Last night, I had a dream. I dreamed that my smartphone broke into two pieces.
I could never have dreamed what actually transpired at the 2011 Wilde Awards.
To have my fellow critics bestow an award on me was momentous; to have the community as a whole work together in secret to present me with more than $1,000 in gas cards was earth-shattering. That both of these things happened in succession, in front of a roomful of admired artists I'm so honored to consider friends, has left me even now in a fog of appreciation and disbelief. Words seldom fail me, but this is one case where I know they will fall short of what I'm feeling.
Of course, I wouldn't have been up there at all had it not been for the consistent acknowledgment and encouragement from my mentor and friend, Donald V. Calamia, who gave me a glowing introduction and grinned at me from the stage as I stepped up to meet him. (Forgive me for singling him out when I did, having just received such a gift from the lot of you, but I would be remiss had I failed to thank him publicly — not to mention, I was struggling just to keep my head on straight at that point.) My heartfelt thanks to Don and the entire EncoreMichigan.com team of critics; I'm so pleased and proud to consider myself your peer.
What I vaguely recall saying at the podium last night is the absolute truth: whatever parts of this job may occasionally wear on me, the one thing that never does is seeing a play. Through long drives, procrastination, and between-shows weekend writing sessions, however much my work challenges me, your work is what sustains me. Live theater is the greatest joy in my life, so to have turned my very expensive hobby into a vocation has been a thrill, one matched only by the reward of being part of a community this phenomenal.
Yet to have such a concrete and overwhelming symbol of your appreciation is still too much to fathom — not only do I have the unassailable memory of last night, but I'll beam every time I steer the Rogue Civic up to the pump. Just this morning, I was graciously indoctrinated into the secret Facebook group, "The Rogue Critic Gas Card," to see for myself what was happening over the past several weeks. Faced with the incredible enthusiasm and fundraising prowess of a staggering three hundred sixty-two members (plus who knows how many else outside the group), I truly have more people to thank than I'll ever know. Last night, I opened the lovely gift box and found stacks of $100 gas cards; as it turns out, they don't offer denominations large enough for your remarkable generosity. Everything you gave to crafty and amazing mastermind Chris Korte, he passed on to me — right down to the penny (and three dimes). To him, and to every last one of you that participated in the secret fundraiser, you have made this scurvy Rogue happier than I can possibly say.
I never thought I would receive a Wilde Award. It's wonderful enough to think of that, but the enormity of what you all did last night truly put my wildest imagination to shame. There's no way I can give back to all of you what you've given me, so I must leave it at "Thank you." Thank you all, so much.
With love,
The Rogue