Huenemanniac

You may recall my ambivalence toward getting awards. (If not, see here.) I shamelessly chased after an award this year, and was lucky enough to get it, with the thought that the award would pay $500, and I could have the fun of calculating whether the prize was worth all the time it required. I’ve already been to two ceremonies to be recognized, and there are at least two more coming up, plus the obligation to serve on the awards committee for next year. I have been calculating that getting an award pays about $10/hour — not great, but it’s something. Plus, I’m learning how to be gracious.

Imagine my chagrin, then, quickly followed by a profound appreciation for cosmic irony, to discover that this year no money is being awarded. None! At all! So the $10/hr gig turns out to be charity work. So I’ve been standing in public, holding my small potatoes, looking indeed like an utter idiot, just as I had prophesied. What other sort of being would undergo such public embarrassment for the sake of certificates?

I spent 15 minutes being pissed off, but now I bow to my master. Oh, Life, will you never run out of ways to humiliate us? You are indeed the master, and I marvel at your cunning ways.