Marching in the wind at 20th and being sprayed by the fountain along
Pico for three hours a day.
Incessant honking. It was like driving in Mexico City.
That guy at 20th getting the cars to honk. I saw him at the Shrine and
was surprised. I didn't realize he was a writer. I just thought this
was his job and that if Ralph's markets go on strike he'll be standing
on Ventura Blvd. trying to get you to honk for that.
Reading Nikki Finke's blog. Sure I could still read it, but now it'll
just be show biz news -- Who got fired at New Line? Which agent is
switching tenpercenteries? Who the fuck cares?
Those inspired videos from the Late Night writers. Why can't Late Night
be as funny?
Hanging out on line with my good buddy Elvis Costello. It was one of
the greatest minutes of my life.
Getting into a fender bender with another writer. Exchanging insurance
information and credits.
The actors' support and show of solidarity, which is the only way any
of us will ever get anything from these mega conglomerates.
Those idiots with the bullhorns trying to lead us in chants. They'd
start out so enthusiastic. Then, after ten minutes of blank stares
they'd say "fuck it" and go back to the car.
Being interviewed by the BBC. Disappointed that it was about the strike
and not my views on the monarchy but still.
Seeing my neighbor for the first time in years. She had a pool put in?
Really? Where was I?
Being asked by every person not in the business: "When is the strike
going to end?" As if I knew.
I kept saying January. I was only off by a month (assuming we ratify
the deal. If not, I was off by six months.).
Emailing members of the negotiating committee for updates and having
them always promptly respond. Even if the news wasn't good.
The plunge in TV ratings. American Gladiators was not enough to save
the entire industry.
Marching one day with each of my kids. Who needs to play catch with
your son or treat your daughter to a Broadway show when you can stick
picket signs in their hands and make them walk in circles with you for
Hosting a weekly radio show on KABC and knowing I was the highest paid
writer in America.
Peeing at the Rancho Park clubhouse.
Free Alicia Keyes concerts.
Seeing people I hadn't seen since the last strike. And aging better
than at least two of them!
Having something to write about in my blog.
Members of the old guard. For four months these veterans of the
industry -- writers of many of your all-time favorite TV shows and
movies and now unemployable -- had a purpose. For four months they were
just as important as Judd Apatow and Carlton Cuse. They marched in the
rain and cold (and in New York -- the snow) for benefits they'll never
see. I wish among all the standing ovations Saturday night at the
Shrine there was one for these talented men and women to whom we owe so
It was fun to hear them tell stories. It was sort of like Radford Danny
Shutting down the Golden Globes.
Marching with Richie, Katherine, Allan, Howard, Bob, Bobby, the
Northwestern mafia, the staff of EARL, Andrea, Charlotte, the guys from
FRASIER, Tom, Treva, David, David, David, David, David, and of course,
You can read more from Ken at kenlevine.blogspot.com
Read more strike coverage on the Huffington Post's writers' strike page.