Where’s MY Award???

It’s award season on t.v. My wife, as always this time of year, is giddy in anticipation of Oscar Night, the Academy Awards, Hollywood’s equivalent of the Super Bowl. The night a galaxy of stars comes out and shines. Commercial t.v., it seems, isn’t satisfied unless it’s airing some sort of awards show. I’m almost certain the country music awards are aired every other week year round.

There are awards for best film; awards for worst film; awards for best actor, worst actor; best dressed celebrity; worst dressed celebrity; best acceptance speech; worst acceptance speech: best award show master of ceremonies; worst award show MC. There are Emmy awards, Grammy awards, Golden Globe awards, Independent Spirit Awards…awards for those who over the years have failed to receive awards—Lifetime Achievement Awards. There’s the Bulwer-Lytton award for the writer who can write the worst introductory sentence for a novel. Oh, I nearly forgot…and there’s the Darwin awards for those of our species whose poor decision making qualifies them to be the least likely to live long enough to achieve an award, let alone pass along their DNA to potential award winning progeny.

When the networks’ think tanks can’t come up with a new reality show, not to worry: for a ratings boost contact the agents of those stars who sparkle on the red carpet  Let’s present celebrities with awards for a plethora of accomplishments. And those runner-up celebrities can present the awards to their winning colleagues. That way everyone shares a shard of limelight; the viewing audience is entertained; the networks pad their bottom line; the clothiers turn cloth and stitches into gold (Wait a minute, isn’t there an award for best costume?), everyone’s a winner. Only thing lacking here is an award for the BEST awards show, and then, of course, the WORST awards show.

So where’s my award, I ask? With all the award categories out there, there must be one that fits my talents. Needn’t be  much. Just a minor award of any kind. I’ll settle for that. If I’m not the best at anything, surely I must be  the worst at something. After all, I’m always saying, “I’m the worst one to….” I’m not asking for red carpet. A  tread-worn strip of shag will do. And a trophy? I’d be satisfied with most any token, even the prize from a box of Cracker Jack. Just a little recognition for SOMETHING, that’s all I ask. I’ll keep my acceptance speech short. I promise. I know it by heart. After all, I’ve been practicing it for years….

Print this post