I've lived here it got picked up. And that was probably because the letter carriers on this route realize that we can't put our boxes on the curb, so it's not fair to apply that regulation to us. So if you're right, and today's letter carrier was a veteran who knows this neighborhood, then just admit it. He forgot! Or he skipped us! Maybe it was an accident. But quit trying to be coy, and deal with it.

Neuman: I told you, he's gone home for the day. But that's what you get when your route doesn't have a permanent letter carrier. If you're not happy with the service you can always rent a P.O. box. But it could be like this another couple of months.

Me: I'm not paying you guys to hold my mail. You get tax bucks to deliver it for "free." And that permanent letter carrier excuse is bogus. Our letter carrier retired about six months ago, before Christmas.

Neuman: His paperwork hasn't officially gone through the system yet, so we can't say his job is available until it does. And that means we can't fill his job.

Me: You're kidding. This is the efficiency of the postal service? He hasn't delivered anything in six months. He's retired. We've had a different substitute letter carrier almost every day of the week since then. And you guys can't hire someone yet, even though the old guy is probably laying on the beach somewhere (good for him) sipping a cold one?

Neuman: That's the way it goes.

Me: Unbelievable. If I want to write a letter to someone at your neighborhood post office, to whom should I address it?

Neuman: Manager.

Me: Is that his first or last name?

Neuman: I'm not telling you who. Just address it to manager.

Me: Thanks for your help. Mumble. Hope the letter gets delivered.

Neuman: What?

Me: Nothing. Thanks for your help.

Neuman: Surrrrrre. Thanks for calling the post office!

Neuman!