A Writer’s New Life as a Construction Worker
It’s 5:45 a.m. on a Tuesday, and the Home Depot on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood is already bustling. I am standing in Aisle 18 — deep in the lumber section of the cavernous space — evaluating formulations of plaster compound. I’ve been sent here to get a 50-pound bag of “40 minute,” a box of “red dot,” a box of “green dot,” a roll of drywall tape and a roll of “frog” tape. To be clear, I don’t know what any of these things are. The last time I was up this early for work, I was on the set of Cooper’s Bar (the Emmy-nominated sitcom I co-created for AMC), trying to convince our star, Rhea Seehorn, that one of the jokes I had written for her character would be funnier if she said the words “face anus” instead of her preferred choice, “face hole.” (Rhea, to her endless credit, ultimately agreed.) In the intervening months, Hollywood had suffered an actors’ strike, a writers’ strike, a spiraling production exodus and a content contraction precipitated by the economics of streaming and …








