I was marching back there in the hinterlands of the Strike, in the shadow of the diesel-coated willow trees behind NBC, when I was hit by what could be the dismissive insult of the millennium.
I will preface that statement by setting up the situation: David Kidd, my old friend and fellow writer, were marching on our own, holding down the fort as it were by letting every car in that wanted in, and offering no resistance to cars headed out. Carol Leifer showed up, and Dave, who actually has friends who call him with news of the strike, proceeded to recount (third-hand) Dick Wolf’s declaration that, if the WGA didn’t do everything they could to successfully negotiate a contract in the next four minutes, he was going to lead the charge and get every major showrunner in the free world to go fi-core and destroy the Guild.
Timidly, I lifted an index finger to offer an opinion, when Dave shut me down with this phrase:
“Save it for your blog.”
Okay, well, I’ll do that, but I’m ALSO going to coin it. Check out the timestamp on this blog, and weep.
Anyway, here’s the opinion: while much of this town is built on the huge gap between Perception and Reality, it never really intersects with your day-to-day life the way you’d think. The classic example of the perception/reality gap is a celebrity who appears to be quite nice, but who in reality is a douchebag. I’m not naming names, but the first one who comes to mind has a name that rhymes with Flellen Flegeneris.
Another big one is that Los Angeles is the home of health food. Sure, you can drop some real coin getting your tofu on, but the truth of it is, the food that fuels the Left Coast is made from ground-up cows, emulsified dairy products and bread. That’s right, there are more places to buy a cheeseburger per capita here than anywhere else in the world. Take it from a former food writer, LA is Burgertown, USA. In fact, we went to arguably the best burger joint in town today:
The Apple Pan. Delivering arterial plaque to Southlander bloodvessels since 1926.
Who do I think I am? Ever since the strike began, I’ve been eating like a ranch hand having his last meal on shore leave. It’s as if carrying a picket sign has the same effect as taking five Lipitor tablets every morning. Turns out, even though it seems to make sense at the time, if the pizza is free, it doesn’t mean it’s not going to pack some extra cheese on your ass. Any money you save on a meal you lose on buying bigger Levis.
And there it is, the worst example of Perception vs. Reality: lying to yourself in the guise of pampering a broken heart. Sure, my heart’s broken, every day, watching my non-writing friends drive onto the lot and make TV. So what’s the difference between eating a gallon of Chubby Hubby and watching “Thelma and Louise” after your no-good boyfriend left you, and taking down a double-meat cheesesteak because you can’t make Mike Huckabee jokes? In the end, not much.
Hopefully, that serves my premise. The difference between the way I feel about things and the way they really are. The DGA settles their contract, and now the WGA asks the AMPTP back to the table. You want to say it’s going to work out fine. Hell, you have big powerful writers like Dick Wolf saying “it BETTER work out, or else.” Everyone from my mechanic to my dentist to guys in the strike line use the argument, “Of course the companies are going to come back to the table. They HAVE to. They can’t afford NOT to!”
And yet…
Back on the strike line, one of my good friends on the Show, Teo, pulled over on his way out of the gate. He just wanted to wish us all well, and see if we had any insights on this DGA thing. After a few minutes, a Parking Attendant pulled up, and though he was standing by his car, she blocked his way and gave him a ticket. It was completely unreasonable and bizarre. There was no way he was parked, but she wanted to give a ticket and was an utter asshole. She gave New York meter maids a bad name. But there it was. No amount of negotiation, pleading — she was just going to give that ticket while her face boiled over, wishing she could scream obscenities at my friend in the E320 sedan.
It’s the same with the writers. We are only being reasonable, but there are assholes in this world. And they’re going to BE assholes, no matter what kind of nice guy you are, and how reasonable you perceive yourself to be.
Hunker down, hope for the best, but remember who’s on the other side of the conference room table.
