The prevailing emotion around Jingo Acres today has been one of zombiefied elation, as I oscillate cometlike between the solar pole of ecstasy at the knowledge I'm a Koufax finalist for Best Writing and the black deep space of the sleep I lost last night at the Ray Davies concert I saw. I didn't get to bed till 1:30 am -- this on a school night -- but as my bleary eyes lit on the email from a friend this morning informing me I'd made the short list, I woke up in a jiffy.
The cold slap came, of course, when I read the rest of the names on that Koufax list. A creeping guilty sense of fraudulence -- probably the one meant for, but dodged by, Jack Abramoff -- insinuates itself when I read my name listed between those of Michael Bérubé and Courting Destiny, followed by a Murderer's Row of intimidatingly eloquent voices. Interestingly, I'm also now rather severely hobbled by self-consciousness: You gonna put that big fat black-assed banner in your right rail, honcho, you better write real good, punk-ass! I'm pretty sure I'll get over this.
My humblest thanks to everybody who voted for me in the first round. I ruefully acknowledge that the competitive field is so excellent that a blandly pinko short-form culture-vulture like myself has little chance against the likes of some of those marquee names, but if you would drop in at the Wampum site and pencil me in I would deeply appreciate the recognition. That link again is here. Once again, here is the link.
Please, also, while you're there, drop a farthing into the Wampum Tip Jar. The service they provide in fostering a sense of community in this fractious little world is immeasurable.
(Later: Wampum's commenting capability is pretty taxed by the heavy voting. If you're having trouble getting into the Comments, you can also vote by sending email to wampum @ nic-naa.netm, subject Koufax.)
PS: The Ray Davies review I've promised is coming. Tomorrow morning, OK? Right now I'm officially outta gas.