Writers' Strike

I don't know about you, but this whole "Hollywood Writer's Strike" thing has its definite ups and downs. I am not a big believer in unions, and I don't quite understand all the complaints of the writers, so I am probably not the best person to get solid information from on this point. However, I know this. Because of this thing, lots of people have gone without work - people who aren't unionized, and who did nothing to start this whole thing and have no control over it. I admire folks like Leno and Letterman (among others) who have paid their staffers from their own pockets during the strike so they haven't had to go without a paycheck.

But enough is enough. It's time to move on with life. And apparently lots of people agree. Some shows have already started back without their writers. And more will be doing so very soon. Maybe these guys have learned a lesson: the world doesn't revolve around you. You are replaceable in your job. But they did hold out long enough to mess up TV land for the rest of us.

Case in point: 24 won't even be shown this season. LOST, which already was scheduled to have a precious few 16 episodes will now have only eight. Yes, eight. Heroes won't be coming back the rest of this season at all. And I am sure there are other casualties I am unaware of. But there is another downside to this whole strike thing, and it's the shows that networks are using to replace the missing comedies and dramas. Reality has set in. No really, it's reality. Reality TV.

Now, that's not all bad, because from what I hear, there will be a Big Brother coming this winter/spring. That will be sweet. Several of our friends are excited about that. But the majority of the shows are crude, rude, and just plain scary. American Gladiators, for instance. Yes, I said American Gladiators. And yes, that was a show in the late 80's - mid 90's. The very same show I used to catch glimpses of as a kid during late nights at sleepovers or at Meemom's when we decided to stay up until all hours of the night. They're bringing it back. Hulk Hogan is hosting. Yes, Hulk Hogan. The same Hulk Hogan who not only found recent pop culture fame with his VH1 reality show, but also was famous when I was a kid - for oiling himself up, wearing yellow tights, a red bandana, and throwing other oily, sweaty men around in a wrestling ring. I am still wondering how this can be good for anybody. Sweaty, scantily-clad people, beating on each other with foam things might be considered entertainment for some, but not for me. The new show where you are hooked up to a lie detector and have to answer some pretty hard questions is another one advertised. You couldn't get me on that show in a million years, and I'm afraid to watch it. I don't want to know the deepest, darkest secrets of these random people.

So for all of you striking writers out there (and I'm sure there are thousands who read my blog), get back to work. I don't know how much of this "all reality, all the time" TV I can take.