Talking to my friend, Tom Long, today, he told me he liked my column last week, but. Whenever there’s a “but,” you know that’s not going to be good. His but was, “You are too nice. You gotta get an edge. Start complaining.” So here goes.
Everyone knows it is awards season on TV. You know it because the award shows continue to, week after week, pre-empt our favorite TV shows. How many awards do these people need anyway? Either a movie, song or TV show is good or it isn’t. Do they need to battle it out with who is number one in several different arenas? Maybe we should come up with our own awards.
I’d begin with the SAG awards which were on this week. I think I could have won one of those because, sad as it is to say this, I gotta a lotta stuff saggin’ these days. In fact, I’m kinda saggin’ from head to toe. I could win in a variety of categories.
I could also win a Grammy. I mean, I think I’m a cool Grammy. I think my grandsons would vote for me. Most of the time.
I could maybe win a Director’s Guild award for bossing my dog around. “Go out. Come in. Don’t jump.” You know the drill. You can win one too!
Many of us could win an Independent Spirit award for not always wearing what the fashion experts tell us to, especially all those get-ups we already wore in a previous life.
I don’t want to just win awards, though, I’d like to give awards too.
I could give a Critic’s Choice award to the people who wait until I am up to my elbows in work and knock on my door unannounced. They then ask if they can save my soul or if I have a church or if I like the way the government is running. Maybe I should get an award for not saying what I want to when I reply to them. I feel a little hot about this right now as it just happened and I still feel the flush of irritation. I am sure they wanted to save my soul, but I am pretty sure it worked just the opposite.
I’d like to give another to the people who make all the packaging of products I buy. You know all the stuff you can’t open without a saw or a blow torch. One day I may just nick myself to death trying to open stuff. I find it especially hard to open medicine bottles when I don’t have a little kid around to help me.
The other day a person told me they had moved into a retirement complex in Florida. (Wasn’t it Seinfeld who said we all have to do that at a certain age?) Anyway, I digress. When they moved in, there was a flyer under the door advertising computer set-up and help. Of course, they needed it desperately so they called right away. When the person arrived, it was a 9-year-old boy. Really, this is the truth. He promptly set up their computer, answered all their questions and left with a nice wad of cash in his pocket. I’d like to give a People’s Choice award to all the little ones who lead us where we fear to go on our own, or if we are honest, are just plain clueless how to get there.
So, realistically, random awards for weird things we think of just aren’t gonna happen. That is probably all right. As I said in the beginning, enough with the award shows. I want my old TV shows back.
Maureen Burns, a Greenville resident, is a professional speaker and author. Her e-mail address is firstname.lastname@example.org.