Long Daze Journey into Night

Congratulations to Christopher Hitchens for winning the National Magazine Award (the "Ellie") for the columns and commentary category, in which I was also nominated . Accepting the award on his behalf was Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter, whose remarks were fitting, moving, and concise, a model that might be usefully emulated in future ceremonies by presenters and recipients, lest somebody in the audience snap out of sheer raging boredom and go on a bun-throwing rampage, and by "somebody" I mean "me." Just because I meditate doesn't mean my tolerance for blather is oceanically unbounded, and about hour three into the festivities there were so many torturing questions cycling through my mind, such as:



Why are we here? What is our purpose on earth? Is this it? What's the point? Why go on? Should I return to the Catholic Church? What becomes of the broken-hearted? Is the universe contracting or expanding (because right now it seems to be contracting)? Why are we watching a bacon lance on the stage monitor? Has Lynn Hirschberg gotten scarier with the years, or is it just her glasses? When is someone going to throw a rope over Tom Wolfe and lead him out to pasture? Who does he think he is, Comden and Green, dredging up every anecdote from the sunken deep? Did I doze for a brief eternity, or did he neglect the name of Lewis Lapham among the lion-hearted editors who had published his work?* Why does that guy from GQ think it's cute to turn his acceptance speech into an Andy Kaufman routine? If I sip real slow how long can I make this glass of water last? Why have pork cremains been brought to the podium? When is Carrie going to show and end this prom? Is that a compliment Adam Moss is extending the New Yorker or a cute backslap? Will Frank Rich be here next year? How much money is Katie Couric toting in her caboose? Who's that guy? Why's that other guy still talking? How long can I stifle this inner cry? What is David Copperfield doing up there on stage and why can't he make us all disappear?



That last question doubles as a cri de coeur, for those scoring at home.

Oh well, it's all part of Navy Seal training, and I for one feel toughened up for the long nap ahead.

*The Painted Word and From Bauhaus to Our House, along with shorter essays, first appeared in Harper's under Lapham's editorship.

Source: http://www.vanityfair.com/online/wolcott/2011/05/post-17.html

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