The Most Complicated Evil Plot I Have Yet Devised

I think I've figured out how to land myself a job interview next Friday.

This theory came to me as I was waiting for my Chinese food for an hour and 15 minutes. I really had to pee, but I just KNEW the guy was going to come while I was in the bathroom.

Sure enough, I said "Oh the hell with this, I'm not waiting any longer," and the guy came while I was in the bathroom.

This always happens to me: I wait and wait for what's supposed to happen to happen, and then when it doesn't, I start doing something else, and THEN what was supposed to happen happens.

Working from this trend, I've come up with a plan to have at the very least, a job interview by the end of next week.

My job finishes this Friday, and I had been planning (barring a sudden settlement with SAG) to try and leave town next Thursday for about a week and a half to visit my dad up in Idaho. I'll be driving, so I'll be stopping in Vegas on the way up next Thursday if all goes to plan.

I knew Dark Knight was coming out next Friday, and I really want to see it in IMAX, since they actually shot some of it in IMAX and I hear it's brain-meltingly awesome.

So of course, I got online to see if there are tickets to the midnight IMAX screening in Vegas (and I'd like to pause here to note that IMAX tickets in Vegas are cheaper than regular movie tickets here), and there were.

So now, my evil plot: I bought my ticket to that midnight Thursday showing in Vegas.

By purchasing that ticket, I have close to guaranteed that something will come up in L.A. and I won't be able to leave until Friday or Saturday, maybe not even at all.

Clearly, as I'm packing my shit into the car to leave on Thursday morning, I will get a phone call from someone who wants to interview me Friday morning, maybe even for a job that starts Monday.

And if my frustrating luck does not continue to hold...Well, I'll get to see the Dark Knight in IMAX on opening night then spend a week in Idaho with my dad. It's pretty much a win-win.

A Stab At Explaining This SAG Nonsense

Trying to explain why, even though it does not appear the Screen Actors' Guild is actually going to strike anytime soon, I am frustrated with the lack of progress in the talks, is a little hard to explain.

The stalemate has brought all feature production to a grinding halt, and because of the weird timing of the pilot I'm on (even if it gets picked up, it won't go for a few months, and almost all other TV in town has already started up), I had been looking to hop on a feature when it finishes in a couple weeks.

So, why is a stalemate a bad thing for feature films? Well, I'll try to explain.

Were the Screen Actors' Guild to strike, everything would shut down immediately because without actors, there is nothing to shoot. That's the easy-to-explain, apocalyptic part.

In a stalemate, which is where we are now, the actors are not striking, but they have not signed a deal and could theoretically strike at any time.

With a stalemate, TV shows keep shooting because they have all the actors under contract for basically the entire year. Were a strike to happen, they would give the crew an unpaid hiatus for the duration of the strike, and then everyone would come back to work when it's over (assuming a short strike of about a month or so, which everyone is).

With films during a stalemate, you run into the big problem of actor scheduling: While television shows have the principal actors under contract essentially year-round, every film has a very short window in which its principals are under contract.

For example, pulling a name that's fun to type out of the air, let's say Jake Gyllenhaal is scheduled to do a film that starts tomorrow, and finishes in early September. Then, he's scheduled to go on to a second film that starts in mid-September.

If the actors strike, it will eat up all the time that he was on film #1, and they still lose him to film #2 in mid-September. The fact that the strike is happening does not push everything back, it just makes the time disappear.

Why is this a problem? Well, the main issue is that because a SAG strike could completely fuck up actors' schedules, major films can't get what's called a completion bond.

This is a very large insurance policy that will pay the a substantial portion of the cost of production should the film not be completed for some reason beyond the control of production (actor is hit by a bus and/or drops dead in the middle of production, earthquake destroys Los Angeles during shooting, whatever).

The insurance companies don't want to give completion bonds right now because if Gyllenhaal starts shooting film #1 and SAG strikes for a month in August, he will still have to move on to film #2 on the same schedule. Film #1 could potentially only be half-finished and largely unusable, and the insurance company would be on the hook for the money.

If you can't get a completion bond (and right now, you can't unless you have a waiver from SAG, which you can only get if you're a small independent production not part of the AMPTP), the studio will not give you the money to make your movie.

So everyone on the features side is pretty much sitting tight, waiting for SAG to make a deal. Once they make a deal, plenty of stuff will start up, and hopefully many of us will be gainfully employed once again.

We'll see what happens. Again, I'm in a bit of an odd spot with scheduling, but hopefully by the end of July this will get sorted out, and I'll land on something or other. I'll probably get an involuntary break of a month or so, but hopefully not much longer.

I hope that sort of clarifies for those of you who don't have to deal with this glorious horseshit on a daily basis what's happening and why, and why while people in LA are worried about this, most of the national entertainment press is pretty much ignoring it.

The Thing That Really Sucks About Coming Into The Office On Sundays

The building where our offices are located is basically a ghost town on the weekends, and in order to save money and energy, the folks here have elected to keep the air conditioning off.

This building was built in either the late 50's or early 60's, so the idea that each suite can control its own air conditioning is laughable. Everything has to go through Engineering, and they have very limited to nonexistent hours on the weekend.

Now we've tried to explain to them "No, there really will be people working, so please turn the A/C on" for the last several weekends, to very limited avail.

We're only planning on being here for a few hours today, but it's 9:30 in the morning and it's already quite hot in here. This will be a real fun and drowsiness-inducing few hours.

The thing that really kills me about them killing the A/C is that none of the offices, at least in our suite, have light switches. So the big, annoying, fluorescent lights that just suck down energy are on 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, whether anyone's here or not.

Way to be energy-efficient, guys.

Miscellany From The Last Day of Shooting

A few bits of errata, Laz style:

-- Because we were on a Wednesday-Sunday shooting schedule, I had taken to calling each day "Fake ____". Like Wednesday was Fake Monday, Thursday was Fake Tuesday, Friday was Fake Wednesday.

Today, the last day I have to deal with this shift, I found a flaw in my cunning plan: I forgot that it was Fake Wednesday, not real Wednesday, and that therefore the aqua aerobics class would be taking over the pool at 9 instead of 9:30, and got kicked out of the pool halfway through my laps.


-- Are you really really bored? Try to identify the candy bar simply by looking at a cross-section. I went 14 for 20.


-- I am extremely excited to see Wall-E tomorrow. Almost as excited as I am to actually have a Saturday off.


--Our entertainment this evening was chasing the mouse that lives in the kitchen all over the office. My PA was taking videos of this with his cellphone, one of which has me saying in the background, "Well, the mystery guy who lost his clothes finally called back."

No, I will not be posting these videos.


--We finally finished shooting!

This has been a fun show, and a very good learning experience. The shifted week thing has been an absolute bear, but at least it was only for three weeks. I pulled a couple sixth-day paychecks, which is helpful in the realm of "Mama needs a new pair of everything."

I'm back to a normal schedule for the next couple weeks (well, I'll be in for a couple hours Sunday, but nothing like my schedule previous sundays of 5pm-5am), and then I'm scrambling for a new job. Gotta love the freelance world!

When Fleas, Six-Day Weeks and 5:30 PM Call Times Collide

It's been hellaciously hot in L.A. this week, so the fleas that I thought I'd gotten rid of are back with a MASSIVE vengeance. The only real solution is to flea-bomb the house to kill 'em all.

The problem is, flea-bombing is a stupidly elaborate and time-consuming process, since it has a tendency to cover everything in a sticky, disgusting, chemical-filled film. You therefore have to cover some stuff up in advance, and wash a lot more stuff off afterwards.

I'm also working ridiculously late (or early, depending on your perspective). Our crew call was really late, and my call was 5:30 PM. That means they expect to be shooting until at least 5:30 AM. You know it's going to be a long night when the thing that will cause filming to stop is the sunrise.

All that in mind, here is my rough schedule for the next 36 hours:

Now-6AM: Work in my office where they've turned off the air conditioning. Possibly longer.

6-7AM: Drive back to Santa Monica, try to obtain a flea fogger at Ralph's (the grocery store).

7-8AM: Prepare apartment for fogging by putting all open food and dishes in either the fridge or the dishwasher and sealing.

8AM-9AM: Drop Chaplin off for flea dip, go to pet store and get flea fogger if Ralph's didn't have one.

9:30 AM - Set off flea fogger. Flee to Nate's house and take a nap for 2-3 hours while flea fogger does its bit.

12 Noon-1PM - Go home, open windows and let apartment air out.

1PM-2PM - Return to Nate's and napping, let apartment finish airing out.

2PM-3PM - Retrieve cat from groomers, take him home. Start to clean up.

3PM-9PM - Continue cleaning and laundering. Probably pass out from exhaustion. Hopefully will not die from whatever toxic fumes remain in my apartment.

9PM-11PM - Wake up, realize I never made it to the gym and that now I have to go in the morning. Finish cleaning.

11PM-6AM - Sleep.

6AM-9AM - Get up, go to the gym, go to work.


If I don't post for several days, send help.

It's Time For Another Good Idea, Bad Idea

Courtesy of the Tenant Services folks in the building where our Production Office is located:

Good Idea: Throwing a picnic for the tenants to kick off the summer and show your appreciation of their business.

Bad Idea: Serving Chili at the picnic, to a building full of people whose office windows do not open.

I'm going to go find myself a big box of matches...

*Crickets*

Ah, the dulcet tones of the Production Office when there's a 10am call and a projected exceedingly late wrap - The fridge sadly cranking along, two keyboards clacking away as two sets of hands type bored IMs to friends lucky enough to not be stuck at work at almost 11pm on a Saturday night.

You'll notice "the drone of the air conditioner" is not included on this list because...well, it's not on. And the engineer who actually knows how to turn it on has gone home. And the windows don't open here.

I'm getting a little sleepy. And I can't leave until they wrap. This is going to be a looooong evening.

At least a) I have gotten every bit of work I possibly can out of the way, b) I did my PT exercises so I don't have to when I get home, and c) I discovered that Netflix Watch Now has the Dragnet Blue Boy episode on it. This is the most gloriously paranoid half-hour of television ever.

After watching it with the poor PA who's stuck here with me, he said, "You know, this was only fifteen years before Hill Street Blues. I can't imagine how they came that far that quickly." He's damn right.

Signs You Have Lost Your Damn Mind

You work a fourteen-and-a-half hour day and as you blearily walk to you car, you think, "Man, that could have been a LOT worse."

Weekend Wrap-Up

I hopped the redeye to Cape Cod Friday night, and watched some Jons get married on Saturday. It was wonderful in so many ways.

The place Joel found us (thanks, Joel!) was fantastic, right on the water looking out into Nantucket Sound. It was a really gorgeous place to stay, it was incredibly fun to hang out with everyone, and it was such a nice break from the L.A. madness.

The wedding itself was beautiful, touching, and even hilarious. The dancing after the wedding was definitely hilarious, and I feel I made a nice drunken contribution to said hilarity.

In all seriousness, though, I hope to hell I find someone that makes me half as happy as the Jons obviously make each other. If I do, I'll consider myself incredibly lucky.

Although I lacked my camera, about 20 other people brought theirs, so there's no lack of documentation of the beauty of the weekend, both literal and metaphorical.

It was also my birthday on Sunday, and I'm pleased to note that for the first birthday since I turned 24, I managed to remain ambulatory for the entire day. It's those little victories that matter.

Speaking of little victories, I took no small amount of joy out of the fact that the Lakers choked both Friday AND Sunday against the Celtics.

I was slightly disappointed I couldn't find a "Lakers Suck!" shirt to wear around L.A. all week, but I suppose that given the general agressiveness and assholishness of Lakers fans, not finding said shirt reduces my chances of getting beat up and/or shot.

All in all, I had a really great weekend, and spent my day off today recovering from the whole thing in order to go into a truly delightful next three weeks of six-day weeks and a full shooting schedule.

Posting will be light for a bit, save the occasional complaint about how ridiculously goddamn tired I am.

A Brief List Of Things I Am Doing Instead of Posting

1. Killing fleas.
2. Washing all my bedding.
3. Working.
4. Itching.
5. Working.
6. Eating.
7. Itching some more.
8. Working some more.
9. Driving.
10. Killing a couple more fleas.
11. Applying calamine lotion.
12. Working.
13. Going to the gym.
14. Itching.
15. Wishing Chaplin were not so susceptible to fleas.
16. Maybe, just maybe, sleeping.

Oh, Yeah...

I suppose I should say something here before it starts, since I will likely be sucked into a black hole for a couple months once it does: I've got a new job starting Wednesday.

I'm leaving the HBO pilot I'm on as a PA up in Santa Clarita to work on a Fox pilot as an APOC (assistant production office coordinator) downtown. The good news on this change is severalfold:

First, this brings me back roughly to the level I was on back at House, though on a wholly different track. This track will have me joining a union and thereby getting health insurance that isn't tied to my job, which is a huge thing for my broke ass at the moment.

Secondly, my base pay is finally back to where it was. Oddly, I probably won't take home as much as I do at my current job, if only because I'm not driving 400-800 miles a week for work and getting mileage for it. However, I also won't be having to buy 3-5 tanks of gas a week, so it evens out.

Thirdly, I won't have to drive anywhere near as much. 15 miles to downtown instead of 35 to Santa Clarita, and very few (if any) runs. My poor car, which I've driven almost eight thousand miles over the last two months, is ready for the break.

Hopefully, if the show gets picked up to go to series, they'll take me along for the ride, bringing yet another period of random employment to an end. But, if it doesn't get picked up (or they elect not to take me with them if they do), I'll at least be in the union, and it'll be a hell of a lot easier for me to get another job.

So all in all, I'm pretty excited about this, although I'm fairly nervous since I have a short time to make an impression, and I have to knock it out of the park pretty much immediately and constantly.

The bad news is that with the shooting schedule perilously close to the SAG strike deadline, I may be working a Saturday or four, so we'll see what shred of my sanity remains after we wrap. Whee!

Duly Noted

I took my current job just under 2 months ago. Since then I have driven over six thousand miles, almost all of it either to, from, or for work.

I have bought 28 26 tanks of gas to accomplish this feat, at a total price of $1031.28.

I am really starting to wish I had a Prius.

Tail of the Tape

Hours worked this week: 76.6, for a six-day week.

Miles driven for work this week: 841. And I didn't even drive anywhere Sunday.

Days I still managed to drag myself to the gym: 4, exactly as planned. I now know I can do this and am not allowed to make "But I had to work sooooo much" excuses.

Brain and Sanity: Gone! Hee hee!

Reader Alert

Posting's going to be pretty light this week, as I'm trying to keep up the exercise even as we ramp up towards the first day of shooting on the pilot Friday.

At this point, I'm spending maybe half an hour each day at home that is not a) doing physical therapy or b) getting ready for work or c) sleeping.

So y'all may just have to entertain yourselves for a while.

When People Ask Me What It's Like To Be On Set

I'm going to start pointing them to this Dave Barry column, in which he recounts his experiences being an extra in a Jennifer Aniston-Owen Wilson comedy:

As an extra, you do a lot of standing around. First you stand around waiting for the set to be prepared. Then you stand around on the set while they rehearse the scene. Then you stand around being the background while they shoot the scene. Then you stand around waiting while they look at the scene to see if anything went wrong, which something always does. Then you stand around while they shoot the scene again. It goes on for hours and hours, the standing. But it's worth it, because the money is huge.

I am, of course, kidding. For a day's work -- and it can be a long day's work -- they pay you $100, or what one of the extras, Joyce Newman of Miami, described as ``one-third of a good pair of shoes.'

This, really, sums up what a lot of working in the entertainment industry (especially on set) is like: Run around like a fucking crazy person for a little while, then wait while other people run around like fucking crazy people. Repeat, repeat, and then repeat again.

It's a sexy business, I tell you.

A Twist In Time

Why is it that almost leaving work at 6:00, then getting stuck with an extra errand and not leaving until 6:30, is much more frustrating than just working straight through until 7:30 or 8?

Stupid dangling of a chance to sit in traffic earlier than usual...

Good Grief

I worked two days last week. Mileage take? $58.08.

Maybe with all the runs I've been doing this week, I'll actually manage to make up for the $150 in gas I've had to buy in the last 8 days since I took this job.

The Return of Employment

Well, I cracked.

I had resisted taking a PA job for three months, since I didn't want to take a minor step back professionally just because I didn't want to sit around the house all day.

That resistance came crashing down yesterday when a friend emailed looking to replace herself, and I'll be working on a pilot for the next few weeks to months starting tomorrow.

The pay is crap (as all PA pay is), but when you add in the mileage, it's at least more than I'd be making sitting on my ass and collecting unemployment.

It will hopefully have the added benefit of the restoration of my sanity, which has recently been hanging by a frightfully thin thread after three months of unemployment.

The people seem cool, and luckily fairly okay with the idea that if I get a better offer, I'm going to take it. The transience of employment in pilot season actually works in my favor there.

The main downside is that the office is in frickin' Santa Clarita, so that's a nice little 70 mile daily round trip, before I even start doing runs. At least it means I'll get a lot more mileage, since it's way far from pretty much everything.

The people who sell me gas and change my oil are going to love this job.

Free Stuff!

The company I used to work for (not the show itself, but the much smaller company that technically employed me) has hired me for the week to clean out their old offices, which were basically unused by more than one person for over two years.

They're selling much of the old furniture to the incoming tenants, but they've decided not to store any of the remnants, so they're giving away what they couldn't convince the new kids to take.

I scored a very nice lamp, which will now bring light to my attempts to read on the couch, and a great overstuffed chair that conveniently matches the color of the couch.

There's only one minor issue: The chair has been sat upon by two dogs in the fairly recent past, a pug belonging to my former employers and a husky/Aussie shephard mix belonging to another employee.

This was slightly concerning, since I know Chaplin doesn't get along very well with other animals (this is a large part of why I have him in the first place: while he's a sweet kitty on his own, he didn't get along with his previous owner's other pets).

After I dragged the chair into my apartment this evening, Chaplin flipped a bit, sniffing and scratching and scratching and sniffing at it, and seemingly generally concerned.

At least he was until he decided to bury himself in the chair, working his own little groove into the seat. It'll be covered in cat hair in no time.

And that's when I'll know that the chair is definitely mine, since the defining characteristic of about 90% of what I own is that it's covered in cat hair.

A Quiet Goodbye

Not quite a complete goodbye yet, since I've already agreed to come in on Wednesday and help out with some holiday nonsense as I badly need the money.

But today was my last day of real work. It's been almost exactly two years since I started working for my employers, and today I officially got laid off.

It's been deathly quiet for some time, with more than 90% of our crew gone. But tonight, as I packed my belongings and deleted my files from my computer, I was the only one there.

All I could hear was the buzzing of the fluorescent lights, and the insanely loud ticking of the clock in the bullpen as I addressed a couple of letters and finished cleaning out my desk and all my decorations.

I don't know when this strike is going to be over. The WGA's NLRB complaint, while it may be legally justified, certainly isn't going to speed up the process of returning to negotiations.

Because of that, I have no idea if I'm coming back. I have some savings, but not enough to last me more than about three months, if I'm being realistic. I have to start looking for a job at the first of the year if I don't want to starve.

So I packed up everything, from my Giant Bottle O'Advil to the hilarious "While You Were Out, Everyone Exploded" message a co-worker left me over a year ago, and that I'd tacked to the wall for posterity.

And I listened to the clock tick and tick and tick, time marching inexorably forward, and life moving on whether I wanted it to or not.

So I walked out the door, and I shut off the lights in the office for the weekend. And I closed the door behind me, wondering when (besides Wednesday) or if I'd be opening it again.

A Distressingly Close Approximation Of My Office At The Moment

Is shown in this video from the kids at Late Night With Conan O'Brien.

You can't hear the buzz of the overhead fluorescent lights as loudly as you can in my office right now, but the level of deadness is pretty comparable.

The Axe Swings Backward

Well, at least the uncertainty is pretty much gone: If the strike's not settled by the end of next week, then next Friday's my last day.

At least I got the courtesy of a warning so I can get my shit together both physically and financially, unlike the last time I got canned.

It sucks, but I'm getting paid for two more weeks than the entire crew and most of the production office, so I'm still in a better position than most.

And now, to try and trim the nonexistent fat out of my budget...

The Wind-Down

I've experienced the wind-down once before, during summer hiatus between seasons 2 and 3. Between 3 and 4 I missed it, since I was trapped in my apartment after getting foot surgery instead.

The wind-down comes after we finish filming, which we did on Thursday. Everyone gets their wrap days, cleans out all their shit, and says, "See you in a couple of months."

Except this time, nobody has any fucking clue when we're going to see each other. Up until Thursday night, I had some confidence that this could be settled soon.

Then this hit, and it became clear that this wasn't a realistic offer, and even more dreariness descended upon us.

So everyone wished everyone else a Merry Christmas, a joking "Happy Strike-atus!", and offered our fervent, probably false hopes that we'd see each other again in January.

Normally, during the wind-down, everyone knows we'll see each other in a couple months. This time, if there's no settlement by Christmas, nobody knows.

The problem is, everyone needs to eat, and if the strike goes long enough, we and every other show around will probably lose half our crew to features, if not more. So we say goodbye and see you soon, and hope to hell that's the case.

This is a time that's very odd for me as well, since working for the one and only non-writing Executive Producer who's there day to day, I'm going to be one of the last people out.

I'm exceedingly lucky that I've worked twelve months a year for the last two years, and I'm even luckier that I still have a job when the vast majority of my friends are going to be unemployed after tomorrow.

Were this a real hiatus, this would be simultaneously the worst time at work, but the best time out of work.

Worst because there's not generally a ton for me to do except take the occasional messenger run up to our corporate overlords in Universal City, and some research that I beg for to keep my brain from rotting.

Best because I actually get out of work after ten hours at 6pm, early enough to feel like I have a normal job for once in my life. During the summer, during real hiatus, it's early enough for me to go for a bike ride down to the beach.

But it's strike-atus. It's the middle of the winter, and unless I leave at about 3pm, I would never get home with enough light to make it to the beach before the sun set and the temperature dropped precipitously.

So I'll wander in to my apartment complex in the dark, worried as hell about what happens after Post finishes and my presence becomes even more redundant.

And I'll enjoy the last few episodes of my favorite shows as the networks burn them off, waiting for an RSS bulletin or a phone call or a news flash while flipping through channels to tell me it's finally over.

And then we'll slam back into gear, and I'll be busier than ever. But I sure as hell won't be complaining about how much work I have to do.

That's Appropriate

So I get home from drinking with the crew because today (well, yesterday at this hour) was our last day of filming, and I grab the computer so I can read while icing my foot.

The first thing I see when I look at my RSS feeds is this from the Onion: "Uninsured Man Hopes His Symptoms Diagnosed This Week On House."

So hilarious on so, so, so many levels, the most bitterly ironic of which is that many of my friends who work on the show are about to be uninsured themselves.

Bowling Notes

From last night's Office vs. Set Bowl Off: Where Strikes Are A Good Thing.

- Bowling is really hard if you've injured the foot you have to plant.

- If you have injured that foot, bowling becomes a lot easier if you just muscle the ball from off your good foot, even though it may fuck with your shoulder a bit.

- Teamsters are excellent bowlers.

- Watching rarely-drinking friends getting wasted off of one drink is even more fun when bowling is involved than at a normal party.

- Watching your co-workers jump up and down like five year olds whenever they get a strike is hilarious.

We're totally challenging another show as soon as the writers' strike is over.

It Begins

Five of my friends got laid off today.

Four days into the strike, not a "your last day is Friday," not a "you have until the end of the day", a letter from the conglomerate stating "your employment is terminated effective immediately." Turn in your badge and your keys this minute, and don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.

My friends knew it was coming, since they all worked in the writers' office. The logic was simple enough. But nobody thought it'd come quite so soon or so obnoxiously harshly.

I still have a job for now. Working directly for my boss's production company rather than for a multinational conglomerate has its advantages, but if the strike goes long enough, I'm out on the street too.

Small solace for me, but no solace for my friends let go the exact second the conglomerate figured out who they could can.

This is going to get so very much worse before it gets better.

Update: Ed Bernero from Criminal Minds sent a CM fansite a long but fairly clear explanation of the writers' side of the argument.

I'm linking here because it's got the best real-world analogy of residuals I've come across, comparing the payments to a contractor who gets half the money for remodeling your kitchen upfront, while getting paid for the rest as the work gets completed.

A Little Perspective

Strike day 1 came and went. Some pictures of the group picketing the lot this morning are up on LAist, but our writers were on the afternoon shift, so none of my friends are pictured there.

However, this afternoon I found out another friend I used to work with got hit by a car and badly injured while she was riding her motorcycle yesterday. She's going to live, but only because she was wearing her helmet.

She's still in the ICU, and after a very long time in surgery yesterday, it looks like she's going to be okay, or at least as okay as you can be after having one of your hands crushed into a million pieces and having your femur break so badly it breaks the skin, among her many, many injuries.

As much whining as I do about my stupid foot and all the horseshit it's given me after I tripped on a stupid fucking rock, it's nothing compared to the utter hell my friend is about to go through.

It also gives me perspective about my worries about unemployment: If I lose my job, I can get another one. My friend might never be able to get back a lot of what she lost yesterday.

Cross your fingers for her. She's a good kid, and I wouldn't wish the pain and frustration she's about to go through on my worst enemy.

Dept. of It Could Be Worse

I had a fairly disastrous day at work today, particularly since my foot decided it wanted to suddenly slam back into Excruciating Pain Mode shortly after lunch.

It seems to be doing better now after a whole lot of ice, but on top of the tinsel-covered holiday hell I'm already deeply embroiled in, it was not fun. After a day like today, all I wanted to do was come home and wallow in self-pity.

But then, I read stories like 250,000 households evacuated in San Diego because of fire, and I remember: Things could be a lot worse.

An Inauspicious Sunday

Two items today that together are a real great way to kick off the week:


First, last night there were some serious Santa Ana winds blowing, and my power (and the power to the rest of my block) went out. To SoCal Edison's credit, it was back on within the hour.

However, one key item in my apartment building seems to have been permanently injured by the flickering of the power before it finally died: The hot water heater.

That's right, my apartment building has NO hot water. I lived with having cold water for laundry, figuring the soap was fine for most dirt, and the heat from the dryer would kill just about everything else.

The real problem occurred when I first discovered the lack of hot water...when I jumped in the shower after I came home from the gym, and thought I was about to freeze solid.

I shower at home when I go to the gym because the showers at my gym are horror-movie level disgusting. After freezing my ass off, waiting in vain for the water to warm up, I briefly reconsidered going back to the gym. Then I decided it was better to freeze.

After considering options (although forgetting a few: I thought of a couple people I could have called later to beg for the use of their unfrozen showers), I decided to run a bath, and then boil a bunch of water in the hopes of at least making things livably lukewarm.

That worked decently, except for the fact that my bathtub doesn't really seal off too well, so there was a slow draining that caused a minor race against the clock in terms of completing my ablutions.

I still had to gut out a minute of rinsing in the ice-cold shower water, but all in all, it could have been a lot worse.


Secondly, this story went up (and continues to go up in pieces), which makes me rather pessimistic about the strike. Nikki Finke, who runs Deadline Hollywood, can be rather full of herself, but she's also usually right on the money in terms of predicting what's going to happen.

The gist of that story for those who don't feel like reading the inside-baseball account is that a large number of the moguls are willing to let the writers walk, losses at the box office and the ratings be damned.

The whole thing is shaping up to be a clusterfuck of epic proportions, although I can't imagine that either the Governator or Mayor Villaraigosa won't step in and try to smack some sense into these people, given how fiscally disastrous a strike would be for the L.A. economy.

The last big Hollywood strike, a 22 week writers' strike in '88, cost the studios alone over $500 million, and the ripple effect into the local economy was well over a billion.

I don't think it's a stretch at all to say between inflation and the significantly larger entertainment business, this strike could cost L.A. a billion dollars a month.

As for me, I'm stocking up on Ramen and canned goods and cat food, and battening down the hatches.

I'm lucky enough that I think my bosses will have enough for me to do (and enough reserve funds) to keep me at least partially employed through the end of the year. But if the strike drags on for four or five months, I don't know how long they can continue to justify paying me.

The sad thing is, I'm far better off than most. If the writers walk November 1st, most of my friends will be out of work by Thanksgiving. And accepted wisdom is if they walk then, there's no way they're back before the first of the year.

There will be some feature production, as anything that's already got a script is going to get made, but it's not going to be nearly enough to make up for the huge number of TV people who suddenly become unemployed.

I keep hearing the argument that I shouldn't stress about it because there's nothing I can do about it. While it's true that I have no control over this mess, that just makes me stress about it even more.

I tend to get more worried about things I can't control because I can't do anything about them. If I can do something, then I get up and do it and it's done. All I can do now is sit on the sidelines and hope these guys don't wind up driving this whole industry over a cliff.

Sadly, the consensus seems to be that both sides are so pissed off at each other that they don't realize they're about to do just that.

This Can't Be Good

Ah, fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

As the potential armageddon draws closer and on a day when I'm not as tired, I'll go into more detail about exactly what a strike would mean, both to the industry in general and to me in particular.

Suffice to say for now, I'm becoming very, very glad that I'm going to be in Chicago this weekend, away from the HOLLYWOOD STRIKEWATCH! madness seizing this town.

Not Dead

Just damn busy. Work's been a bit nuts, and working out 5 days a week is just about killing me.

On the upside, I did get a free ticket to the Dave Matthews Band concert on Tuesday at the Hollywood Bowl through work. The show was awesome (guest apperances by some spectacular banjo player whose name I never caught, John Mayer playing way better than I'd previously given him credit for, and Ziggy and Steven Marley) and as we have a connection to Dave, the seats were great.

A couple other bits of miscellany I've been meaning to post but haven't got around to it:

- My gym recently rearranged their equipment, and now all the recumbent bikes (the ones where you sit down and your feet are out in front of you rather than below you like a regular bike), which are the ones I use because they're easier on Mister Cranky Ankle, are out in front of the room where the spin class takes place.

There's one bike nobody ever rides unless every other bike is full, because it's the one directly outside the spin class, so you spend your entire ride having to listen to the really obnoxious instructor try to motivate people by being so annoying that they're imagining each pedal push to be a stomp on her face.

I got stuck on that bike TWICE this week. I am literally going to stuff a sock in her mouth if I get stuck on it again.


- I don't think I've ever gotten as strong reactions to wearing my Cubs hat as I did at Oktoberfest down in Torrance last weekend. Apparently a lot of heavy beer-drinkers are Brewers fans! Who'd have thought?


- Another reason posting has been lacking is that I've only managed to delete one season pass so far of the stuff that's premiered. There's a remarkable number of decent shows (Chuck being the primary standout) and only one real stinker (Big Shots).

There's a few more shows I'll probably shitcan after the second or third episode if they don't improve, including a few that I've watched for several seasons but that have recently taken some unbelievably dumb plot twists.


- So the writers are going to authorize a strike and their contract expires at the end of the month. The working theory is that this is just saber-rattling, and that they won't walk until the actors' and directors' contracts are up in May, since working together they can shut down the whole industry.

The problem is, by authorizing a strike right now, they basically leave the threat of a walkout, which would shut down production shortly thereafter, hanging over Hollywood for seven months. Guys, I'm begging you. Please wait until May. My strike fund is not ready yet.

WHAT?!

My voice is totally gone right now, but notwithstanding that, I can't even tell you how happy I am.

Party: Done, and seemed to be enjoyed. Gift: Done, and seemed to be enjoyed. Filming....uh, not so done, but hopefully done by the end of the week.

But party and gift, done! Woo Hoo!

*passes out*

Swag + Good Cause = Fun

Shameless plug time!

For crew gifts every season, we do shirts with pithy quotes from the lead character of the show. Everywhere people wear them, we get people asking us where they can get one.

Starting today, you too (or your friend who loves our show too) can own your very own pithy quote shirt, and help raise money for the National Alliance on Mental Illness in the process.

Huzzah

I see this idiot's Hummer every day on the Fox Lot, and I got sorely tempted to post some pictures here but wasn't sure whether that'd violate some sort of lot rule.

Thank you, Defamer, for posting that picture so I don't have to.

Now I can focus on noting that this tool has that delightful slogan on the Yosemite Fund special plate. I can't tell if he's trying to be ironic or if he's just that stupid.

It Begins Again

My boss's episode shoots one night tomorrow night (yes, Saturday. Don't get me started.), then starts shooting for real on thursday, so I'm going to be back in the black hole of 16 hour days for a while.

I should have a more concrete update on the Foot Fiasco of '07 sometime late next week, which I will share with you since I'm sure you're all dying to know.

Otherwise, just assume I'm working until I pass out, because that's likely what I'm doing.

Contraption Update

Remember that contraption to replace crutches I was talking about? I was showing the web page to people around the office, asking if they'd ever heard of anyone who'd used it.

Turns out not only had my friend Pam heard of it, she knew the guy who invented it (back in the day when it was called the CanadaLeg), and had tried it out and assured me it worked surprisingly well.

I'm now talking to the guy, trying to figure out if I can get my insurance to cover the cost. I'm totally taking pictures if I get one.

Easter Fun

One of my coworkers received a large box of Easter crap from his folks today, including an enormous number of Peeps. I commented that we should microwave them, and someone asked why.

Peeps, as has been repeatedly documented, expand to several times their original size in the microwave, and then poof out in an awesomely gruesome fashion. Occasionally, they explode and leave a delightfully sticky mess all over the microwave.

What do a bunch of grown people (of whom I'd like to note I am the youngest) decide to do when presented with this information and are unsure whether to believe it? Conduct their own testing in the office microwave.

This is what happens at 8pm on a Thursday when people work 12 to 15 hour days together for eight months in a row: They start acting like a bunch of twelve year olds.

Viewer Alert

Remember how I said a couple months ago that my boss was directing an episode? It's now finished, and it airs Tuesday at 9 (8 Central). Please feel free to watch and goose our 18-49 numbers.

Geek vs. Geek

This week my boss is still directing. More 16 hour days on set, and a lot more learning. The TV geek part of me is very happy.

However, the gadget geek part is having a slight panic attack. This week is both the international Consumer Electronics Show and the Macworld San Francisco expo.

Now, I realize not finding out about things AS THEY HAPPEN! is not the end of the world, but seeing all the dueling coverage and seeing the goofy reveals live is pretty damn entertaining, and I'm going to miss about 90% of it this year.

I've got several people promising to keep me updated on anything big announced, though I'm fully expecting a couple fakes ("Steve Jobs just announced a personal spacecraft! It's called the iOrbit and it's the size of a newt! I totally want one.").

Luckily, a few companies are releasing stuff at CES today for me to drool over or laugh at tonight.

Speaking of things to laugh at, The L Word starts up their new season tonight. I'd like to say it cannot possibly be worse than their last season, but when they scrape the bottom of the barrel, they have a a remarkable ability to punch all the way through.

Happy New Year!

Hope everyone had fun last night. I definitely did, though I believe "getting hammered and playing Cranium" qualifying as fun makes me approximately 400 years old.

Sadly, this will be my last update for a few days because I'm about to get sucked back into the vortex of work. My boss is directing the episode that starts shooting tomorrow, so that's going to be very interesting but with some very long hours.

In my absence, please feel free to debate in the comments what the people behind the Geostationary Banana Over Texas project are smoking.

Cue Handel's Messiah

Woo hoo!

Holiday crew gifts are out. Holiday party is over (and people seemed to have a good time). My Week O'Hell is OVER.

Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to go sleep for a long, long, long time.

Not Dead Yet

Yes, I am still alive. Down the rabbit hole a bit, but still alive. Here's a brief recap of a few things going on:

- Thanksgiving with mom went well, then Cleo stopped by for a few days. I need a neon "vacancy" sign.

- I joined 24 Hour Fitness. I'm trying to work out 4-5 days a week, 45 minutes a day. Doing this means getting up at 6am every. damn. day. during the week. Because of this, I'm a little tired.

- Work has been insane. This past week was less insane than the previous week, but still nice and batshit crazy.

- UCLA beating USC and thus knocking Florida into the title game has set up a battle royale over college football between two of my good friends. It is going to be hilarious.

- Did I mention that I'm a little tired?

- I got a fortune cookie with my Chinese food tonight that told me, "An admirer is concealing his affection from you." I found this rather weird.

- This week is going to be completely nuts because Saturday is the holiday party, which I've spent the last couple months pulling together. And I'm singing with the band that's playing...and I haven't sung in front of 300 people in about 3 years.

- My head hurts. Then again, so does every muscle in my body. So I suppose that evens out.

More than likely no blogging this week again. Once I have some shred of sanity back, it will return. Until then, I'm afraid you're just going to have to entertain yourselves.

It's Beginning To Melt A Lot Like Christmas

Outside my office is the New York Street set at Fox, and a progression of shows have been turning the street into a winter wonderland for various Christmas episodes. It's amusing, though it's very weird that it's been going on since October.

What's probably the final one was out there shooting today, and I guess they had a lot of spare money sitting in their budget. They rented an ice truck and a big snowmaking machine and covered the entire outdoor set in real(ish) snow.

The only problem? Today's high: 77 degrees.

I felt so bad for the poor extras who were dressed like they were in freezing weather. They must have lost five pounds each just from sweating.

Week In Brief

Assorted news and notes:

- I came down with a real nasty sinus bug starting Wednesday. Lots of fun. And by fun, I mean massive pain.

- It takes more forms of identification to be allowed to purchase real Sudafed than it does to pay for it with a credit card. By the time I was done, I was surprised they didn't want me to leave a DNA sample.

- Even though I was sick, I stayed late at work to watch a big stunt last night. Totally worth it.

- I am already very tired of Christmas and its related parties and gifts.

- I found a mechanic who not only doesn't suck, but is actively good! Thanks, CarTalk.com!

- Did I mention that I feel like my sinuses are about to burst forth from my head like that scene in Alien?

Shark Attack

Part of the reason I enjoy my job is that sometimes very bizarre and amusing things happen.

Most of the time, I can't write about them here because of the numerous and voluminous Non-Disclosure Agreements I've had to sign, but since the LA Times wrote about this one, I think I'm safe.

I hereby present the relevant part of the story, without further comment:

After the interview, he gets back in the golf cart. As he drives by the set of "House," he spontaneously decides to stop. He pulls into a spot that says "Parking for Hugh Laurie Only." Woods was told earlier that "House" sent over a good-luck cake. When he walks onto the set, the stand-ins who are rehearsing flip for the star.

I just want to thank everybody for the cake you sent us today.

Everyone stares at him blankly.

OK, it turns out you didn't know about it. But I want to thank you for sending the cake you didn't know about. We're going to take it as a sign of good luck. And we'll return the favor by sending you back a spinach soufflé. Just kidding. Keep up the good work. See you all later.

Outside, Woods says he wants to go to the "House" production office to thank them. His girlfriend, Ashley, who kept him in the tabloids all summer and has now joined him, says she wants to go home and re-curl her hair and change clothes for the evening's premiere party. She wins.

Back outside his trailer

Woods tells the show's crew about his visit to the "House" set. An assistant looks panicked. Woods is informed the cake actually came from the set of "Bones."

The actor laughs and laughs before he asks: Does anybody know where "Bones" is?

Try Stage 10, Mr. Woods.

Party Central, How May I Help You?

Is it bad that it's not even October and I'm already growing tired of dealing with Christmas stuff?

Old vs. New

A brief comparison of my old and new apartments, and the neighborhoods containing them:

Time to Work
Old: 20-35 minutes, depending on traffic.
New: 10-15 minutes, depending on traffic.
Winner: New

Flooring
Old: Grody, easily stained and horrific to clean carpet.
New: Hardwood floors.
Winner: New

Kitchen
Old: Termite-infested cabinets, linoleum from the 70's, barely enough room to turn around.
New: Brand new everything, marble floor, granite countertops, decent size.
Winner: New

Bathroom
Old: Tiny, with the sink and mirror in the hall for some reason.
New: Still fairly small, but self-contained. Marble tile on the floor and in the shower, brand new fixtures.
Winner: New.

Bedroom
Old: Large room, tiny closet.
New: Moderate size room, huge closet (which I've basically turned into a storage area.
Winner: Draw.

Owner/Management of Building
Old: Extremely sketchy company that is quite possibly a front for the Russian mob (How many legit property management companies do you know that operate out of a PO Box?).
New: Single owner that people have actually seen, using a property management company with actual offices.
Winner: New

Closest Fast Food Restaurant
Old: In-N-Out
New: KFC
Winner: Old.

Closest Store
Old: Costco
New: 99¢ Only
Winner: New

Closest School
Old: Massive public high school, right out my window.
New: Language magnet school four blocks away.
Winner: New

Distance From Beach
Old: 1.7 miles
New: 2.3 miles
Winner: Old

Cat Control
Old: Cat couldn't get out of the building, could only see other cats in the building.
New: Cat keeps trying to run out the door into the neighborhood every time I leave the house, other cats come to the window and mock him until he starts yowling at them.
Winner: Old.

Tangent alert! I took Chaplin to get chipped this morning, and I found it odd to be putting a chip in him the week we aired an episode with a kid trying to cut a chip out.

Parking
Old: Gated and underground, but with a tendency for the gate to get stuck at inconvenient times.
New: Off street.
Winner: Old, but not by much.

Vertical Transportation
Old: Elevator, prone to breakdowns and squeaking like a crying child.
New: One flight of stairs.
Winner: Draw.

Bottom line, there are a few things about the old place that I'll miss, but the new place is far, far ahead in all the areas I really give a shit about. And I probably shouldn't live two blocks from an In-N-Out Burger anyway.