BoomerGirl Diary

Moments later, CAA agents and assistants on the verge of unemployment

On Friday, just five days into the Writers Strike, I was one of approximately 4,000 energized, unemployed scribes attending a protest rally in front of Fox Studios. Let’s just say it was not your typical political event. Not only have we managed to shut down productions all over town, but on this day, we pulled off another miracle. We shut down Avenue of the Stars between Pico and Santa Monica Boulevard. Trust me, unless “W” is in town, this sort of thing never happens.

In our bright red shirts, emblazoned with the words: Writers Guild of America, we certainly stopped traffic. Granted, not everyone looks good in red, but I believe the majority of us looked darn near presentable.

Marching along, trying not to step in doggy do — yes, some writers felt compelled to bring their dogs and dress them in red for the occasion — I overheard a few of the men conversing on what may have been the most critical, least-publicized issue of the day:

Male writer #1: “Maybe I’ve been married too long, man, but I’ve seen a lot of HOT writers today.”

Male writer #2: “I know, man. I know.”

Of course, it’s quite possible they were talking about me as I passed by. It’s also possible they were talking about the three young, skinny writer-babes in their immediate vicinity. Either way, I took it as a compliment and moved on.

Before the rally got under way, representatives of the William Morris Agency passed out coffee and bagels so that none of us would have to file for food stamps or starve. Bagels were just the beginning. Moments later, CAA agents and assistants on the verge of unemployment squeezed through the crowd, offering platters of sweet cinnamon pastry called churros. There were donuts, too. And sandwich rolls. And who knows what other caloric no-nos.

By the end of this strike, my red shirt, which at this point could fit two of me, will be uncomfortably snug.

At the start of the rally, thunderous applause and screaming greeted the Reverend Jesse Jackson. Give the man a microphone and he’ll stir up any crowd. Now I’m not sure why the Rev. Jackson attended our event. At this point, it would be easier to broker peace in the Middle East than bring the warring writers and producers together. But it was fun to shout back and soak up his enthusiastic, pro-union slogans.

Just sample Jackson’s pumped-up calls for justice: “Save the workers, share the wealth!” “Partners, not peons!” “Too few control too much!” “Let’s figure it out, not fight it out!”

In a final dramatic flourish, the Reverend instructed us to, “Keep hope alive. Don’t surrender.”

His wise words may have felt a bit generic, and they could have been plugged into just about any gathering, but he sure got 4,000 of us hooting and hollering, nonetheless. We were rowdy, yet respectful. We behaved ourselves. We remained in control at all times. There were no exciting incidents, no arrests, and no inflammatory remarks.

Unless you count the rousing round of “Bull s --- ! Bull s --- ! Bull s --- !” when WGA West executive John Young repeated the Alliance of Motion Picture & Television Producers claim that a business model for new media must be developed over time before writers can even begin to share in the Internet profits.

“We Want a Deal! We Want a Deal!” we chanted, waving signs and blowing noise makers.

WGA negotiating chief Jon Bowman cautioned us that there can be no deal until the producers agree to, “Come back to the table, baby. We can work it out. As long as you come back to the table with a fair deal, we’ll greet you with open arms.”

When they’ll come back to the table is anyone’s guess.

The high point of the day for me came at the beginning, when Rage Against the Machine performed two numbers. My sons worship the lead singer Zack de la Rocha. I believe I scored major points when I called up the eldest at college and let him listen in. I’m hoping the photo I snapped of “Family Guy” creator Seth MacFarlane by sticking my cell phone in his face will appease my youngest and up my “cool Mom” factor a few notches. Until he asks why I didn’t call him instead of his brother and I can’t think of a good answer.

Next week promises more picketing, more donuts, more coffee to keep me fortified. I will do my part to end this thing. I represent the little guys in the Guild, the middle class writers who don’t bring in the big bucks, who only work job to job. But we want a piece of the Internet pie, too. As David Young instructed us at the rally, we’re all ready to “suck it up, stick it out. We shall prevail.” I’m all about prevailing. I can prevail with the best of ’em. But first, I think I’ll take a nap.