Gov says: most one thousand post offices may be closing across the fruited plain. This is the cue for some to say "There are still Post Offices?" Because it's funny to feign ignorance about the existence of ordinary things not yet plowed under by the galloping hooves of progress. Really, give that one a rest. And while you're at it: starting objections with Umm . . . just makes you sound like one of the lesser Monarch henchmen on "The Venture Brothers."

Well, that didn't go as planned. Let's try again, without annoying Internet tics.

I can has stamps? No: the Post Office has announced it may close underperforming branches, including many in the metro. Selfish jerk that I am, I was relieved to see my branch isn't on the list. I love my Post Office. I don't like going there, really, but I'm glad it exists. Several reasons:

One: The building. It's an early 1960s government structure with all the dullness those attributes connote. But it has a simple, logical New Frontier feel that befits its Kennedy-era origin. Brick, glass. No more! Ornament is a petit bourgeois conceit! Also, costs money.

The original architect must be rotating like a Niagra dynamo in his grave over that awning.

Two: I like the people behind the counter. My experience living on the East Coast forever recalibrated my baseline for lousy public servants. The folks at my Post Office are efficient and friendly. I enjoy passing the time of day with them. I just wish they wouldn't pass the time of day with people ahead of me in line, because I'M IN A HURRY HERE, PEOPLE. (See above, selfish jerk.)

Three: They have stamps in interesting varieties. I can get stamps from the cash machine, but they're all the same. At the post office the clerk says "you want the flag ones, the Mickey Mouse for Prostate Awareness Month, or the Heroes of WW2? We have Patton's drivers and a sheet of the guy who always made sure Ike had cigarettes."

Four: The other package shipment place in the neighborhood is a sporting-goods store. It's handy when you want to send stuff out for Christmas, and they get all my mission-critical overnight business, but at least at the post office I've never had to wait extra because the clerk's grinding down an ice-skate blade. True story! Only in Minnesota.

Five: well, that's the next post. Stay tuned.