I was just told by a colleague that some PR person tried pitching a CNET reporter on Facebook! Poor form. I mean, at least make a friend request first.

I know some of you are confused by the Writer's Guild strike hoopla in Hollywood. So am I, my friends.

But alas, in this time of despair and confusion, an angel has come down to explain to us what the strike is all about.

Understanding the Strike

(As stolen from Jenna Fischer's MySpace blog.)

By now you may have heard that The Office has shut down production. This is true. They cleaned out my trailer and just delivered me 3 boxes of my stuff. It is pretty surreal. We cannot produce new episodes of The Office until the Writer's Guild strike is over.

You might be confused about the issues of the strike and I'm hoping that this blog can make it a bit clearer. (I should probably tell you that I support my head writer/producer Greg Daniels and the writing staff of The Office in their decision to strike.)

The big issue in this negotiation involves the Internet. If you go to NBC.com right now, you can watch an episode The Office for free. The network runs advertisements while you're watching it, which gives them an extra source of revenue. The actors, writers, producers and director, the people who created the content you are watching, are not compensated in any way for this.

The Writer's Guild has taken the position that the writers should receive residuals if the show re-airs on the Internet just like they receive residuals if it re-airs on television since in both cases the studios are making money. The issue is a huge deal, because the Internet is clearly where the future of entertainment lies.

Right now, a number of successful shows (like Lost for one) have stopped showing repeat episodes on TV at all, and have replaced them with ad-supported streaming video on their websites. If you're a Lost writer, or actor, or director, or a teamster that's no residuals at all for that show, and that's a big pay cut. We all count on the extra income that residuals provide as it can help us through a slump in our career when we aren't working as regularly. It is our safety net. In 10 years I may need those residual checks to cover my electric bill. You never know. Hollywood is a fickle town. If in 10 years, everything is rerun on the Internet, the current union contracts say the studios don't have to pay us a dime. And, I'll be sitting in the dark.

I hope that helped to explain things a little. For more…

Here is a video of our awesome writers on the picket line. They are funny even on strike:

Oh...there are only 2 unaired original episodes of The Office left. And, I'm sad to say the one we were getting ready to shoot was going to be the funniest of the year. I'm sure of it. They've been pitching this particular story idea for over 2 years…it involves Pam and Jim being in Michael's home but that's all I'll say. I hope we get to shoot it soon. Let's all stay strong and hope that the strike can end soon.

---

In a comment on the blog, someone asked: "Will the Writer's Guild include other industry workers when negotiating with executives?"

Jenna responded: "The Writers Guild only negotiates for writers. However, they are the first union contract to be up with the studios. The Actor's Guild contract is up in June 2008 and you can bet we will be fighting for the same residuals. It is important to support the writer's strike because the results of this strike will trickle down to the other union contracts...just like how a court ruling effects future rulings."

There you have it. Beauty, charisma, intelligence and an explanation about the Writer's Guild strike all embodied in Jenna Fischer. Thanks, Jenna. You are still my #1 MySpace friend.

As many of you know, the single joy of my Thursdays is reading the new "I Saw U's" in "The Stranger." I enjoy the hunt of looking for an I Saw U directed to me from an actual stranger, even though I come up empty-handed week after week.

I've always had an odd, voyeuristic attraction to reading personal ads. Before our shifts started at Bella Nina's, Scott and I would always grab sodas and sit in a booth to read the weekly's personal ads and share laughs guessing if they were M4W, W4M, M4M, W4W, transsexuals, post-op, etc.

Today, I was all smiles when I read an I Saw U directed to Bill Gates. It's the next best thing if I can't read one directed to me.

BILL GATES THE SWELL SEASON

I saw you there! Hanging out in the lobby with Melinda. It made me feel better about humanity that you simply wanted to see The Swell Season and that you sat in the balcony. Here's to more great concerts Bill!

When: Monday, November 5, 2007. Where: The Moore. You: Man. Me: Man. #907915

Paolo Does Europe - Sept. 11

Editor's note: Paolo wrote nearly incomprehensible comments on the evening of his Tuscany Chianti tour. WIB provides them to you unedited.

Went to first winery Strategically sat at a table only half-filled. So drank twice as much wine Coincidentally, broke glass at table. Bowed to standing applause. My company at table Marine family. Eldest man had 30 yr career. Younger man is son in law, 4 yr Marine career. Now gov't contractors. $7-8 million a yr. Everyone on the bus is very drunk now. Only halfway thru tour.

Paolo Does Europe - Sept. 10

I am in Florence, and tonight I nearly died. The coroner's report would have read: "Cause of death: Overeating."

I hadn't eaten well since Cinque Terra, and I mean really well, so I decided tonight would be the night. As is the case with nearly every first night in a big city, I don't know anyone, but going out alone is the best time to dictate how much to spend on a meal.

I ventured out early for appertivi, which rocks here. A drink (I had Campari) and all you can eat muchies for just $6E? That's a deal.

For dinner I went to "Yellow Bar," a place recommended by "Lonely Planet" aka the travel Bible. I ordered a spicy marinara pasta. That him the spot. I was only disappointed because I felt I could have easily made the same dish. The accompanying Chianti wasn't great, but it was the only red wine served by the glass. I could have of course ordered and drank a bottle, but I didn't want to look like a total drunk -- not on a first night in a new city. Maybe night two. First impressions are important, after all.

After cleaning the plate with a couple slices of bread, it was onto dessert. The gelato I had an hour earlier just wasn't fulfilling my sweet tooth quota.

I ordered creme-filled crepes with dark chocolate topping. This dessert could kill. It was served hot and the chocolate nearly burned my mouth. But it was heavenly, and I'm not even a dark chocolate person. It was the kind of dessert that made you say "Whoa" at first taste and "Whoo" at last bite. Think "When Harry Met Sally," if Meg Ryan were being sincere. I topped off the meal with cafe and topped off a liter of water.

I got up and I did NOT feel good. I now understand why gluttony is a sin. I could barely walk, and I had a long walk back to the hotel. The last time I felt this way was when I visited Gramps and Grams in Palm Desert a few years back. We went out to dinner and I ordered jambalaya. The portion was huge, enough to feed Mardi Gras paraders for a day, but I was determined to complete the feast -- if only for the challenge. I succeeded, kind of. After dinner I sprawled over the back seat of the carand whimpered like a puppy getting its tail stepped on -- and that was us just leaving the parking lot.

So here I was again, stumbling back to the hotel, drunk on carbs, weaving through the streets of Florence. The only thing that kept me from passing out in a food coma was the sheer pain of my stomach.

I looked down at the street as I walked. Food lined the windowpanes of nearly every shop and the sight of more food added to my pain and nausea. Burping provided some, temporary relief. With each release of air I could literally see my swollen stomach recede by the quarter-inch.

I eventually made it back to my hotel. Of course, I am at the top floor. Somehow, between my belly and strained hamstring I recently developed, I made it to the top floor. I passed the common room where I see an Aussie girl eye me. Maybe it's my good looks, maybe it's my pregnant stomach. No time to to make a play for it. I need to get off my feet and sleep.

I am now in bed ending my chronicle for you, my dear friends, as my stomach slowly kills me.