Chant your troubles away
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider on Nov 29th, 2007
Week Four of the Writers Strike and some of us are getting punchier by the minute. We’re tired and we’re bumping into each other. Our picket signs have collided so often, they’ve got baby picket signs on the way.
We’ve shared our life stories, our credits and our war stories. We’ve regaled each other with cautionary tales of our worst-ever pitch meetings. We’ve analyzed and applauded each other’s careers, marveling at how we’ve managed to survive with our dignity somewhat intact.
We’ve consoled each other about the many, and I do mean many, projects we’ve watched disintegrate before our very eyes, as we sat there powerless to do anything about it.
Week Four and we’re running out of things to whine about. We’ve consumed every bagel, donut, and sub sandwich within a 20-mile radius.
In short, we are starting to lose it, one step at a time. It’s getting so bad that even our chants are starting to sound good.
This was not the case during Week One, when all we could muster were some poorly rhymed rants and sadly revised cheers left over from high school days.
I personally submitted the following beauties, all of which were quickly and unanimously rejected before my agent even had time to follow up:
Stop! Look! And Listen! We are the Mighty Writers!
“It needs work,” said the Gate Captain who sits in judgment of all cheers.
“It lacks edge,” opined a tallish, tattooed brunette.
Okay, fine, so maybe that cheer belonged on the football field, not the picket line. But what about this one? This one deserved a test drive:
Start up the starter! Wind up the Lizzy!
We got some writers that’ll knock you dizzy!
Got the Up beat, the Down beat, the Side beat and the Round beat!
Got the B – E – A – T! Beat ’em!
The B – U – S – T Bust ’em.
Beat ’em! Bust ’em! That’s our custom!
Yay! Writers!
I performed the cheer, peppy moves and all, for a jury of my picketing peers. The response was less than enthusiastic.
“Too wordy,” someone snarled.
“How long were you a cheerleader?” asked the Gate Captain, warily.
“Uh, one game,” I answered, proudly. “But it was huge. The biggest one of the year.”
She patted me on the shoulder. “Get back in line.”
Thus ended my brief foray into chant-writing. Not that the other chants were any zingier than mine:
No money! No funny!
Union! Power! Union! Power! Union! Power!
Week Four and I have to tell you, these chants sound brilliant. It might have something to do with repetition. Say anything 80 times in a row and it grows on you.
Occasionally, an actual gem slips into the mix, one that floats down from heaven and proves irresistible to just about everyone. Here’s my personal favorite, an Amy Winehouse-inspired riff that keeps getting better with each passing day:
They tried to make me do a rewrite, but I said, No! No! No!
I go to bed chanting it. I chant it in my sleep. I wake up in the morning chanting it. I chant it in the shower. I chant it when I walk my dog. I pretty much chant it all day long. I will keep chanting it until this strike ends. And when that glorious day comes, hopefully soon, I have promised my entire family that I will chant, “They tried to make me do a rewrite, but I said, No! No! No!” no more.
Apparently, they don’t believe me. They refuse to take me at my word. I’ve told them I’ll stop chanting it. At least, I’ll give it my best shot. I know it’s not nice to drive the people I love up a wall. Unless of course I can’t help myself. After all, I’ve been walking in circles for weeks now. Four weeks and counting.
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