Again

Another Nobel Prize season has gone by and once again, the committee has, for some reason I can’t fathom, failed to award me a single prize—even for "Economic Sciences."

I suppose I can understand having been passed over for the Peace Prize this year; after all, I never did succeed in putting an end to war in Afghanistan or Iraq—although I did manage to keep my dog from bolting across the street on several occasions to bark at that schnauzer. And Physics and Mathematics, okay, even though I think there ought to be a special award in the latter category for helping one’s pre-teen daughter with algebra.

And, all right, maybe I can understand why I didn’t prevail in Chemistry; those guys who figured out how atoms bond together or something, that’s pretty cool, (but cooler than the applied chemistry I developed to mix together tequila and lime juice? I dunno.)

But Literature? Sure, Vargas Llosa is one of the most acclaimed writers in the Spanish-speaking world and a man of letters who also braved the violence and political divisions of his homeland to run for president, but has he ever published a 327-word essay? I seriously doubt it. Has he ever gone 327 days in a row posting such an essay to an internet website read by as many as 11 or 12 people a day? I think not. Has he ever penned a piece like this bemoaning the fact that the Nobel committee didn’t award him his well-deserved prized? Of course not! Which is why, in part, he would do well to turn the award, along with the million and half dollars or so that comes with it, to me. Not only would I use the funds to make the world a better place, I’d do so by throwing a way better party than any of those winners—especially those presumably thrifty fellows in “Economic Sciences”—could ever hope to enjoy in Stockholm.