Freedom Monkey House

Going Postal

So, the U.S. Postal service has jacked up the price of stamps again. First class stamps have jumped from 39¢ to 41¢. I am still struggling to get rid of my 37¢ stamps.

I was under the impression that the Post Office was in the black, finally, this past year. Yet for some reason, they still feel the need to bilk us out of our hard earned scratch. If congress is still searching for price gougers, I believe I may have found them.

I think the Postal Service is trying to disguise this rate increase with a little slight of hand. A couple of weeks before the increase, they introduced the “Forever” stamp. It costs 41¢ and will purportedly be good enough to mail a first class letter, forever… despite any future rate hikes.

I’m not exactly sure why they don’t make every first class stamp a Forever stamp. They should just call them “First Class” stamps and charge people whatever the rate is at the time of purchase.

With Forever stamps available, who in their right mind would still buy regular 41¢, non-forever stamps? It would seem that the Post Master General Extraordinaire has already taken this into consideration. On May 25^TH, they began sale of the new 41¢ Star Wars stamp. And, even though I know I will be paying for it when the rates go up again, I will be dutifully standing in line to buy the collector sheet and a few roles. Why should George Lucas be the only one to take advantage of the compulsive-buying tendencies of nerds when we could also be used to prop up a floundering, mismanaged delivery service?

On the Saturday before the big rate increase, I rushed to the Post Office in order to mail out a few bills. While I was standing in line, one of the package sorters offered to assist me. “If you are just getting stamps, I can help the next person in line. Sir, are you just getting stamps?”

“Am I? And how!” I replied, as I walked up to the open window. “I’m gonna need one 1¢ stamp, seven 2¢ stamps, forty 4¢ stamps, and I might as well get one hundred Forever stamps.”

With an inquisitive expression on her face, the sorter asked, “Are you sure you won’t need anything else?”

“Please… don’t go there.”

Five Questions: The Interview

I have been courted by the best in the business: Your Barbara Walters, your Oprah Winfreys, your Matt Lauers… All of them, denied. Now, in an unprecedented move, I have granted Leah an exclusive opportunity to delve into the mind of Igmar Fillipé. The following interview promises to be both educational and entertaining. Prepare to be edified.

At the conclusion of the Q & A, you will find a set of instructions. Check it out if you would like me to interview you. Be forewarned, I’m not throwing any softballs. I’ll be coming at you all “Fox News investigates” style. I am out to totally take down you and your corrupt company… not to mention, it’s sweeps week.

On a side note, in a weird, six degrees of Kevin Bacon moment, I managed to trace these interviews as far back as Avitable. He is a frequent commenter at  Midnight Therapy with Crystal.  Crystal is my spiritual advisor. To my knowledge, Kevin Bacon has not yet subjected himself to a “Five Question” interview.

1. If Ben & Jerry's were to name an ice cream flavor after you, what would it be called?
Are you hitting on me? Let’s try to keep this professional. My Ben & Jerry’s flavour would be pistachio ice cream, loaded with whole pistachios, and hunks of banana and dark chocolate. It would be called Monkey Poo and the packaging would feature a cartoon monkey hurling scoops of ice cream towards visitors to his cage at the zoo.

2. Which superhero do you think has the coolest superpowers, and which one has the best outfit?
Again, Leah, I’m going to have to ask that you stop undressing me with your eyes. My favourite superhero is Wolverine; however, I think Rogue’s superpowers are the coolest. She can absorb the powers of others, so it’s kind of a “wish for more wishes” sort of thing.

3. What's the most embarrassing thing in your refrigerator right now and why?
A carton of strawberries… thanks for asking. You see, my grocer has been selling the cartons, buy one-get one free. I eat one and forget about the second… until they actually sprout legs and walk out of the icebox.

4. What place [that you haven't already been] do you think you could live based on just what you know of it now?
I’m pretty sure they won’t allow me to live at the base of Stonehenge, so I’ll say Wells, Somerset, England, UK in an apartment above a shop… preferably a bakery.

5. Which person in your life has had the most influence over you and why?
I’m going to say that George Lucas has the most influence over me, because despite my best efforts, he is still able to sell me a bunch of Star Wars crap every time he decides to milk the franchise for a few more cents.

Are you ready to come clean? Here are the rules:

1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.” And please, feel free to comment on how my weblog has enriched your life, or whatever.
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Hamster Dance

I have a few problems with Richard Gere, and (at least for the moment) none of them have to do with his lack of ability as an actor. It is no secret that he is an outspoken political activist who has a hard-on for the Dalai Lama. So, when Dick announced that he was surprised by the outrage that resulted from when he publicly slapped several sticky-wet smooches on the face of a top Bollywood actress, it smacked of bullshit. So much so that my niece must think I’ve contracted Tourette syndrome.

For those of you who have been living in a box for the last week, Richard Gere appeared on stage at an AIDS awareness event with famed Indian actress, Shilpa Shetty. Suddenly, and without warning, Gere wrapped his slimy tentacles around Shetty, who recoiled as the deviant planted kiss after kiss on the quivering young actress.

Had it been anyone else, sexual assault charges may have been filed. However, as it is most times with rich, hunky stars of the silver screen, Gere got a pass and Shetty laughed it off. Not laughing, were the people of India. You see, India has public decency laws that we in America might consider more strict.

Over night, effigies of Tricky Dick were bursting into flames across the country. Shilpa Shetty implored the Indian people to excuse him because he was a foreigner, not familiar with their ways. Richard Gere fled the country and took potshots at the Indian conservative party from the relative safety of Jon Stewart’s Daily Show set. Now a judge has filed an arrest warrant for Mr. Gere. The charge is punishable by three years in prison, a fine, or both.

Forgive me ladies, but I think Ricky should turn himself in. First of all, even I knew that India doesn’t take public displays of affection lightly. There is no way that a guy who stalks the Dalai Lama nine months out of the year wouldn’t know that.

Here, Gere slobbering all over some starlet might only cause disgust or induce vomiting. Tabloids might run with stories pegging her as Gere’s latest beard, but that would be about it. No one would riot. Likenesses of Gere would not be burned. After a few days, we would move on to the next drunk celeb, doing or saying something stupid. (…Unless the starlet is black. Then Al Sharpton might call on Gere to commit seppuku.) This is America. This is the kind of freedom we enjoy here. I wouldn’t have it any other way, but I’m not about to trash a different culture because they don’t act like us. Casting India’s conservative law in a negative light, however, is exactly what Gere set out to do. He knew the kind of reaction his civil disobedience would provoke.

Richard Gere, if you purposely set out to break India’s laws, even if it was to point out how you think they are silly, you need to be willing to suffer the consequences of your actions. Turn yourself in and take your lumps.

Better yet, why don’t you just move to India permanently? You could work exclusively in Bombay cinema and you could go antiquing with the Dalai Lama whenever you want. Best of all, you could work to change the laws for a people with whom you at least share nationality.

CBS Fired the Wrong Hack

Let me start off by stating that I am no fan of Donathan Imus. For years I have found his hair and that stupid cowboy hat he wears aesthetically offensive. Still, I have come to the conclusion that CBS has made an egregious error in firing Mr. Imus over the controversy that ensued following his references to School Daze (a Spike Lee Joint) while commenting about a NCAA ladies basketball game. I would have rather seen them fire him because his show sucks and his ratings tanked, but unfortunately he had great ratings.

Despite what CBS says, they did not fire Imus because of his comments. If that was the case, they wouldn’t have waited so long, or they would have at least waited until they heard the outcome of his scheduled meeting with the Rutgers team. The fact of the matter is that advertisers were bailing. I suggest that they probably weren’t fleeing because of his comments, directly, either. With racial controversy sharks: Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton circling, I think the advertisers pulled a NASCAR. Oh, come on! You remember that whole thing were Jackson was extorting money from NASCAR in exchange for not labeling them a racist sport.

Of course, Don Imus is not entirely faultless in his recent loss of employment. His repeated apologies chummed the waters of a page six story that should have disappeared without much ado. I mean, he was a shock jock that made a stupid joke. Apparently, he didn’t violate any FCC rules. The worst thing I could say is that the incident has brought too much attention to the awful films of director Spike Lee. However, “Don Imus Attempts, In Vain, To Placate Al Sharpton…” Now there’s a headline with some staying power.

While all of this was going on, nobody seemed to notice the real front page story that was relegated to a scrap of notebook paper stuck to the back of the newspaper with an old piece of chewed gum. Katie Couric tried to pass off a plagiarized story about the public library system as her own. The Wall Street Journal called CBS News to discuss her video essay, which a CBS spokeswoman described as, “…almost verbatim,” to the Jeffrey Zaslow article, published prior in the Journal. CBS News alleges that they have fired an unnamed producer for the misdeed.

Two things jumped out at me when I first heard about this. The first thing was the unknown identity of the mystery producer. Nothing instills confidence in the media like its flagrant lack of transparency… especially when they throw that accusation around at others.

The second thing is that Katie Couric’s video essays are read in first person. It is presumed that they are her opinions... commentaries written by her. If Katie Couric is not at fault for this act of plagiarism, then this incident lifts back the curtain of “Katie Couric’s” Notebook and reveals her to be, not the Great and Powerful Katie but, a shriveled old man, blindly parroting whatever drivel is piped through her earpiece.

At least I can say this for Don Imus, when he wasn’t trying to save his career, he said what he thought. Friend or foe, I am more comfortable if I don’t have to decode people’s stances. I think life might be a tad simpler without the PC gauntlet.

It’s A Nice Day to Start Again

I am not, nor have I ever been married; so, I may not know the nuts and bolts of weddings. But, one thing I do know is wedding invitations. I’ve gotten tons of them. I consider myself uniquely qualified to speak on the subject of the frilly invites… or, at least I did… until a couple of days ago. You see, it was a couple of days ago when I received a most peculiar card.

It would seem that another one of my friends is planning on taking that long walk down the aisle. To be honest, I was not shocked to receive the card. The bride to be had been dropping hints that she was waiting for my friend to pop the question for at least five years. Well, they finally did get engaged and I thought it would be another five years before they actually set a date. Last week, however, I got an email from them, requesting my mailing address. Hello… It ain’t Christmas. I began checking my incoming mail for the invitation.

An envelope with hearts plastered all over it can usually only mean one of two things. Either I’m getting more junk mail from Together Dating Service, or someone is getting married. As I opened the card, an inkjet photo of the lovely couple slipped out, onto my desk. “Nice touch,” I thought to myself, “The formality of these things can make them seem impersonal.”

Then I read through the card. “Two hearts coming together… blah, blah. …Pleased to announce… yada, yada. Private ceremony?” The first thing that struck me as odd was the lack of an address for the ceremony. As I examined closer, I also discovered that neither did it include the words “you’re” or “invited.”

“Did I just get cordially not-invited to Schmoo’s wedding?” I glanced at the photo again. “They’re not smiling. They’re laughing… laughing at me!”

Ordinarily, I don’t think this would have bugged me, except I distinctly remember Schmoo being among the throng of friends who were miffed about not being invited to either of Deadpan’s weddings to his first wife. Deadpan would argue that we were invited to the only wedding of his that mattered. Deadpan would make a good politician. Without seriously risking bodily injury, Schmoo can’t make that argument.

A website address was listed at the bottom of the card. Despite what I hoped, the website was not the first clue in a scavenger hunt to find my real invitation. In fact, the site only poured more salt on the wound by announcing that it’s not even going to be a spur-of-the-moment, run down to a courthouse, justice of the peace sort of thing. They’re getting hitched on a Caribbean cruise ship!

So, I guess what I’m asking is: according to formal wedding etiquette, how long do I get to hold all of this over Schmoo’s head?

The Z List

Recently, Deadpan and his lovely wife stopped by on their whirlwind tour of the east coast. They were acting as managers for Deadpan’s father in-law’s band. For anonymity’s sake, I don’t think I should mention the name of the band… but it rhymes with hiss… and he has a seven inch tongue.

I don’t get to see the Deadpans much since they moved to the west coast, and though the visit was brief, I had a lot of fun. I also got to hang out with our mutual friend, Schmoo. Schmoo still lives in my area, but it has become apparent to me that we only hang out when someone dies or gets married.

Deadpan told us that he would put our names on “the list” to see the show. This was necessary because there was no chance Schmoo was going to pay to get in. Part of the reason is because I think he still doesn’t believe Deadpan’s father in-law is in a real band… even after we saw him play at Deadpan’s wedding.

The other reason is that none of my friends will pay money to see a band if a member of said band is someone we know. In fact, I vividly remember a group of my friends—including Deadpan and my prom date—refusing to pay the cover to get into a Hallowe’en dance that my band was playing. Instead, from the entrance, they passed a note up to the stage. It read, “Hey Igmar, Sounds great. We don’t want to pay to get in, so we’ll just meet up with you after the show.”

This was only the second time I have ever been on a guest list to get into a gig. Despite what Deadpan will have you believe, I never got in to see any of his Richmond bands play for free. In fact, I think I recall paying a cover to see them jamming in their practice space one time.

Fans of the Freedom Monkey House may remember that I was once on the guest list for a Stryper show. I’ve written about that before, so I won’t rehash that fiasco. Learning nothing from my previous “list” experience, Schmoo and I marched into the lobby of the venue. We sauntered up to the host stand and in the most arrogant, ego laden way, we announced to the ticket checker (and everyone else in earshot) that we were on “the list.” After skimming the list for a minute, I almost detected a hint of glee in her voice when she replied that we weren’t. In a tone that was noticeably more humble, we asked, “Are you sure?”

We stood outside, shivering in the cold as the tour bus pulled up to the building. “You know, the show is actually going to be on the inside of the club,” Deadpan joked.

“We aren’t on the list.”

After Mrs. Deadpan gave the doorperson “what fer,” we finally made it in. “I knew you guys were on the list,” she said, “I wrote your names on it myself.”

The show was great. All the bands rocked, and at the end of the night, Schmoo and I were invited backstage to hang out in the dressing room area. We hobnobbed with rock and rollers and I even got Deadpan’s father in-law to autograph a platform boot for my little brother.

Schmoo and I overheard Mrs. Deadpan chatting with an entertainment beat reporter. As she retold an anecdote about how fans crashed her wedding to see her father’s band play, Schmoo glanced over at me and rolled his eyes.

Total Recall

I don’t know if it’s just my imagination, but doesn’t it seem like a lot more food products are being recalled lately? Baby food, chicken strips, smoked trout mousse, deli ham, corn chips, oatmeal cookies, white bread, oysters, and ground beef have all fallen victim to recalls in recent days. The media is throwing around, hard-to-pronounce, scientific sounding words like: botulism, listeria, salmonella, and Escherichia coli.

It’s almost enough to force a person to become a raw foodist. Not so fast! Add to the list of recently recalled food: olives, mushrooms, cantaloupes… and let’s not forget that big spinach fiasco. For, like, a year I couldn’t order anything with spinach listed as an ingredient, as restaurants reacted to the paranoia of their customers.

If all of this is making you feel a little peaked, why don’t you help yourself to a tall glass of crystal clear, cool, refreshing water? Stop! The Georgia Department of Agriculture and the Food and Drug Administration are warning consumers not to drink mineral water imported from Armenia. Certain brands have been found to contain levels of arsenic above the federal standard. I, of course, am now curious as to which brands of water contain arsenic levels within the federal standards. I’m sorry, but I think that I’d be wary of any arsenic level that isn’t zero.

I just found out that the Peter Pan peanut butter recall has been extended to include jars packaged as far back as 2004. If they’re gonna go that far back, why don’t they just recall all jars ever produced by that plant? I guess they figure if you are making fluffernutter sandwiches with Calvin Coolidge era peanut butter, you deserve to die.

When we were kids, I don’t remember them making a fuss about food or dangerous toys. If a child died from stuffing 700 matchbox car wheels into his nose, I think people just viewed it as part of natural selection of the species. Hell, my brother used to eat dirt and live ants. My father is fond of retelling an embarrassing anecdote in which he claims to have coined the term, “shit-eating grin.” (That’s as much as I will disclose of that tale.) We never suffered any food-borne illness… with the possible exception to my reaction to Brussels sprouts and liver, which I will go to my grave claiming as allergies.

I think we Americans are becoming soft. Don’t think so? Stay up one night and check out those adopt-a-third-world-child-for-the-price-of-a-cup-of-coffee infomercials. Those kids are fighting with wild dogs, on top of trash heaps, for scraps of disused, spoiled food. Other than being dirty, and possibly feral, the kids look fine.

All of this to say, Ruby Tuesday’s needs to bring back spinach to their salad bar. Oh! And I’m not giving up coffee… but I’ll gladly ship over as much liver and Brussels sprouts as those feral children can stand.

Human Remains Found In Spotsylvania

(This Time We’re Serious)

SPOTSYLVANIA,Va. (FMH) – The Spotsylvania sheriff reports a skull, that appeared to be human, was found at the Luck Stone Quarry on Tuesday. Last month, a severed bear foot was found at a local landfill. The foot was first reported to be that of a human.

Rescue workers and cadaver dogs continue to search the quarry for additional body parts. The medical examiner’s office is continuing its forensic testing of the skull.

“We’re pretty sure this is a human skull. I mean, duh… we found a waist-length jacket next to it. Bears don’t wear jackets. Right?”

Trouble Is Afoot

SPOTSYLVANIA, Va. (FMH) - A severed human foot was found at the Livingston Landfill in Spotsylvania, Virginia on Saturday, prompting one landfill employee to state, “Wow, people will throw out just about anything… Dibs!”

The find was announced by landfill officials at a press conference stressing the importance of properly sorting recyclables.

Update:
The search of a Spotsylvania landfill for the remainders of a body was abruptly called-off when a Richmond forensics lab announced that the found foot was not that of a human, but from an “apelike” creature. “The good news is that we don’t have a homicide,” said the Spotsylvania sheriff, “…Just some wackjob sawing the legs off of random primates, so no biggie.”

Societal Avalanche

A lot of people who were around in the 60’s can recall exactly where they were and what they were doing when it was announced to them that President Kennedy had been assassinated. This was a major event. It was shocking. It was awful. No matter your political affiliation, John F. Kennedy was an American president and together, if only for an instant, America mourned the loss of a great man.

I was working, sitting at a computer near the window, when I learned that Kurt Cobain had died. The voice of a local DJ made the announcement over a small transistor radio in the office that was tuned to a smooth jazz station. For the next five minutes, I just stared out the window. I didn’t even really like Nirvana. I had always thought that they had overshadowed the early career of the, far superior, Smashing Pumpkins. But, I knew the part he played in the history of American music. I understood that grunge was a barometer of my generation’s growing nihilistic cynicism. For me and many other Gen-Xers, this too was a major event.

If ten years from now, I meet some friends for coffee and the conversation drifts to where we were when Anna Nicole Smith died… I may have a breakdown. To be sure, I see the popularity of the Smiths and the Paris Hiltons and the Kevin Federlines as further indicators of our civilization’s continued decline. And, of course, the death of any person is tragic. But, if the demise of any of these 21^st century quasi-celebrities is reminisced with even the slightest bit of reverence, it will surely be a sign of a total societal collapse. Nay, it may signify the end times.

Can we please remove reports of the late, gold-digging stripper from the front page so that there is room for real news? I mean, come on people! I haven’t seen a report about the diaper clad, homicidal astronaut in nearly two days.