August 25: Watching the Emmy Awards, Shallow Stars, "Web" Dip

Here I sit, watching the 66th annual Emmy Awards.  I've been bathing in the glow of self-congratulatory back-slapping and vapid humor.  There the shallow stars stand onstage, looking winded and shocked, saying things like, "This is just too much.  I don't believe this.  I didn't think I was going to win this year."  Then they dig into a sleeve or pocket or bodice and remove an acceptance speech.

Every year, I watch these awards shows.  Emmy Awards.  Oscars.  Golden Globes.  Tony Awards.  For me, it's an exercise in mockery and envy.  Beautiful, rich people who have everything possible awarding each other gold statuettes for being better than other beautiful, rich people who have everything possible.  That pretty much sums it up.

I haven't seen anything too surprising.  The same actors are winning this year who won last year.  So, it's like watching reruns of The Big Bang Theory on TBS.  It even has Jim Parsons.

So, my question is:

Will I ever win some self-congratulatory, back-slapping award (Pulitzer, National Book Award, Nobel Prize, Blogger of the Year, Best Father Who Made His Son Cry a Little Tonight Award)?

And the answer from E. B. White is:

The crickets sang in the grasses.  They sang the song of summer's ending, a sad, monotonous song.  "Summer is over and gone," they sang.  "Over and gone, over and gone.  Summer is dying, dying."

Well, that's depressing.

Saint Marty's gonna call this post done.

Really?  Again?