Okay I'm not generally one to enjoy the misery of others . . . Schadenfreude is not my cup of tea, as it were. And I'm a sucker for a good story. So you'd think I'd be really into the award shows, especially the Tony Awards, where poor pot-bellied Audra MacDonald (her words) weeps for joy at her twenty-seventh award she's received for being the spectacular brilliant amazing talent that she is. And I saw Porgy and Bess and she certainly deserves the award for that genius portrayal and her glorious voice and whatever whatever. But last night, watching the awards, between screaming with delight at seeing an old friend in one number, and booing boisterously when a friend of a friend didn't win, and laughing at the brilliant and charming Neil Patrick Harris, and crying because the Steve Kazee spoke of his mother who passed away recently and the support he got from the cast around him, yeah yeah, all that . . . I was miserable.
I want a Tony. Or an Olympic medal. Or a Nobel. Or a Pulitzer. A Pulitzer would be very nice. I'm not fussy. Any major public acknowledgement of my contributions to the world around me would do. It doesn't even have to be a cash prize, although that would certainly be nice. Just an award. Two minutes to make a speech thanking people. And then the band playing me off. Is that so much to ask for?
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