Awards Season: Fame and the Common Man (and Woman)

I'm getting a little tired of all the awards shows, not that I spend much time watching them anyway. They are starting to remind me of some sort of competition for six-year-olds where every single kid gets  a ribbon--even for last place--so no one will feel bad. If you don't win an Academy Award, maybe you'll snag something at the Golden Globes. If you're not even nominated to take home dear old Oscar, well, there's always the People's Choice Awards. Perhaps you'll have better luck there.

Emmys, Tonys, Grammys. Geez. Enough already. Exactly how much aggrandizement do spoiled actors, singers, directors, etc. need? Lots and lots, apparently. I'm all for the arts. I am, after all, a writer.  I would certainly be delighted with a little fame and fortune of my own. Until it gets to the dangerous level. The level where it becomes all about the attention and not the craft. When narcissism murders creativity and hard work.

When the recognition level mutates from simple appreciation of a finely acted role to veritable idol worship, it's time to stop and realize how silly we're becoming. Remember when the Beatles came ashore to throngs of screaming teenage girls? Okay, if you don't remember, you've doubtless seen the pictures, so no excuse you young'uns. We were supposed to grow out of that extreme adulation stage. It doesn't look cute after age eighteen. It's downright moronic at forty.

It's all one big commercial for designer dresses and borrowed jewelry. I'm just not sure who it's aimed at. I'm pretty sure I won't be running out to the local dress salon to slap down some plastic on a larger size of the dress I saw Amy Adams wearing. I guess it all trickles down far enough in knockoffs for the average consumer to buy some piece of clothing tenuously linked to an actual designer whose work was displayed on the red carpet.

I guess I'm turning into a crabby old woman and awards season is all in good fun. Like a fashion show. A beauty pageant. A bridal showcase. People Magazine. I guess what bothers me is that so much money, fame, and attention is paid to those who, well, really don't need any more. How about spreading the love around a little? What about "ordinary" people who are doing extraordinary things every single day?

How about remembering all our military servicemembers so far away? Or all the volunteers who run the Special Olympics? People who teach adults to read? Folks who dispense love and kindness to the abandoned and ill animals in our community shelters? The millions of Americans who through both paid and volunteer labor essentially take care of our world. Don't they deserve more recognition than they get? Yet these people would be the first to politely refuse the notice. "Oh, no, not me. I'm not doing anything special."  But they are. They most certainly are.

I want to see the woman who runs the local soup kitchen walk down the red carpet in an Oscar de la Renta gown accessorized with a Tiffany necklace and earrings. That's an awards show I'd watch!

Here is today's quote from Jude Hayes Mysteries, Book One, Remover of Obstacles:

Sophisticated in an ivory sheath, Bethie entered through a door on the opposite side of the ballroom, stilettos tapping determinedly on the marble, towing a protesting Gisela in her wake. It was the first time I’d had an up-close look at Bethie’s lifemate and I was stunned. She was model-thin with lustrous black hair, alabaster skin, and lovely violet eyes. Her sparkly jersey dress in an understated lavender flowed over her like quicksilver, managing to perfectly match her eyes. For once, Ming became speechless—probably a good thing. Clicker, somewhat less affected as he saw Gisela every day at work, was nonetheless bug-eyed. It really was a great dress, but I suspected that it was not the sole inspiration for their reactions.