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My friend, fellow blogger, and career Democrat Greg Dewar has more blogs than I do. There's Greg Dewar.com, the N-Judah Chronicles, and the N-Judah Sideshow. However, it's his latest blog that I believe that will be of some interest to my readers who are fans of the BSG.
My fellow Americans, are you unhappy with our current crop of Presidential Candidates? Are you looking for a leader with a larger worldview? Look no further:
It's a very complicated case... a lot of ins and outs, a lot of what-have-yous. And a lot of strands to keep in my head, man. A lot of strands in old Duder's head. --The Big Lebowski
My friend Kate Coe, an editor at MediaBistro, has been outed as a CIA covert operative! According to the site, she's been dispatched to Fishbowl-LA to assist in the cover-up of the alleged hit on artist and filmmaker Theresa Duncan, and assigned the job of destroying Duncan's - and her boyfriend, digital artist Jeremy Blake's - reputation.
The operation is so covert that even Kate herself didn't know she was a CIA operative. Clearly we've got a Manchurian Candidate situation. The switch has been thrown, her microchip has been activated, her only goal: to assassinate the reputation of an occasional blogger, screenwriter, and artist.
I can't believe it. Nowhere, I mean no-freaking-where in her bio does it say she's CIA. Why aren't my tax dollars at work ruining my reputation? Where's my cool CIA baseball cap? Why have I been calling her Kate and her calling me Nina WHEN WE COULD HAVE BEEN USING CODE NAMES?
C'mon, hook a girl up. I look great in black!
(More, at Gawker.)
Speaking of secret payouts, I have this question to ask: why is it the people who ask to borrow money from you, citing thins like rent check and car payments, always seem to have enough money for haircuts and tattoos and expensive dinners out? Then they don't get evicted and their cars don't get repossessed, and they end up tattoo'd, fed and fabulous. Did I miss out on the slice of that fat money cake? Am I immune to the siren's song of savoury crepes for brunch?
Am I the only sucker paying my bills?
Edited to add, 7:02pm: Thanks to Vintage Caveman for noting that I have been added to the blacklist! I expect the black helicopters bearing my CIA orientation kit shortly.
When I was a kid, SlackDad was an Assistant Attorney General for the State of Illinois. He worked side-by-side with the Attorney General and argued twice in front of the Supreme Court of the United States.
Of course, I was five or six years old, so all this meant to me was that sometimes he would drive around in this maroon car with the state seal on the side and a furrow appeared in his brow up to a week before he'd leave for Washington, D.C. However, he did wear the Mickey Mouse tie (burgundy with tasteful and discreet old-style Mickey at the bottom) tie I asked him to for good luck. I know he's won one and lost one, but I don't know if was the time he wore the Mickey Mouse tie. Because he's SlackDad, I imagine he'd lie and say yes.
The first time I remember anyone voting was in 1980, when Ronald Reagan was elected President. I had just turned eight and we were learning about the whole process in Mrs. Davis' third grade class at Main Street School. During the weeks leading up to the general election, I conducted my own informal polls about who people were voting for. Most of my neighbors told me I'm voting for your dad. This sounded suspect, but SlackMom informed me that you could write in a candidate. You could vote for anyone? The sheer possibility blew my eight-year-old mind.
Unless you've been living in a hole for the past few weeks, you'll notice today is Super Tuesday. (Even if you've been living in a hole, all of the i_voted tags on Flickr should clue you in.) I forgot to change my voter registration, so as in years past I'll head over to my polling place which is in the living room of an old neighbor*. There's something odd about walking across a shag carpet and performing your civic duty next to a china cabinet filled with Hummels, but that's the brilliance of this system. We all get a say. (Even her.)
So go vote today. Just don't vote for SlackDad. Not that he wouldn't do a great job, but he's kinda busy right now.
Edited to add: that doesn't mean you need to tell me who you voted for. Like my husband says, like anything else you do in a dark booth, who you vote for is none of anyone else's business.
*Whoops, not anymore. Good thing I checked.
I was just getting in my car when I checked my phone and noticed a tweet from the JustJENN which read
The Joker - Heath Ledger- is dead?! WHAT!?
That can't be right, I thought, and I drove home through the drizzle, wondering if she was talking about the new Batman movie, perhaps? Does the Joker die at the end? I let myself in the apartment and before I let Daisy out of her crate, I went to my computer.
I found Daisy and walked her through the rain, wondering why I was so upset. Sure, I thought his work in Brokeback Mountain was great but I wasn't really a fan. As I poked around on my blogroll, I discovered that a lot of people were experiencing the same sort of shock.
We aren't surprised to hear about a Brad Renfro, but Heath Ledger takes us aback. But the lesson is this: those who appear to have it all - looks, fame, success, money - can still feel as if they have nothing. It's one of those uniting moments of our humanness. We all know joy, but we all also know sorrow. You'd be hard-pressed to find someone who hasn't experienced utter, gut-wrenching hopelessness.
Now everyone has a different take on what they find hopeless. I once knew a man who came to work after the funeral of his mother but needed a week off and therapy to get over the death of his dog. We can judge what is worthy through our own personal filter. I know that I'm guilty of doing so, especially when I read blogs. Will will vouch for this, as he hears my irritated voice calling out you'll never believe what she's bitching about now, she might as well be saying boo-hoo I have too much money feel sorry for me! But everyone's got that dark place. And for some of us, that darkness has no other side.
There's no news on whether the overdose was accidental or intentional.
The other lesson is this: life is fleeting. Cliched, but true. A few years back I was living the proverbial high life, collecting residuals, occasionally working, living in a big fancy house on the hill, playing WoW and throwing cocktail parties. Now I'm working three part-time jobs and considering a fourth (on Sundays!), I'm running two blogs, I have a punishing workout program, I'm attempting to get in my 12-15 hours of picketing a week (currently failing miserably) and oh, yeah, there's that whole business of living: grocery shopping, doing laundry, hanging out with my husband, walking the dog.
We all have stories like this. I'll admit that there have been times, even recently, where I've collapsed in an exhausted, weepy heap and declared that I'm hopeless. I just can't do it anymore. But after those moments (or, erm, days), I pick myself up and dust myself off and vow to work just that much harder. Survival isn't just to get us through post-apocalyptic times. It's also to get us through today.
Because fighting for it? That's the essence of our humanness, too.
This just in:
Jenna Bush hates the labor movement; she crossed the WGA picket line today at NBC in Burbank in order to appear on Ellen to promote her new book "Ha Ha! My Daddy is President So I Get to Have a Book Deal and You Don't."
In similar news: Sky Is Blue.
I was working (ahem) the Alameda gate when Miss Bu$h entered the lot at the main gate. The writers were kept from crossing in front of her car by Secret Service; apparently the were afraid she would overhear and actually get our jokes.
You hear that, Carson? You just need the Secret Service!
Just picked up by Fishbowl LA! (Thanks, Kate!) Click for the best photo, ever.
And welcome, WGA_Supporters! If you're looking for more strike-related posts, you can find them here.
If you're looking for a little holiday cheer, check out today's BetheBoy: A Merry Little Person Christmas.
One:
Two:
('scuse the terrible quality. My ancient video camera is, well, ancient.)
Three (Thousand? Plus?):
I took my post at the midway gate on Alameda over at NBC at about 1:15pm yesterday. I didn't see any of my compatriots around, so I introduced myself to everyone and got down to the job of Making Some Noise. When I picketed the Dreamworks shoot Hotel For Dogs, my friend S. and I realized that we'd have an easier time getting some people to honk if we flashed a little leg. Because that's the sort of commitment I have to the strike effort, every day I get up, don my slackmistress uniform (boots, knee socks, short skirt, t-shirt), and head out to fight the good fight.
(Which may explain this post by my husband.)
The Post Captain kept telling me to engage the passers-by. Lean into the street! I explained to him that I while I believed in our cause, I had no desire to end up splattered across someone's windshield like a bug. Thankfully a few minutes later S., P. and T. showed up, bringing popsicles and a blowhorn. Our little crew is like a full-on broadway show, minus any actual musical talent. As we paraded and chanted, the news crew began to form. An NBC News reporter apprached us, and I stepped aside so he could speak to the Post Captain. Instead he said, can I talk to you?
Uh, me?
He asked me to take off my sunglasses so I was squinting directly into the sun, and asked me about what I thought about Ellen crossing the picket lines. While I'm used to spouting off in front of a camera, it's a wholly different experience being put on the spot while standing outside in the hot sun. I texted Will who caught me on the 5 o'clock news. He promised me that I looked neither melty nor sounded moronic. Phew.
The reason for the extra added publicity was that singer KT Tunstall was coming out to play a short set in support of the writers.
(A crappy video taken with my camera can be found here.)
As we stood around, listening to KT sing I thought this probably isn't what other pickets were like. We're a Guild. We are picketing. But we also have semi-private concerts, stars, and a grown man dressed as a bunny bringing us snacks.
Bunny suits and concerts aside, this strike is simply about sharing the ungodlyinsaneohmygodhowmuchmoneyhavewemadeyou? If they're truly earning no money off the Internet, then what's the harm in giving us a percentage of that "no money." Or could it possibly be, that they're not telling the truth? You be the judge:
Time to shower and hop and head out to NBC. Hopefully today I'll get some footage of what it looks like when you give a group of writers a blowhorn and the impetus to use it...
Updated to add: I just took the WonderDog out for a quick pee, got tangled up in her leash and completely bit it on the sidewalk. I'm shockingly scrape-free, although I turned my ankle pretty bad. My solidarity this afternoon will have to be from the couch with an ice pack. Viva!
Quickly, as I'm on my way to (non-writing!) work:
I was interviewed by NBC News today while picketing in front of NBC. Additionally, FOX was shooting some background footage of our little crew chanting and AP was also out taking photos like they were paparazzi. If you live on the West Coast, lemme know I end up on the air, as I'll be at (non-writing!) work.
Ideally I don't sound like a dumbass. It would be nice if I don't look like, too.
Dare to dream...
(To be continued, later.)
The WGA Strike from a non-working writer's perspective:
Mine.
(If you receive an error message on the video, watch it directly here, but the feed should be fixed. Lew Wasserman golden toilet joke ganked from here.)
In the 'It Was Only a Matter of Time' Files:
Bootleg strike shirts!
(NBC picket, 11.12.2007. More photos here.)
A videoblog of mistaken identity on the WGA Picket Lines:
And a photo:
I've been on my feet since 5:15am, so I have a shower and a couch with my name on it. An update on today...tomorrow.
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