Last night when I was in pajamas watching St. Elmo’s Fire for a maybe third or seventeenth time (I astonishingly remembered so much of that movie!) and about to microwave some leftovers, my texts started blowing up! Paul was at the UCB theatre doing a comedy show, and I was coming down from a double birthday party weekend. One friend turned 50 and another turned 1 (and we sadly missed a third friend’s 3rd birthday due to the over-engagement of birthday party attending!)
The WGA, the union known as the Writer’s Guild of America, had struck a damn deal, y’all, thus ending a 5-ish month standoff with the wealthy CEO’s who were unwilling to rewrite TV and film creatives a fair three year contract. Hey, it’s 5 O’Month Somewhere! And, turns out, it was in the valley! I got a text from
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