Today I’ve won the Aardvark Award. I’m not sure what it is. Or what I won it for. I just have a feeling that I’ve done something spectacular. All I need to do is discover what it was I did.
Meanwhile, I just want my award. And here it is: a stuffed (you guessed it) aardvark. It is wrapped in gold foil, to give it that shiny, otherworldly, award look.
Perhaps it was my creation of the award that makes me the recipient of the award.
But isn’t that the way of all creative literary endeavors? Excluding the ones we have trouble with. The kind that keep us up at night. Banging our head against the wall. Notice I have suddenly moved into the third person singular. We are banging our head against the wall. Our one third person singular head.
You can do that in language. Bang one, two, three, four, however many heads you want against the proverbial wall.
Do you remember that scene in Raging Bull where Jake LaMotta bangs his head against the wall in his jail cell because he has suddenly realized what a total jerk he’s been? And what he’s had, and thrown away, because he can’t control his emotions? I saw that and I thought, immediately, holy shit, that’s me.
Give the man an Aardvark Award.
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