Strange things are afoot on the picket line
Hello & welcome to another edition of Situation Normal!
I’ve been a lifelong bagel-eater, but the comments on Sunday’s story about ordering a bagel from a bilingual maniac were a real learning experience for me. Ken Hobbs shared his process for making sure that the capers don’t roll off your bagel. His trick? Embed the capers in the cream cheese. Brilliant! Also,
shared a ground-breaking product idea called a “schmear peer,” which is basically a bagel buddy to share all that extra cream cheese with. Attention, Silicon Valley, David’s schmear peer is poised to disrupt bagels and friendship. It’s gonna be huge!In other news, a big Situation Normal shout to our newest paid subscriber, Trevor! Paid subscriptions from situation normies like Trevor help a lot because they free up time in my freelance writing schedule to amuse you. Thank you so much, Trevor!
Strange things are afoot on the picket line
A few weeks ago, I told you about the WGA strike and why I think it’s important, as a Hollywood-adjacent writer, to show solidarity with union screenwriters. Since then, I’ve joined friends on the picket line a few times. I always picket at Disney because it’s the closest studio to our house and the street parking is ample. In Los Angeles, even labor actions are dictated by traffic and parking considerations.
Anyway, the above flier was an invite from my hilarious friend, Gina Ippolito, who you may remember from such Situation Normal posts as “I asked 4 friends if middle age is right for them.” Gina organized an East Coast picket, which as far as I can tell was an excuse to stick it to the Mouse by handing out Drake’s Cakes to hungry picketers. I joined in solidarity, but as a West Coast guy, I wore my Dodgers cap and a t-shirt from The Last Bookstore, an LA literary institution. Nobody gave me shit for my LA style, though, because there are bigger fish to fry.
Mostly, picketing is just walking around carrying signs, chatting with people, and eating carbs. I don’t wanna brag, but I’m really good at picketing. That said, sometimes stuff happens on the picket line that’s worth writing about. At Gina’s East Coast picket, two moments stuck out.
The first thing noteworthy moment happened when a man rolled up to our picket line on a bicycle. He looked like an environmentally-conscious studio executive to me, but it turned out that he was California State Senator Anthony J. Portantino. Not that I recognized him. California has 40 State Senators, but according to the state Constitution, none of them are allowed to be famous.
“I’m here to support the writers,” Senator Portantino said.
Then Senator Portantino gave me and Gina a fist-bump before walking away to glad hand a crowd that’s Constitutionally-incapable of recognizing him.
“That’s pretty cool,” Gina said.
“You know what else is cool?” I asked. “His shirt.”
I pointed at Senator Portantino who was wearing—wait for it—a Senator Portantino t-shirt! To me, the sight of a lone State Senator rocking a t-shirt with his name on it felt a little cringe, like a scene out of VEEP. But at least he made the effort. Solidarity!
The second thing I want to tell you about was really strange. As the day was coming to an end, a white Ford Mustang pulled up to the curb. The driver shouted something and waved me over. Something felt off, and anyone with street smarts would’ve stayed put. But I’m more of a book smarts guy, so I walked over to the Mustang to see what the guy wanted.
When I reached the Mustang, I noticed that the driver was an old dude wearing a leather jacket. His passenger was an even older dude who looked like he might be dead. They both gave off 1950s Greaser vibes. Think: American Graffiti meets Weekend at Bernie’s.
“What’s up, fellas?” I asked.
“Give me one of those WGA signs,” the driver said. “I want one for my lawn.”
“Sorry, I can’t do that.”
“I want a sign,” the driver said. “Give me one.”
“No.”
“I want a sign for my lawn.”
“They’re not lawn signs,” I said. “They’re for picketing. The WGA puts out the signs at every location so picketers can carry them on the picket line.”
“You don’t want me to put one on my lawn?” the driver asked.
“I mean you can make your own sign and put it on your lawn if you want.”
“Give me a sign. For my lawn.”
The driver was adamant. But the passenger, who was either dead or pretending to be alive, took no position on the matter.
“I can’t give you one of the signs.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I can’t.”
We went back and forth like this a few more times. I tried to hang in there as long as I could because I had questions I wanted answers to.
Why did the driver think we were handing out picket signs so that people could put them on their lawn?
Why couldn’t he to take no for an answer?
Who did this old man think he was fooling by driving around town in a muscle car?
Did they have plans to cruise the strip later that night, maybe meet up with Wolfman Jack, eat some popsicles, and ask about a mysterious blonde woman?
Was the passenger dead, or was he in a position to option his story for Weekend at Bernie’s 3?
Unfortunately, the driver had more will power than me. He kept asking for a lawn sign, and eventually I got tired of saying no. So I walked away. But over my shoulder, I heard the driver’s parting shot.
“They don’t know how to win a fucking strike.”
A moment later, I heard the Mustang’s engine roar as the car sped away on Alameda. It was a strange interaction, but when I got home, I did some Googling. Turns out, the old guy in the Mustang was right. Throughout history, striking coal miner, steel workers, teamsters, and dock hands have universally credited one tactic above all others: the lawn sign.
P.S. I also met a screenwriter named Jude. We had a lovely talk, and Jude decided to check out the Situation Normal community. Hey Jude, see you on the picket lines!✊🖊
Settle a debate
The other night, we ordered shawarma from a nearby Middle Eastern restaurant. Christina placed the order via Door Dash. When the app notified her that our driver was on the way, Christina lost her shit.
“Oh my god, our driver’s name is Vagina K?!”
Naturally, I grabbed Christina’s phone right away.
“Their name is Vaginak,” I said. “There’s no space between the ‘a’ and the ‘k’.”
While we waited for our food, we had a little debate. I said Vaginak was the Dasher’s real name, but Christina claimed that the Dasher chose “vagina” to be funny, but then added the “k” to get past whatever filters Door Dash uses to make sure that their customers aren’t served by people with names like Harry Dick or Ben Dover. Who’s right here, situation normies?
I’m writing books here!
I’m a big fan of silly names: I.P. Freely, Amanda Hugginkiss, Jacques Strap. You get it. When I needed a name for the hero of Not Safe for Work, I chose Heywood Jablowme because it felt like a plausible nom de porn, plus it was a nod to an old joke played on unsuspecting journalists. Also, it’s silly.
I’m watching here
Our horror movie streak continues with the 1978 remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Some people say the 1978 version proves that remakes can sometimes be better than the original. Maybe that’s true. But what’s undeniably true is that if you’re looking for a movie where the hero is a health inspector and the villain is a dentist who loves basketball more than his wife, Invasion of the Body Snatchers is the movie for you.
A little housekeeping
This coming Sunday, I’m doing a collaboration with
and . So instead of the usual story, you’re getting three satirical takes on the classic graduation speech.The Sunday after that is Father’s Day. In honor of my father, I’ll be sharing a Larry story about the time he asked the Sultan of Oman to host my Bar Mitzvah, an unusual gift, and very pissed off Bob Hope. That story will be for paid subscribers only, so if you want in on that one, be sure to upgrade.
Finally, the Wednesday edition of Situation Normal is going on hiatus until July 12. You’ll still receive the regular Sunday posts, and I’ve got some surprises to share in the coming weeks, but Wednesday is taking a little break.
Stick around and chat!
You know the drill. I’ve got questions, you’ve got answers.
Have you ever met a member of your state legislature? Pretty underwhelming, right?
Do you think the old dude in the Mustang meant well, or was he an old-timey Pinkerton agent, dispatched by the studios to take WGA signs off the street one at at time? Conspiracy theories encouraged!
When the WGA strike is over, is anyone going to write a script for Weekend at Bernie’s 3? Please say yes!
Was Christina right about our Dasher’s name, or was I right? Take a side!
Is the 1978 version of Invasion of the Body Snatchers better than the original? Share you cold takes.
There is a local TV news reporter here in SW Florida by the name of Justin Case. For real.
I have come across a few odd names in my life: Iona Beerwagon, Harry Dorcas, Peter Peterson, Dick Head.
Parents are either cruel, obtuse, or think they are funny.