No, it ain’t the 20 below mornings of my youth, where 40 below wind chills were as commonplace as a Britney Spears mental breakdown, but it’s been dang miserable here.
We did have that one anomalous 40 degree day on Sunday, but it doesn’t count. Whereas I am certain God believes he’s tossing us a mid-winter bone, he ain’t. Days like that are more pain than pleasure. They simply serve to remind us of what we will NOT be enjoying for the next 60 days or so.
I am sitting here bundled up in my bathrobe, a space heater running at my feet, trying to keep icicles from forming around my nostrils as I breath. And earlier, I had to bundle up all Ralphie-like and trudge over to Holiday for half-and-half. Because…? Neither car will start in this frozen wasteland.
Somethin’s gotta give.
In my head, the constant sound of Sam Cooke crooning, "It’s been a lo-o-o-o-ong/Long time comin’ but/Change is gonna come/Oh, yes it is."
I’m with you, Sam.
Change is gonna come. Hell, yes it is.
I am also tired of this strike. I know, I know…I’m supposed to be all solidarity, fist in the air, Hollywood in flames, and all. And I am, for the most part. I’ve been "pencils down", and stayed away from talking to anyone and everyone, out of respect for my WGA bretheren. (and, admittedly, fear for making the wrong move and being black-balled for the rest of eternity)
And I know that I am a,) not the only person in the world affected by this strike, and b.) many people have it far worse off than I do.
But I’m tired of it.
I haven’t said much (read: anything) about the strike because there’s enough crap flying around about the whole fiasco. No one needs my two cents, or likely cares to hear it. And, you know…what I said in parentheses a few paragraphs ago.
But I’m tired of it.
Yes, the writers need to get paid for I’net and other digital media. Yes, people are being buttheads. This has dragged on so long, however, and gotten so nasty, I am afraid that real, honest-to-goodness recovery will be years in the future. That, my friends, I further fear will bode worse for guys like me than it will those already firmly ensconced in the industry.
We’ll see. I am playing Punxsutawney Bill, and poking my head out of this foxhole (though only in appropriate circles) just a smidgen, over the coming days. See whether anyone notices or I get my head blown off. If you read my professional obit. in Variety any time soon, you’ll know it was the latter.
In the meantime (and as usual), no one sums it up better than Jim Henson’s Muppets…
Keep warm, all. Like my bro-in-law sez, "Think flip-flops and margaritas." Meanwhile, I will continue to experiment with the power of positive bitching. How’s it working so far?