Now that the Tony’s award winners have been crowned and Queen Elizabeth’s 60th Jubilee millinery marvels have been mothballed, the busy spring fawn-over-your-favorite-celebrity season has finally exited – stage left. Another reason to dance a celebratory jig in our bare feet under a summer solstice sky.
I stopped watching award shows several years ago – yes, even the Oscars – Vera Wangy-splattered red carpet and all. It wasn’t a difficult decision – my gut made it for me. I just couldn’t take one more sycophantic tribute or disingenuous thank you. Honestly, twenty minutes in and I felt as if I had eaten my entire bag of candy on Halloween night. Icky.
America’s penchant for creating awards for the sole purpose of watching celebrities puke praises all over each other’s creepy couture gowns is a difficult tradition to wrap my head around. The spring awards shows are obviously one long publicity stunt that seems to work well. So, woo hoo for their bottom line. But, why do privileged people with great jobs need to have their egos blown up like King Henry the VIII’s quadruple chin? It’s not like they cured cancer or saved an entire village from a terrorist attack.
And speaking of good ‘ole King Henry, another thing that I used to have a difficult time understanding was the monarchy. What use were they, other than to provide material for comics, who must have prostrated themselves in humble thanksgiving when Prince Charles reconnected with Camilla.
I am reconsidering my position on the royalty, however, for having resisted the temptation to organize into an international self-promoting guild, say something like the Royal Academy of Rich White People Who Wear Funny Hats.
Imagine that organization’s annual award gala:
“For best wrist wave in an open carriage, the award goes to …”
“For best impersonation of a sincere expression while accepting posies from a street urchin, the award goes to…”
“For bagging the most birds on a grouse hunt in the Scottish highlands, the award goes to…”
The royals are most definitely to be commended for sticking to inspecting the troops and hosting dinner parties for a thousand of their closest friends.
So, where are the awards for the people who really deserve it: Parents who work two jobs, but still summon the energy for meaningful time with their children? Children who suffer from painful catastrophic illnesses, but still flash bright heart-breaking smiles? Soldiers who trudge through the unbearable desert heat and sand in constant fear of IEDs, at the will of a nation that most of the time forgets they are even out there?
Come up with an award show for them, and I’ll be right in the front row.