San Francisco Sentinel
February 23, 1990
Street Talk
And the Nominees Are
By Doris Fish
Bet you thought I meant the Oscars. No, it’s our own Outstanding Cable Car Awards! You can imagine my excitement, when for ten years I’ve been totally ignored, and now I find myself nominated for “Entertainer of the Year” and “Outstanding Columnist”. With two nominations I could stand a chance.
At least that’s what I thought until I read the list of nominees: Marga Gomez, Tom Ammiano, Danny Williams, Scott Johnson and Deena Jones in the “Entertainer” category, Dave Ford, Wayne Friday, Louise Rafkin, Jack McGowan, and Deena Jones again! The woman is everywhere; she’s also nominated as “Outstanding Cabaret Performer”. But then, she is pretty fabulous. Even my darling boss at West Graphics, the greeting card people, Randy West said, “Have you heard her sing? She wonderful! She should be recording.” Randy usually knows better than to compliment another woman in my presence, plus he’s very exacting in his tastes, so this Miss Jones Queen must be really talented. I hate that.
Maybe she’ll win for “Cabaret” and the rest of us will be allowed to slug it out for the other awards. These other two are by public vote, so it means whoever has the most friends willing to endure an event like this, can win. As I only have a few friends and both of them said, “Ixnay, luvvie,” I’m starting to figure my chances are slimmer than Karen Carpenter. But Miss X mollified me with her usual words of wisdom, “It’s a hideous award, luvvie. It’s just like one of those ugly cable car souvenirs you get at Woolworth’s except you can take it back and exchange it for hairspray.” Of course, she’s not nominated and after that quote I figure it’ll be years before either of us are mentioned kindly again.
The initial thrill of the nomination has begun to pall. Though let me hasten to add it is a singular honor to be placed in such high company. I’m just not quite sure I can be a good loser, and in public, too. Not only does the honor of being nominated make one a potential winner, but, unavoidably, a possible loser, too. I can just see the caption under my photo the next day, “Doris Fish, loser, at the Cable Car Awards.”
Now I understand why Joan Crawford was sick in bed the night she won for Mildred Pierce; the thrill of of winning is nothing compared to the terror of losing.
And the competition is not to be sneezed at! How can one compare Marga, Tom and Danny? All three are wonderful, brilliant comics who’ve done countless benefits (Marga even upstaged me at my own fundraiser last year at the Victoria Theatre) and all three deserve the award. Deena and Scott are renowned cabaret artists, different, but also incomparable. Of course, that just leaves moi. I can’t tell jokes, I can’t sing, and I haven’t done much entertaining, even in my own bedroom, for years.
“But luvvie, what about ‘The Balcony’ at Rhino?” Miss X reminded me.
“Well? What else? I’ve been living on those reviews for a year. The public has all but forgotten me!” Poor pitiful me.
“Don’t forget ‘Smut Fest 89’ at the DNA!” Miss X had searched the trash bags of her mind to find that gem!
“No one going to the Cable Car Awards would admit to knowing about such a show. And do you really think that some Queen rubbing her butt up and down Phil Ford’s legs while rolling eyes and sticking her tongue out is going to be voted ‘Entertainer of the Year’?” I guess I told her! Now I was sure that this award would not be gracing my china cabinet next month. That only leaves “Columnist”!
Now I’m praying that Deena will win both “Cabaret” and “Entertainer”, which would, if Life were fair, nix her chances for “Columnist”. That still pits me against some tough cookies; Jack McGowan, sports writer here at the Sentinel and a dear, sweet co-worker (“I’ve won so many times I should be in the Hall of Fame!”); Dave Ford, a terrific writer who I’m praying has alienated even more of the awards-going public than I have, Louise Rafkin, a favorite of mine (a good thing to say when you’re not sure who it is); and Wayne Friday, another favorite (but I mean it this time), albeit a sane and sensible fellow. In fact, all these writersbare, I’m sure, sensible people and will probably not feel that they must leave town for a month if they don’t win.
“Have you packed your bags yet, luvvie?” Mis X’s voice had that you-can-do-what-you-like-but-you’re-a-fool tone. “You know you don’t have to go all the way to Australia just because you’re afraid you will lose some tacky, meaningless award! I mean they’re giving the tacky things to the bars for their Christmas decorations! So, who cares?”
“Darling, you know those awards don’t bother me; I had this trip planned long ago, and it’s a non-changeable ticket.” It was the truth.
“Well, do what you want; you always do!” She said, in her best ‘tired parent’ voice. “Just don’t write a column about your nomination. It will look like a transparent trick to get votes. It won’t work and will make you look cheap.”
“Oh.”
