One of the more preposterous institutions in Washington—in a city with an abundance of them—is the Mark Twain Prize for American Humor, awarded since 1998 by the same people who invented the Kennedy Center Honors. I have no idea who or what committee of the board at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts chooses the lucky recipient of an award named for the famous 19th-century novelist/essayist, but I have a reasonable guess what Mark Twain would think of the idea. The notion of a prize for “humor” in the gift of an agency of the federal government, and presented with all the cultural appurtenances of a major network television broadcast, would very much be grist for Twain’s mill.
This week the Washington Post agonized at length about the choice of Tina Fey for the 2010 award. Not about Fey herself who, at hundreds of column inches spread out over two big pages, was treated to the sort of worshipful analysis usually reserved for senior Obama White House staffers or creaking veterans of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade. No—the Post was concerned (although not too much) about the fact that Fey is comparatively young (40) and, while undoubtedly successful as a Saturday Night Live writer/performer and producer/star of a popular sitcom, not exactly at the point in her career where lifetime achievement awards are commonplace.
