Everything you always wanted to know about the Best of the North Bay… but were too chicken to ask.
Is it just me, or have we overdosed on award shows? It’s almost like there’s some sort of elaborate plot by the manufacturers of red carpets or something. There are the Oscars, the Tonys, the Golden Globes and the SAG Awards. What about the Grammys, the People’s Choice Awards, MTV Music Awards and the Academy of Country Music Awards? And don’t forget about the Emmys, the Daytime Emmys, the Teen Emmys, the Infant Emmys and the Animal Emmys.
Seriously, Comcast just announced it’s now carrying a brand new network, the Award Show System—or ASS—on Cable #76. Television doesn’t get more important than this. Nothing but red rug moments, tearful acceptance speeches and aging divas showing us more cleavage than, frankly, any of us want to see. And who doesn’t love to watch Joan Rivers, fresh off her latest plastic surgery procedure, chatting with the flavor-of-the-moment or haranguing somebody who was famous for 10 minutes a decade ago with the ubiquitous query, “Who are you wearing?”
This is to say nothing of the disturbing trend among guys attending these shows who no longer care enough to wear a tux (and half the time can’t be bothered with wearing a tie). And don’t even get me started on the whole “I-forgot-to-shave-for-the-past-two-days-and-now-I’m-at-an-awards-show” look.
I think we’re looking at awards differently now. Winning an award used to mean something. It signified high achievement, hard work and excellence in your craft. But now we give awards away for any reason…and no reason at all. Since everybody gets an award—because competition is evil and no longer a core value—life now resembles children’s soccer, which is surely a sign the end of the world is close at hand. Everyone gets a trophy, even Mikey, the 7-year-old who leads the league in chasing butterflies and falling down for no apparent reason. Mikey gets an award because, if he didn’t, we might damage the whole delicate self-image that Mikey’s anti-competitive parents have worked so hard to instill. (Not that this isn’t just a wee bit hypocritical, considering that Mikey’s folks made a donation/bribe/buyoff to the preschool Mikey attended so Mikey could actually be admitted in the first place.)
We seem to have wandered from our theme a bit.
Leave it to NorthBay biz to be the oasis of common sense in a world going to hell in a fully loaded 2008 SUV. We at the North Bay’s only locally owned business publication believe greatness must be rewarded, because whoever said greatness is its own reward clearly didn’t understand the idea of scoring some hardware to take home, of filling up the ego wall at the office and of being able to send out a flaming email the next day that reads, “What did you guys do last night? We won a ‘bizy’!”
And what means more than being honored by a vote of your peers—those who compete alongside you in the marketplace of products and ideas? What feels better than hearing your name called, taking that walk to the podium as applause showers down around you like a nurturing April shower? Then, holding the gleaming plaque in your hands, you gaze out on that sea of faces at the tables in front of you and think to yourself, “Losers. They are all losers.”
Perhaps that’s a little too on the nose.
There’s certainly no shortage of pressure to win a “bizy,” just ask my good friends Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens. It’s like my old college baseball coach said, “If you aren’t cheating, you’re only cheating yourself.”
Sure, we’ve heard the whispers of stuffed ballots, veiled offers of exchanging goods for awards, even the old-fashioned, Nixon-style bags of cash traded for the title “Best of the North Bay.” (And I say to you: Why is it that nobody approached me with bundles of unmarked bills? I have some sway with Publisher Norm Rosinski and the crew.)
I’m just kidding; Norm is a Chicago native, a place where graft is almost as popular as, say, New Orleans or the hallowed halls of our own House of Representatives in Washington, D.C. Maybe that’s why Norm is so well-briefed on all the latest security measures to ensure the much coveted “bizys” go only to those who truly deserve them.
To begin with, all the ballots are secretly encoded with a cipher that can’t be duplicated. If a false ballot is received, we make a note of the business and then send our security chief Bruno out for a little “chat” with the offending company. Completed ballots are transported to a secret location, where they’re placed in a time-locked safe until they’re tallied by the accounting firm of Adam, Upp & Checkem. Finally, the sealed envelopes are taken to the palatial executive suites of NorthBay biz, where they sit right next to a stack of old Wall Street Journals on Norm’s desk until he puts them in the trunk of his car, next to his golf clubs, and brings them to the awards dinner.
The ballots, not the clubs. Norm’s wife and business partner, Joni, has “some guidelines” about how often Norm gets to actually pull the clubs out of the car. With this year’s celebration being held at StoneTree Golf Club, Norm was very thorough in checking everything from where the ice sculptures were being located to the length of the rough on the 17th hole. It took several trips from Sonoma to Novato, but Norm is nothing if not dedicated. “This is about our guests, our readership and the magic that is the Best of the North Bay,” he said as he laced up his spikes and reached into his bag for a fresh sleeve of balls.
Later that afternoon, Norm explored the bunker on the fifth hole as a possible wine station, and the water hazard on nine was considered for a floating of orchids for the buffet. It’s that kind of attention to detail that makes the “bizys” so special.
Let’s talk a bit about the proud history of the Best of the North Bay. Our awards started some 158 years ago, when Clem’s Buggy Body Shop was given the award for best business motto for “We’ll fix your wagon.” The first ceremony took place out on Stony Point Road, at the Bar X Ranch, where grilled bison medallions in a sarsaparilla-infused sauce and baked beans were served. At the time, neither valley was graced with the wealth of world-class wineries we have now, so jugs of Red Eye were passed around the campfire.
During the Depression, the awards were scaled back a bit. In keeping with leaner times, winners received certificates and the affair was a pot luck dinner. Though prohibition was in full swing, winners were known to toast with something a bit stronger than water, and losers were known for drowning their sorrows with something that eased the pain.
Since those humble beginnings, the awards and the soiree that accompanies their presentation have become the premier business event of the season. People flock from as far away as Sausalito,
Calistoga and Healdsburg to see and be seen. Networks bid untold fortunes for the right to televise the event, though Norm, Joni and business partner John Dennis still subscribe to the quaint notion the event is for those who attend, and not for the fame junkies who actually know how many gigs Ryan Seacrest has. Thus, the night remains special and not cheapened by cameras and microphones and designer plugs.
Because of the exclusive nature of the event, there are always more people looking to attend the Best of the North Bay celebration than NorthBay biz can accommodate. With this in mind, we always have quite a few letters asking about the evening and the awards. As space in the letters section is limited, let me dip into the mailbag and answer a couple of the queries.
Dear Bill,
What can you tell me about how the menu is selected? The food and wines are always so sumptuous. How does your publication decide what to serve?
Signed,
Peckish in Petaluma
Dear Peckish,
That’s an excellent question. Over the years, many different methods have been employed. One year, we featured fish that had been caught by the staff via a cruise out of the Golden Gate. But after a regrettable “hook” incident, in which one writer “caught” another, and several staffers hung over the side “feeding the fish,” we abandoned this approach. Another year, we took an office vote. Amazingly, pizza from Nino’s in Chicago won—until Joni told Norm to stop stuffing the ballot box. Now, we call upon the culinary royalty that resides in the North Bay and benefit from their creativity.
Dear Bill,
Everybody I know wants to win a “bizy,” but nobody can tell me how the award came to be named. What’s the real story?
Signed,
Curious in Corte Madera
Dear Curious,
This is how you fill your day? I won’t embarrass you by mentioning the corporate letterhead at the top of the page, but this is the kind of intellect normally reserved for Los Angles Dodgers fans. That said, I will answer your question.
To begin with, staff meetings were called to brainstorm ideas. But many of those meetings ended when nobody could agree on what to order for lunch or whether the White Sox are worse than the Giants. Next, we hired a branding agency. But everything they came up with sounded like a compact car or a type of processed food.
So finally, I just made the “bizy” up after getting to the bottom of a bottle of Pinot Noir. Think it’ll stick? n
