Michael says it, and I echo...
Think you can write a better sketch? Prove it. Write it, post it, and send us the link at sketchwar at dreamloom.com
(If you have nowhere to post it, just send the text of it and one of us will put it up for all the world to see.)
Be the envy of your friends, the coveted of your neighbors, and the wonder of the years!
It's my birthday today. Woo-fuckin'-hoo. I don't much celebrate the anniversary of the day I was squirted out of my mom's vag, as I didn't have much to do with it. I mean, kudos to the moms for putting up with me for the nine months prior and the lifetime after, but none for me, thanks.
I'd made this pretty clear at work: "I don't celebrate my birthday." That's clear enough, right?
The morning started off nice and quiet. I got a card and a gift certificate, both of which I consider within the acceptable bounds of "I don't celebrate" territory. Since I understand that many others feel compelled to make themselves feel worthwhile by buying gifts, signing cards, or in other ways ignoring my wishes, I've come to accept the small attentions.1
Then of course, the woman I despise came in, and as no shock to anyone she brought balloons, a giant cookie, and her idiot grin. Clearly, someone saying "I don't celebrate my birthday" - particularly someone who's already made it clear to management that he'll quit without notice should she repeat one of her bush league moves - is her cue to throw an impromptu party.
I could not dislike this woman more, and I could not be more cold to her without becoming unprofessional. She is why many men hate women. If all women were like her, I would be screaming louder than any that they should be kept barefoot, pregnant, and ball-gagged2. And yet, instead of staying the fuck out of my way and honoring my wishes, she decided to poke at the bear again. Amazing. I'm always amazed at the depths of people's stupidity.
I'd thought about popping the balloons, but I think it better expresses my withering disregard to let them sit until all the helium has leeched out and they sit limp and lifeless.
From John Hodgman, who had to admit he reads Andrew Sullivan...
garfield minus garfield.
More here.
There's video above, FeedReader
Jimmy sticks it to Sarah. And then he sticks it to Ben like they're in prison.
tips hat to Kari
Crap, crap, crap! I need a new cellphone. Not nearly enough resolution on my phone's camera to do this plate justice. Absolutely, without compare, the nerdiest license plate I've ever seen. On a Rav4, driven by a - larger woman - and in a plate holder that indicated she was a heckuva big SG1 fan.
On the killing floor, before the assembled masses the gladiators prepare for battle...
(Scott Johnson sits at his desk. Ivo Princip enters the office, wearing a suit and carrying his resume. He crosses, shakes Scott's hand, and sits opposite.)
SCOTT
Nice to meet you, Mr. Princip. I'm Scott. May I call you Ivo?
IVO
No.
SCOTT
O--kay...why don't you tell me a little about yourself.
IVO
Did you not read my resume?
SCOTT
I did, but I was hoping maybe you could maybe elaborate, go into a little detail about some of your experience, tell me why you think you'd be a good fit for this position.
IVO
You are hiring for engineer, yes? I am engineer.
SCOTT
O--kay. Let's start with a few questions, then. I see you've got your masters, that's good. But you've only got one year of experience --
IVO
-- I am certified.
SCOTT
What now?
IVO
I have MCSE, CNA, CNE, SCJP --
SCOTT
-- That's great, too. How about a couple of quick tech questions? Let me get a feel for your level. Can you explain polymorphism to me?
IVO
Polymorphism. No.
SCOTT
Nothing? Maybe you want to try talking through it, see if you can't give me a few of its traits?
IVO
No.
SCOTT
Can you tell me why you would use an abstract class?
IVO
No.
SCOTT
Define inheritance?
IVO
Inheritance?
...No.
SCOTT
Ivo --
IVO
-- Mr. Princip.
SCOTT
Mr. Princip. It says here that you're an expert in object oriented programming.
IVO
Object oriented programming. Yes. I am certified.
SCOTT
Can you define that for me?
IVO
Object oriented programming?
SCOTT
Please.
IVO
No.
SCOTT
Alright. Let's step back a bit, then. I see here under this technology section you've also got Photoshop listed. You certainly wouldn't be doing any of that here, but while I was working my way through college I actually worked in a graphics shop. So why don't you tell me how you'd use an alpha channel?
IVO
Alpha channel?
SCOTT
Yes.
IVO
That is...there are channels...many of them...this is the first. It is first channel.
SCOTT
O--kay. Let's jump back over to programming for a minute. Can you give me an example of a recursive algor --
IVO
-- May I ask question first?
SCOTT
Sure.
IVO
Are you certified?
SCOTT
Me? No. I don't have any certifications. It's never come up. I really only have time for the occasional conference or seminar and haven't had call to get certified.
IVO
Then how can you be expected to ask me question? Is like...is like student, asking teacher, no? I am certified, but you are not. It make no sense, yes?
SCOTT
Excuse me??
IVO
How can I...to explain, be clear, to you? You are member of team, yes? Maybe I speak with someone more senior. Your manager is certified?
SCOTT
I'm the team lead.
IVO
So, is team of junior engineer.
SCOTT
We get by. Well Ivo --
IVO
-- Mr. Princip.
SCOTT
Mr. Princip. It's been interesting meeting you. I wish you luck in your job search.
(Ivo sits for a minute, then gets the hint and leaves.)
BLACKOUT
LIGHTS UP
(Scott sits at his desk. The door opens and Steve Kramer enters.)
SCOTT
Boss. What's up?
STEVE
Scott, you know you've been trying to get some help on the team, well, I've got it fixed. I just interviewed a rockstar of an engineer.
SCOTT
That's great! Do you want me to talk to him?
STEVE
No need. Already hired him. Whipsmart, and has certifications out the ass. Hell of an engineer. Ivo Princip. You'll be reporting to him starting Monday.
BLACKOUT
From John Scalzi, here is the 2008 Nebula Awards Ballot. I am over the moon excited by this, because under the Scripts section you'll find:
"World Enough and Time" - Zicree, Marc Scott and Reeves, Michael (Star Trek: New Voyages, http://www.startreknewvoyages.com, Aug07 (Aired 8/23/07))The New Voyages are essentially fanfic, filmed with pretty high production values. The episode in question is well worth seeing. George Takei reprises his signature role as Hikaru Sulu in an episode as well written as any TOS episode (other than maybe "City on the Edge of Forever"*.) It's heartbreaking in just the right ways, funny in just the right places, and tight as a drum.
Am I the only human being left who has his full complement of both the rods and the cones?
I work with...people with whom I'd rather not work. My one friend, love working with him. And then...even the ones younger than I behave as though they are much, much older. Older in aspect, older in energy, older in outlook, older in ability to fucking see without putting on motherfucking overhead lights.
Do they try turning on the task lights at their desks first? No.
Do they try turning on the uplights near their desks first? No.
Do they go straight for the migraine-inducing piece of shit fluorescents? Hell yah.
I can only imagine it's because that's the lighting they're used to at home, in the nursing home.
Please, someone, explain to me why knowledge workers, sitting in front of luminescent monitors all day, need any but the most minimal task lighting? Is it *just* to piss off those around them not born in the Truman administration?
And let's not forget: when the sun's up they have the blinds closed so that horrible, natural light doesn't bother their eyes.
Used to be I could get in early and have a couple hours of fluorescent-free work. Or I could stay late. But we've now grown to the point where there's an annoying person who thinks she needs shitty light from 7am till past 7pm. There's no fucking window of blessed darkness anymore.
Greg Garcia, creator of My Name is Earl, may have pulled double shifts during the strike. On top of his picketing duties, he spent some time in the grease traps.
He took a job at a fast-food restaurant, never letting on to his fellow employees -- or anyone else -- that he was an Emmy-winning writer/producer. As a cashier and occasional janitor, Greg spent the month of January rubbing elbows with the real world. You might wonder, why would he do it?
His answer is simple: "I've wanted to do a book about taking different jobs and what it was like to do them," he told The Hollywood Reporter. "This was the first. It may be a while before I do the second. But it's just about the fact that we live behind gates and work behind gates, and as a writer you start to lose touch with the audience. You start running out of life experience."
The stage was set, the battle begun...
(Dancers finish up what must have been a large and elaborate number as lights dim, music stops, and applause is heard. A curtain closes and Billy Crystal walks to the center of the stage.)
BILLY
Wasn't that great? I've been informed that no animals were killed during the performance of that dance, but two senator's daughters and the ambassador from Uruguay all sank another two inches in Ernst Blofeld's quicksand trap!
To present our next award, here is last year's winner of Villainess of the Year and this year's winner for Best Robotic Attack on a City: Population 1 Million or More - Poison Ivy and Dr. Victor Von Doom.
(Doom and Ivy enter and walk to a podium stage right.)
IVY
Victor and I don't strike fear in people's hearts all on our own--
DOOM
--I do.
IVY
--and you wouldn't be able to enjoy your favorite megalomaniac--
DOOM
--Doom.
IVY
--striding down the street ahead an army of zombie cyborgs without the help of thousands of people.
DOOM
It takes dozens of scientists, engineers, and technicians just to maintain the fusion reactors, floating fortresses, and giant lasers used for burning names on the surface of the moon.
IVY
Not to mention the costume designers, bio-engineers, sentient killer squid, and henchmen who make all the best plans come to life. They make us look good. Earlier this week in a separate ceremony, those folks got together for their awards presentations.
(Roll video of Henchmen Banquet. Henchman is standing at podium, clutching a Moriarty tightly.)
HENCHMAN
...like to thank my mother, for never being there for me. My first parole officer, for believing I'd never be a contributing member of society, and...
(BOOM! The brick wall behind the stage explodes, revealing Superman. Mass pandemonium as all the henchmen try to flee.)
DOOM
HAHAHA! Maybe next year they'll make it all the way through that ceremony.
(Music swells and Ivy and Doom walk off the stage. Billy reenters from stage left.)
BILLY
(Doing his Fernando Lamas impersonation) Doom, Dahling. Enough with the mask already. Take it off. I can tell, underneath, you look mahvelous. And that Ivy. I'd like to dig around her roots. Have you seen the stems on that one?
(Back to normal voice) It's not often I'm awed in someone's presence. Jack Benny, George Burns, Bob Hope, and this next man. What can I say about this next presenter that won't get me killed in a giant thresher? He's a level-nine intelligence, a snappy dresser, and an absolute lady-killer. I mean that. He kills ladies. Literally. Ladies and Gentleman, Lex Luthor.
(Lex enters to a hearty round of applause, waving and smiling.)
LEX
Thank you, thank you. Thanks for that welcome, everyone. Although I shouldn't be surprised by it. After all, I do have satellites targeting all your loved ones!
(Polite laughter.)
LEX (CONT'D)
And by loved ones, I of course mean you!
(Raucous laughter.)
LEX (CONT'D)
But you're not here to listen to me joke, or to tremble in fear at my presence - though tremble you should - it's time for the big prize of the night. The Moriarty for the Evil Plan of the Year. The nominees are: Dr. No for his plan to replace the world's oil supply with sea water, foiled by James Bond; El Seed for his plan to release genetically modified corn that can grow on asphalt, foiled by The Tick; The Joker for his plan to poison Gotham City's drinking supply, foiled when he abandoned the plan midway through out of boredom; Kingpin for creating an army of evil hybrid Spiderman-Daredevil clones to take over New York; and Heat Miser for trying to melt out Christmas...again!
(Fumbles with envelope, gets out card. He squints a few times but can't make it out, so he puts a pair of granny glasses at the end of his nose.)
LEX (CONT'D)
No!
(Dr. No starts to get up in the audience.)
LEX (CONT'D)
Sit down, Julius. I didn't call your name. The winner is Kingpin, for creating an army of evil hybrid Spiderman-Daredevil clones!
(As Kingpin rises and waves at the applauding crowd, alarms start ringing and lights start flashing.)
LEX (CONT'D)
To the escape pods!
(Billy comes back to the podium as everyone runs away in the chaos.)
BILLY
See you next year, folks!
My anti-agreement analysis wasn't quite as vitriolic as Unka Harlan's. Good god, this is why HE is my hero.
HARLAN ELLISON ON THE WRITERS STRIKE SETTLEMENT
YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION TO RE-POST THIS ANYWHERE:
Creds: got here in 1962, written for just about everybody, won the Writers Guild Award four times for solo work, sat on the WGAw Board twice, worked on negotiating committees, and was out on the picket lines with my NICK COUNTER SLEEPS WITH THE FISHE$$$ sign. You may have heard my name. I am a Union guy, I am a Guild guy, I am loyal. I fuckin’ LOVE the Guild.
And I voted NO on accepting this deal.
My reasons are good, and they are plentiful; Patric Verrone will be saddened by what I am about to say; long-time friends will shake their heads; but this I say without equivocation…
THEY BEAT US LIKE A YELLOW DOG. IT IS A SHIT DEAL. We finally got a timorous generation that has never had to strike, to get their asses out there, and we had to put up with the usual cowardly spineless babbling horse’s asses who kept mumbling “lessgo bac’ta work” over and over, as if it would make them one iota a better writer. But after months on the line, and them finally bouncing that pus-sucking dipthong Nick Counter, we rushed headlong into a shabby, scabrous, underfed shovelfulla shit clutched to the affections of toss-in-the-towel summer soldiers trembling before the Awe of the Alliance.
My Guild did what it did in 1988. It trembled and sold us out. It gave away the EXACT co-terminus expiration date with SAG for some bullshit short-line substitute; it got us no more control of our words; it sneak-abandoned the animator and reality beanfield hands before anyone even forced it on them; it made nice so no one would think we were meanies; it let the Alliance play us like the village idiot. The WGAw folded like a Texaco Road Map from back in the day.
And I am ashamed of this Guild, as I was when Shavelson was the prexy, and we wasted our efforts and lost out on technology that we had to strike for THIS time. 17 days of streaming tv!!!????? Geezus, you bleating wimps, why not just turn over your old granny for gang-rape?
You deserve all the opprobrium you get. While this nutty festschrift of demented pleasure at being allowed to go back to work in the rice paddy is filling your cowardly hearts with joy and relief that the grips and the staff at the Ivy and street sweepers won’t be saying nasty shit behind your back, remember this:
You are their bitches. They outslugged you, outthought you, outmaneuvered you; and in the end you ripped off your pants, painted yer asses blue, and said yes sir, may I have another.
Please excuse my temerity. I’m just a sad old man who has fallen among Quislings, Turncoats, Hacks and Cowards.
I must go now to whoops. My gorge has become buoyant.
Respectfully, Yr. Pal, Harlan Ellison
Over 92% of WGA members voted to suspend the work stoppage, sending writers back to work today. There is still no signed deal with the AMPTP, but this vote is a clear sign that the membership backs the agreement in principle and will ratify it by the February 25 deadline. So what did the Guild win? What concessions were ripped from the industry after a three-month strike that hit the economy of LA county for an estimated $3.2B in direct and indirect costs?
Here's a link to some initial analysis from Jonathan Handel who practices entertainment, digital, and technology law. Read there if you're interested, but my take is that the Guild basically won three things that truly matter: new media jurisdiction, new media separated rights, and calculations based on distributor's gross. Beyond that, the flat-fee structure for streaming media is very bad for TV writers (and potentially film writers) and the 17-day window for free streaming (supported by ad dollars!!!) is devastating.
Some writers are content to say that in three years they can always renegotiate. They've shown the studios that they can be committed, organized, dedicated, and united. To those writers I'd say: see 1988. It's a generational unity that must be used to its full advantage when it arises. The very bad (for the writers) terms in this deal will be in place for at least 15 years. They might be modified slightly - oh, we'll give you $1300 for a year's worth of free streaming, and narrow the window down to 15 days - but they're pretty well set in stone until the next wave of writers says "what the fuck were they thinking?"
Obviously it's easy for me, hundreds of miles away and not dependent upon Hollywood for my income, to bash this deal. I'm just a spec monkey. It's easy for me to wait and hope that current writers get a deal that's nigh-perfect so I can, with hard work and luck, take advantage of it in the next few years. It's also easy for me to see from a distance that the Guild lost three months worth of work, allowed the studios to invoke force majeure to kill a crap-load of development deals, gave Ben Silverman an opportunity to open his trap and spew his idiocy, all for a handful of shiny beads.
"If this deal passes, it wasn't worth it," said Alfredo Barrios, co-executive producer and a writer on the TV series "Burn Notice." "If I had known three months ago, I wouldn't have voted to authorize the strike."Right indeed, and not just because he's an EP on a fun show that gives Bruce Campbell a regular gig. This strike cost billions and garnered pocket change.
