I went to the strike meeting last night at the L.A. Convention Center. I parked at the Holiday Inn and met Sam at the bar so we could walk over together. I had a margarita and some nachos. For those of you who, like me, love a margarita but suffer from terrible heartburn, I found a solution: no sweet and sour mix! What? Yep, yep. No mix, here's what you do instead. Ask for a margarita made with Patron and Cointreau (Grand Marnier will do if no big C) and then tell them that instead of mix you'd like it made with orange juice and cranberry juice. The sweet and tart of the combination makes for a really lovely margarita. I hear you skeptics already, "I don't like orange juice, blah, blah, blah..." I'm telling you, you don't even know your sipping on the O.J.
So the meeting. It was by turns inspiring (in the turnout - an estimated 3,000 members), horrifying (we are going to strike - it will be announced today for Monday most likely -- in true White House form, you bury news on Friday not announce it) and infuriating. Infuriating because you look around and you understand why everyone in Hollywood hates us. A lot of posturing, a lot of schmoozing, and a little more posturing. There was this one guy who just kept sort of pacing in the middle aisle looking around making sure everyone was looking at him. I would have thought he was security if it wasn't for his douche-required uniform: corduroy blazer, crumpled button down shirt, over priced khakis and the sneaker/shoe hybrids on his feet. Yes, D-bag, everyone saw you. NOW SIT DOWN.
Here's a picture that'll give you an idea of what 90% of the room looked like:
Seriously, this is who I have to picket with??!! I've told a few people who'll be picketing at CBS Radford that I'm going pull my car up close to the picket line and have a fully stocked bar running out the back. Coffee cups and lids provided to hide the roadies.
See? Every cloud does have a silver lining.