Tag Archives: letters

Alert the media

There are alphabets in my oatmeal!

image

‘C’ is the first letter of my first name!  My last name,  too!

What can it mean?

Stamps are funny

Although I might not have agreed with who got what award at this week’s Emmys, it was, as always, amazing to see so many truly funny people gathered in one room.

Even the nominees in the Drama categories are pretty darn hilarious when they let go.

So when I saw the news today that Canada has issued stamps with the name and likeness of five of their great comedians, I had two immediate reactions:

canada stamps

 

  1. Good for them.  Well-deserved all.
  2. Why haven’t we done something similar here in in the USA, the home of comedy?

Turns out the US Postal Service did do something similar back in 1991 — a booklet of stamps honoring the comedy greats of days gone by.

comedy stamps

 

 

When I saw these stamps, I had two immediate reactions:

  1. Good for them.  Well-deserved all.
  2. Why haven’t we done something similar for the current generation of comedians and comediennes?

Do you see a pattern?  More importantly, do you agree?

What current ‘funny folk’ do you think deserve to grace the correspondence that we don’t send via email?  Vote in the comments!

 

Mr. Postman

I’m out-of-town, dog in tow, and something’s missing. Turns out it isn’t the first time I’ve had this feeling. Case in point: an excerpt from one of my very first posts from August 25, 2009.

I’ve been away on business with my dog Rory for almost a week. I thought I would pine for our daily walks in Central Park; my idle conversations with neighbors on their stoops; or the energy that is Manhattan.

stack of mailInstead, I miss my mail.

What excites me most about my return home — besides sleeping on my own pillow — is seeing what treasures await in the stash of mail that is being held for me at the post office.

I don’t know if my feelings are unique to freelancers. I hope to see checks in the mail, of course. But I will be equally psyched to see letters, magazines, catalogs, theater and event postcards, and heck, even my bills.

I also miss the afternoon saunter to the mailbox; it’s a break I anticipate and enjoy. Here, in my friend’s apartment, there’s only email, and its constant stream — while immediate, necessary, and appreciated — doesn’t have the romance or charm of my daily snail mail delivery.

So, to my mailman back in Manhattan — I miss you. I appreciate you. And I hope you got my hold order. ‘Cause if I come home to an overflowing box of mangled mail…

I’ll have to kill you.