a writer's perspective

It’s hard to believe that this is already Week Seven of the strike. No one’s talking about ruining Christmas anymore. They’re just talking about how they’re going to celebrate. (lots of eggnog and homemade gifts) After a much needed sabbatical, I was back on the picket line for the last day of marching before the Holiday break.

To commemorate the occasion, I sign up for a marathon walk/picket organized by a fellow striker. The jaunt is going to take us past eight gates at four studios, and by the time we’re done, we’ll have walked seven miles in about three hours. Which, the original email boasts, “translates into about 14,000 steps for a six foot white man with no rhythm.”

Early this morning, the organizer tells me that about forty people have signed up for the walk. When I arrive at Disney this morning, I am amazed to find that nearly a hundred writers have shown up to participate. Many of them are full of Bob’s Big Boy pancakes, courtesy of Drew Carey who has been picking up the writer’s breakfast tabs the last few weeks. (Insert your own Price is Right joke here).

From Disney we head west on Alameda towards NBC. There are too many of us to make it through the intersections in one light, so we constantly cross and wait for the rest of the walkers to catch up.

At NBC I speak with a man and his tween daughter, who are picketing and interviewing writers for a school project. The girl asks a few questions about the seven mile walk and mentions that she wants to be a writer someday. As soon as I tell her that there are some Hannah Montana writers walking with us, she gets really excited, and completely loses interest in anything I have to say.

Next we cut down Olive and make our way to my usual haunt, Warner Brothers. It feels good to see some familiar faces. Now I am back on my turf. I say hello to a bunch of my strike buddies who are holding down the fort in my absence. A few of them leave their post to join our march. We’re like the Pied Pipers of arbitrarily orchestrated studio walking tours.

As we reach the Universal back lot entrance at Forest Lawn and Barham, our tour-guide announces that this is the turning back point for any writers who don’t want to do the entire walk. Nobody flinches. Maybe it’s because we are a powerful, motivated, unified force, or maybe it’s because nobody wants to look like a wuss.

Our ever-growing crowd embarks on the most treacherous leg of our journey. We navigate the steep knolls of Barham and make our way along the flat wasteland of Ventura Blvd. towards Lankershim. Along the way, several workers lean out of their office windows and cheer. People stand on their apartment balconies and applaud. At one office building, several workers exit into the parking lot to show their support.

The constant honking of passing cars provides the lone soundtrack to our trek. Oh, that and an iPod through a bullhorn. Today there is no chanting, but at one point, our guide sings out, “I say ‘union’, you get funky!” He then screams "union!" and proceeds to dance the entire length of our mobile picket line.

As we reach the main Universal gate, the final stop on our tour, we are greeted with Gatorades and high-fives. As I look back at the long line of writers, I feel a strong sense of community and unity. I think that no matter how long the strike goes, I know we can make it through, because of the support we give each other. Sipping my sports drink, I think about all the faces at all the gates I visited today, and I have a strong feeling of accomplishment.

Then I remember that my car is parked all the way back by Disney, and I still have a really really far way to walk.

photo by Heath Biter for LAist