#or january

[chirpsythismorning]

May I ask you if the Strike will ever end? :(

At this point I am just letting time tell.

I think that the plan originally was for the studios to hold out until October, assuming only the writers were striking. But with the actors being in the mix now, that definitely increases the stakes for the studios to come back to the table and actually negotiate in good faith.

The question is are they going to go back to the table to negotiate with SAG AND the WGA?

I just can't see the actors being on strike past October, but if the studios are really, really stupid (they are), then yes, it could go into 2024 (The Emmy's are prepared to postpone until January. So that's their worst case scenario at least...).

I personally don't think the actors will be on strike into 2024 because none of them being able to promote movies/shows each passing day is going to start pressuring certain studios to cave sooner than others, and that's what could inevitably force those other studios to follow suit. No one wants to want to exist in a world where all of their competitors are back to work and they are not.

The problem is that right now lot of the studios are seeing each other as equals/allies, despite being competitors. But still, at the end of the day they will always be competing, and that's going to be their downfall as the clock ticks for their little studio suicide pact.

Again I think a lot of the studios initial plans (best case scenario) was to stick it out together vs. the writers until Oct. before even coming back to the table, then hoping it would end sometime around then with the writers being forced to take a shit deal because they need work to live. They also probably hoped that the public would be taking their frustration out on the writers.

Obviously that plan has veered way off course, so it's possible based on that alone we could see it all end sooner than it would have.

But that's wishful thinking overall tbh. It's just too soon to tell.

I think, best case scenario we could start hearing actual back and forth between SAG and the studios by the end of August.

Now, that doesn't mean they'll make a deal in a day and agree on it (it could last another month + despite talks happening soon). It means that maybe we'll start seeing verified reports of some back and forth about negotiations starting to happen again.

If it's coming from the studios, we can't really make anything of that, because if SAG is saying on the other side that they're not getting any calls, then it's all fodder.

So for the time being, we need to wait to hear from SAG or the WGA about what's going on to even gage if any progress is being made at all. Until even an inkling of something like that occurs, it's not happening anytime soon.

Maybe we could hear something like that going on by the end of the month with SAG, but maybe not.

I do have worries that what we'll start seeing on the studios end, sooner than later, is talks with SAG but not the WGA. If that happens and WGA stays on strike, we're still looking at a standstill regardless of if SAG comes to a deal with the AMPTP.

As far as I know SAG can't like write in their deal that they'll only agree if the studios make a deal with the WGA. It's not that simple. And it's possible the studios could use that to their advantage. But that's also assuming that the studios are even willing to come to a good deal that SAG will agree on anytime soon.

It's pretty likely though that the studios already know of the deal they're going to make that the writers and actors will be willing to agree to, but they're holding out. And that's just the grossest part of all.

TBH we're dealing with really slimy people which is why I can't even say with utmost certainty that the strike will end.

Hope this helped 😅😭

[suzypfonne]

Before January 2025:

If you are a USAmerican in a relationship that might be affected by legislation that dissolves same-sex marriages, who may no longer be recognized as next-of-kin, especially if you have children, get your rights in writing!

Your marriage certificate may not be enough to prove you have rights to make medical decisions for non-biological children or for a same-sex spouse or partner.

Go to a lawyer, get it spelled out as clearly as possible that you have a voice in emergency medical and legal situations.

[spyboy2000]

ᴇᴢʀᴀ ᴊᴀᴄᴋ ᴋᴇᴀᴛs Artwork from his 1962 book The Snowy Day.

[lakecountylibrary]

LIBRARY WRAPPED

You checked out... probably some stuff? Thanks for doing that :)

Used our wifi maybe? For something?

Look we actually don't know what genres you read or how many times you renewed Gender Queer.

We don't want to know.

Our gift to you is privacy.

Take it.

Be free.

[card-of-the-day]

Today's Card Is: Snom

[technovillain]

i come from the universe where everything is the same except disney heroines get like an ounce of their fathers' obviously dominant genes and their clothes are like 80% more historically accurate. it's beautiful here.

[2] [3]

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

License to Kitty.

[nessa007]

[danidoodels]

some Tim warmups ft: Tim warming up

[mournfulroses]

Zinaida Nikolaevna Gippius, from The Selected Works; “Memoirs of Martynov,”

[enjymemink]

Of course those cowards won't show the truth.

Anyways you can go to this thread and find channels who are broadcasting it.

[fortuneaday]

[goose-books]

The Ghost of Christmas Past shows up and you’re like, “Ohhhhh for fuck’s sake,” but you’re in your childhood bedroom so it’s kind of on you. The ghost seems offended. She crosses her arms. She looks like you used to, with the pigtails.

“No way,” you say. “Don’t start.”

“I am the—”

“The Ghost of Christmas Past, I know, I know.” Because she looks like you, and it’s Christmas Eve, so what else. Your parents used to read you the story every year. Even when you were old enough to read on your own, it was better in your dad’s voice.

“You came home for your parents,” the ghost says, solemn. “It’s time to tell them.”

“No, like, ‘when you’re ready’?”

“You are ready,” she says, “or you wouldn’t have come back.”

Which is so stupid, because you weren’t on the moon, you were at college, and it’s only been two months of shots, you don’t even have a mustache. “Fucking leave me alone,” you say, so she does the ghost thing and takes you to a ten-years-ago Christmas. The living room. Your parents. Your fledgling self on the carpet with your stocking, the one you can’t look at anymore because when you were a baby your parents patiently hand-stitched the fucking name.

“Maybe they’ll make you a new one,” says the ghost.

“You don’t know that.” Bullshit ghost powers.

“You were happier back then. When they knew you.”

“Everyone was happier back then. It was, like, 2008.”

“There was a recession,” says the ghost.

“Shut up! Shut up!” You turn over in bed. For a second you expect to roll onto child-self-you curled up next to you. Probably crush the life out of her. You got good at that. It’s her bed, her room, pink covers, cat posters.

“This is so stupid, this Dickens thing,” you say. “I’m not even Christian anymore.”

“Tell your parents that second,” the ghost suggests.

“Oh my fucking God I’m not telling them anything can’t you go bother Jeff Bezos.”

“I’m just doing my job,” says the ghost, and vanishes.

#

The Ghost of Christmas Present has an acne problem. As soon as you open your eyes you say, “Oh my God,” and they say, “Hi,” and you say, “You better not be the fucking Ghost of Christmas Present,” and the Ghost of Christmas Present says, “I am.”

Which you knew.

“Why me?” you say, pink comforter bunched around your waist. “I didn’t do anything. Scrooge was mean to orphans.”

The Ghost of Christmas Present shrugs. “It’s the job.”

“Are you gonna show me my parents now?”

That makes them look kind of embarrassed.

“Well, don’t,” you say. If your parents are talking in the other room, huddled up conferencing with the lights off, you can’t hear it over the heater buzz. But you can guess what they’re saying: you went to school with a shitty pixie cut and worse eyeliner, and you came back with a real haircut and a permanent frown and a bunch of new friends you play sentence Twister to avoid pronouning. “I know they’re nice people, I got it. I’m just not ready.”

“It’s just—you’re kind of waiting for them to ask?” says the Ghost of Christmas Present. They scratch their face, where they have spectral sideburns coming in. “Your dad thinks you have a head cold. ‘Cause of your voice. But your mom’s starting to get it.”

You pull the covers over your head. “Cool, awesome, didn’t ask.”

“She isn’t going to ask,” the ghost says. “She wants you to tell her.”

You stick your middle finger out from underneath the covers. When you check, the room is empty again.

#

The Ghost of Christmas Future doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you. You look back. You probably have bedhead. You fixed your daytime wardrobe but your pajamas are still lacy and purple.

“How come you’re a man?” you say.

He says, “I think you know.”

“Fucking—go away.”

“I have something to show you first.”

“Are we going to the goddamn graveyard?”

He doesn’t say anything but then you’re in the goddamn graveyard. Together. Looking at your headstone. The dates are close enough together to make you kind of sick.

“They went with the full name,” you say.

The ghost nods.

“Not even the nickname. My nice gender neutral nickname.”

The ghost shrugs. You kind of want to throw something at him but you’re just looking at it now. Chiseled in marble. Immovable. What’s that thing bigots on the internet say, about someone digging up your jawbone two hundred years from now? You always wanted to think you wouldn���t care.

The Ghost of Christmas Future’s pretty quiet. This is the part where Scrooge goes full breakdown. Tears, begging, promises.

“I’m not gonna cry on you,” you say.

“Okay.”

So neutral. “Man, what do you want me to say?”

“Nothing,” says the ghost. “I think you’re there.”

You can’t stop looking at the headstone. “God fucking damnit shit. You promise they’ll be cool?”

“Nothing’s promised,” the ghost says. He gestures at the graveyard. “Except for this.”

“Awesome.” Cryptic cliche philosophical ghost bullshit. Yada yada. Death and taxes. Not with that name on your headstone, though. Not with that name on your tax forms, either.

You turn to tell him that and then you’re blinking in bed. There’s still one glow-in-the-dark star stuck to your ceiling where the glue never wore out. You put those up like ten years ago. Maybe longer. The light in the room says it’s morning. You swing your lacy-pajama legs over the side of the bed and go to ruin Christmas.

[nalonzooo]

palate cleansers