I nearly went over to Burbank to join colleagues at the Gay Gate (NBC), but decided to stay local at Paramount. Irene, a fixture on the 5:30 a.m. shift, pointed out that the key to passing three hours is to have at least two in-depth conversations. As a group, we never reached consensus on our discussion of which was more miserable — filming in rain, or filming in snow — but there was unanimity that a certain blonde actress in her 40’s is an evil megalomaniac who should be avoided at all costs.
Jonathan Auxier, a screenwriter and novelist from Vancouver,1 came seeking advice about adaptations. Samantha Goodman told tales of the Nurses pilot she did last year. Al Gough and I talked comic book properties. And like that, it was done.
There’s no picketing scheduled for tomorrow.
One of my strike captains2 forwarded a link to a YouTube video that I resisted clicking for many hours. Based on the still frame, it was clearly a white guy (WGA Boi) rapping about the WGA strike. That combination felt insurmountably terrible. Even with a shield of irony, I predicted myself being annoyed or embarrassed by its existence. But too my surprise, the video is neither annoying or embarrassing. It threads a needle of impossible danger.
I got a Housewife but she ain’t Desperate
‘Cuz she knows that Marc Cherry is handlin’ shit
See it here.