And the winner is...

It's award season in Adland.

Again.

Last week my social media feed was lapping over the edges with announcements from proud, but humble, winners of Effies, D&AD Pencil Tips, Slinkies and other tchotchkes that can be had for an entry fee of $500 and a clever InstaGram carousel ad that registered more than 5,000 Likes.

If you are detecting the faint whiff of disdain and well hewn cynicism I apologize, that's the 5th cup of coffee and it's not even 9 AM, talking.

Before I go any further I should hedge this little rant by admitting to feverishly hunting these cheap trinkets in my youth.

You know, before I turned 44.

Sure my kids could have used more Daddy time. And yes, I probably shouldn't have missed those birthday parties and wedding anniversaries. But there was important advertising work to be done and I had visions of filling the space on my mantle with all the shiny accoutrements and false sense of achievement this wonderful industry had to offer.

Of course that never happened.

And whatever trophies or certificates I did win, now sit in a milk crate, gathering spider webs, in my garage, behind another milk crate filled with old National Lampoon Magazines that have been hermetically sealed in cellophane and mean much more to me.

"The Adventures of Politenessman"

"Pinto Gets Laid"

And a host of Doug Kenney gems that are far too many to mention.

I'm not prepared to go full curmudgeon here, one should never go full curmudgeon. Particularly when the people winning the awards today are often the same people who call me to bail them out of a hole and put together a pitch in a week, tomorrow.

But I did want to share a little anecdote that best illustrates how we have become insufferable, self-important, navel gazers.

My friend... let's just call him Dave... mostly because that's his name, pals around with folks in the entertainment industry. Writers, directors and actors, big Hollywood names you'd know but for discretionary purposes will not be revealed.

At a dinner party, the discussion turned to industry awards. Seeking to get in on the conversation, Dave interjected that he and his partner had just won an advertising Gold Lion from Cannes. There was an awkward pause, a palpable silence, followed by a skinny actress, obviously going off the range, "can you pass the butter?"

As my friend Dave so aptly put it, we in the ad business are not the redheaded stepchild of the entertainment biz, we are the neglected and often thirsty pet hamster of the redheaded stepchild of the entertainment business.

There's no point to all this suffice to say, I woke upon this morning and realized that as a freelancer who never gets to see any work all the way through completion, there's a strong likelihood I'll never win an other advertising award ever again.

Ever.

I'm fine with that.