
One year ago on TTaT: The tree is still standing...
Technorati tags: dusting of snow, footprints in snow
Regarding the AMPTP releasing a press release just 20 minutes after storming out of negotiations (again) and demanding the WGA drop six issues or else the companies "petulantly won't even talk," Elisberg writes...WGA Files Unfair Labor Practice Charges Against AMPTP.
"This is important. The press release appeared after 20 minutes. We're dealing with nine corporations here on the board. To get approvals from nine multinational conglomerates, nine PR departments, nine CEOs - until it's right - this takes more than 20 minutes. It takes many days. Which means the corporations knew before sitting down to negotiate that they had no intention to negotiate. That they knew they were going to blame everything on the "six issues" and then storm out in a hissy fit.
...when one side demands you remove six items before they'll talk...you simply can't do it. If you do, the negotiation is over. You lose. Go to jail, do not collect the $250. The Guild tried that once, removing the 4-cents DVD increase because the AMPTP demanded it. And the AMPTP corporations didn't change one thing. What they did do is walk out of the room. (Sound familiar?) So, that didn't work out too well. And removing six items now because the AMPTP "demands it" would work out worse."
It’s as if they’ve been given their own little country called their body, which they get to tyrannize, clean up, or control while they lose all sight of the world.The past few months, I've been a little obsessed with my own stomach. I was fine with it for a long time, even considered it sexy for a spell, and then some switch flipped; my slightly rounded stomach seemed wrong and it wouldn't be right until it was flat. Honestly, I haven't made much progress on that front with my sporadic workout habits and aversion to crunches. Still, every Sunday I measure my thighs and the chubbiest part of my stomach, a record of little change to feed the obsession.
What I can’t believe is that someone like me, a radical feminist for nearly thirty years, could spend this much time thinking about my stomach. It has become my tormentor, my distractor; it’s my most serious committed relationship. It has protruded through my clothes, my confidence, and my ability to work. I’ve tried to sedate it, educate it, embrace it, and most of all, erase it.