I haven't gone to work a single day since August 3rd, 2007. That is nearly four months, and the media coverage has been virtually non-existent, other than the media I have provided for myself, on my blog, which I haven't told anyone about. But whether it's my fault, or the fault of my strike organizer, me, the fact remains: I have been on strike for a long time without much fanfare.
I may not be a steelworker or a teacher or some other kind of person who works for a living, but that doesn't negate the fact that I am paid for none of the time I spend on the Internet or listening to iTunes. I haven't had healthcare since I quit working and stopped paying for my Cobra. I'm not asking for a million bucks here. Just 60,000 or so, and a gym in my building.
I don't have any fancy celebrity supporters, like Judd Nelson, or Judd Hirsch. Instead, my pet turtle, Mike Belmont, went on a hunger strike in September, which I mistook for a sign of solidarity. It turned out he had some kind of bacteria over his eyes and turtles won't eat if they can't see. That is also how John Popper lost all that weight. Yet there is not even one Blues Traveler parody video on the Internet about my strike. Coincidence? I don't even know how that would work.
When the Broadway stagehands went on strike, I thought, finally, somebody cares about me. People will start to realize, "Hey, without Broadway shows, it's more likely we are going to have to run into Zach going on one of his many, pointless walks around Central Park and Times Square." But then they ended their strike? I don't see how that could possibly help me. Unless someone is willing to donate his or her tickets to The Drowsy Chaperone. Not the balcony, thanks.
And the list goes on.
To the scab who took my job after I walked out in August: "Smooth move, moron, you just got blacklisted. Good luck finding another editorial assistant job in New York City."
To the scab who keeps crossing my picket line in the kitchen: "I'm sorry that the bathroom is only accessible through the kitchen, but that's what you agreed to when you moved in with me, sweetie. We live in a city, go use a Starbucks."
To the scab who keeps trying to cross my picket line in the living room to go into our bedroom: "I know you had a hard day at work, but you know that I split my picketing duties between the living room and the kitchen. I don't know why you are trying to get into Strike Headquarters anyways. I moved your clothes into the hallway, so this shouldn't be a problem. Yes, I still love you."
To the scab who tries to demoralize me day after day, despite the righteousness of my cause: "I will do the dishes later. I have been pretty busy. No, I haven't left the house all day. That doesn't mean I'm not doing anything, necessarily."
To the scabs who have been picketing the senior center outside my apartment for the last several weeks: "What are you doing? Are you even picketing? You don't have signs but you are very loud."
These are some of my signs:
"What would Jesus do for work?"
"Why work more than four hours a week if working four hours a week and some help from your parents pays the bills?"
"Nobody sit on this couch -- I accidentally unionized it."
"Christina, before you try to get by me to go to the bathroom again, realize that we are out of chocolate syrup and paper towels."
"I went to a movie, don't touch my union stuff."
Clever, right? I saw a guy on the street striking about men's haircuts for only $10, and he had strike signs on his front and back. I saw another guy with front and back signs striking about a Thai lunch special. He had learned from the haircut guy. That gives me hope, people.
Meanwhile, none of the Hollywood writing mafia considers how their strike will affect other people on strike for different things. What am I supposed to do all day on strike if there is no television?
Here is a list of movies I have watched on TV in the last two weeks alone:
Invincible
Gridiron Gang
Sci-Fi original mini-series, The Tin Man
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
The Wicker Man
Hollywoodland
The Iron Giant
I Want Someone To Eat Cheese With
The Last of the Moriartys
Moriarty's Gold
The Moriarty Clan Gets a Free Trip
A Moriarty Christmas Funeral
Kathy Moriarty Meets the Moriartys
The Wonder at Moriarty Creek
Moriarty, Moriarty, and Sullivan, LLP
Moriarty and Me; A Tale of Incest and Love in Middle Earth
HBO First Look: Bee Movie
Without the Moriarty Family movies I don't know that I would even have the courage to not work.