A couple weeks ago, my friends gave me a ride home after lunch on a Saturday, and as we approached my apartment, the postman walked up to deliver the mail. This guy had to be the most rock and roll mailman ever - disheveled blond hair, devil-may-care attitude, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. That can't be meet uniform regulations. We sat in the car to observe as he stumbled up the lawn, into my building and disappeared from view. "He looks drunk," my friend said. Watched for a bit through the glass front door, only to see Crate and Barrel catalogs begin to fly through the air. Instead of putting the catalogs in each mailbox, he was just throwing them about, with 12 landing on some poor soul's doorstep. The door flew open and he sauntered off to the next apartment building. Could this be why my Netflix discs are often broken?