I still haven’t returned to going to the movies. Mostly due to never being a fan of crowded theaters even before COVID. But maybe if the numbers are low and the edibles are just right, I’ll get tickets to see Dune Part II.
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The Writers’ Guild of America declared a strike early Tuesday after the executive side of the entertainment business refused to negotiate their modest demands. A lot has changed since the last writers’ strike in 2007, especially how media is consumed and compensated.
Netflix’s red envelopes were the big new thing back then, and now they’re a relic young people think coexisted with BETAMAX. Yet pay, residuals, and benefits are still stuck in that ancient time before we had to manage a dozen or so streaming logins.
All of these studios are making profits, just not enough to satisfy Wall Street’s maw. So they’re screwing writers and nickel-and-diming their subscribers by canceling shows and memory-holing their back catalogs to save a few cents on residuals, all to squeeze out more dividends and stock buybacks.
Joe “Union Guy” Biden broke a rail strike so the economy wouldn’t take a hit. If this writers’ strike goes on long enough to harm the studios’ bottom lines, I’m sure he’ll find a way to intervene.
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I caught COVID last Friday. I’m vaxed, boosted, and I don’t go unmasked indoors. My best contact tracing puts me getting it at the bodega from an unmasked patron or employee.
I woke up Saturday morning with a painful sore throat, and immediately took a home test that turned positive as soon as the drop hit the strip. It quickly mellowed to a very minor cough over the weekend and early in the week.
I feel fine now and I’m about to take a test to see if I’m clear to leave home office quarantine. I’m not keen on getting reinfected or long-COVID, so watching everyone carry on like the pandemic’s over is insanity-inducing. Especially as boosters wane and variants keep multiplying.
Waiting 45 days to see a new movie is no problem for me.
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I know most movie rollouts were planned well in advance of this latest omicron wave, but there’s something incredibly sinister about all the “only in theaters” ads running while hospitals are struggling and begging people to stop spreading this disease everywhere.
We rented Mike Mills’ “C’mon C’mon” this week just to see something new. It’s good! And besides being safer at home, it was cheaper than two arthouse tickets to see it.
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I started doing another installment of the old Big Fat Whale Book Bins to get ahead of the holidays, and came up with some gags that weren’t really books. So now it’s updated for our grim dystopian future.
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Here’s a hack to avoid catching COVID at the movies: Stay home, microwave some popcorn, and push the couch as close to the TV as you can.
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I have yet to see any of this year’s big summer movies, but I will be attending a theatrical re-release of Jaws this weekend. I guess that’s what happens when you age out of Hollywood’s beloved 18-35 demographic.
The Supreme Court’s term was an historic one and I’m surprisingly happy with how it turned out, except for how they botched the botched-execution case. And as much as I loathe the interminable presidential election process, the winner will likely nominate quite a few new faces to to the Supreme Court. But not to replace RBG, who I hope turns out to be immortal.
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