Life's a beach

As 2009 draws to an end, I've given my notice to Emily that I'm moving out of the cat-house, have started looking for new digs, and have hightailed it out of L.A. for a few days in Orange County.  Huntington Beach is a surf neighbourhood, where the view across the big blue Pacific is interrupted by oil rigs but is nonetheless beautiful.  Apparently HB has undergone a gentrification over the last 5 or 10 years; it used to be a wild party scene with regular rioting, to the extent that the police would conduct riot drills in the street on a regular basis.  It is now a much quieter neighbourhood, populated by townhouses topped with Spanish tiles and a tourist strip filled with surf labels, souvenir stores, bars and the usual fast food chains.  Like Torquay meets Surfers Paradise, without the high rise hotels.

I'm staying with Sarah, a woman I went to high school with but never really knew back then.  We were in the same year but never the same class, however thanks to Facebook we were reintroduced by a mutual former schoolfriend and have become friends; we have high school in common and now also the fact that we are single, childless women living a long way from Mentone!  Sarah has been in the States for the last 9 years and is relishing her life in HB.  Yesterday was an uncharacteristically rainy day, so while Sarah worked in the afternoon, I took myself off to a local day spa for a facial.  Bliss!  Today blue skies returned and we went for a leisurely bike ride along the foreshore.

Today is new year's eve and I know that it is already 2010 in Australia; an odd feeling.  Sarah is hosting a party at her house so this afternoon we went foraging for tasty treats and celebratory bubbles.  There is cheese on the kitchen bench, slowly relaxing to room temperature, and a pavlova in the oven!

Merry Christmas

On Christmas Eve, Regi and I escaped L.A. and drove to Monterey, about five and a half hours north by car.  He has a fun car to travel in, a sporty BMW convertible, and he enjoyed stretching it out on the freeway.  Having departed in the evening (Regi took part in his church's Christmas show), we arrived in Monterey in the wee hours of Christmas morning.  Sinking gratefully into bed, we didn't regain consciousness until about noon.  We then went in search of a suitable lunch venue, and found The Old Fisherman's Grotto on Fisherman's Wharf to be the perfect place; water views, relaxed and happy atmosphere, great seafood.  There I had my first taste of clam chowder.  I don't know how I've managed to avoid it for so long, I think it's just that when I want soup, I don't consider seafood varieties - I'm a classic tomato kind of gal.  Anyway, the clam chowder was delicious and deadly, so rich and creamy I found I had little room left for paella!  Regi said it was the best clam chowder he'd ever eaten, so the bar has been set high for any future chowder chow-downs. 

After lunch we took a stroll along the wharf, and then drove to nearby Carmel, a picture perfect little town that looks like a movie set, everything is so cute and clean and sparkly.  The real beauty however is watching the sunset over the beach; it's a Monterey tradition to head to the beach to watch the sunset and the fog roll in and there was indeed quite a crowd gathered on the fine, white sand. 

The following day, I visited with Garyth, a friend I made last year when in the U.S.  I stayed the night in her charming cottage, while Regi stayed at the hotel, allowing Garyth and I to have a good girly catch-up.  We drank wine, ate chocolate and watched a few episodes of Sex and the City.  It doesn't get much girlier than that (fingernail painting and make-overs aside).  In the morning I took a stroll along the foreshore, spying a few eager body-surfers paddling furiously amongst the gentle (but very cold) waves, alongside some very relaxed seals sunning themselves on rocks. 

Garyth and I then took a quick trip to Cannery Row, where I discovered the Sunglass Hut was having a seriously good sale.  Some sunglasses were marked down at almost 50% of original price, and then the salesgirl said take an extra 30% off that.  So I snaffled myself a fabby pair of Dolce & Gabbana sunnies for a mere $56!  Woo hoo!  That takes some of the sting out of losing my lovely Versace's.  Dear me, sometimes I write something and think, 'wow, I'm shallow!'

Sunday afternoon, Regi and I went wine-tasting in the Carmel Valley.  We stopped at Bernardus and discovered that the winery has a separate establishment a couple miles further down the road for tastings.  On we went, tasted some lovely vintages - their Chardonnay was a real winner - and enjoyed the jovial atmosphere created in the tasting room by the bar-tender.  There were about 6 other people there tasting the wine and we were all very merry.  We then headed back to the winery itself, which also housed a restaurant, for lunch.  The walls of the modest restaurant were covered in photographs of racing cars - roughly 1950s and 1960s vintage - as well as a framed, enlarged copy of a hand-drawn design for Volkswagon and an actual steering wheel displayed in a glass box.  What has this to do with wine?  Nothing, except that the owner, Mr Pons, is a Dutchman who designed the Volkswagon van and used to race cars.  In fact he won Le Mans. 

We arrived back in L.A. Sunday night.  I entered my apartment with some trepidation; I knew Emily had returned from her cruise last week, but that she was away again visiting her family for the Christmas holiday.  The charming aroma of cat faeces greeted me at the door, as did Pilot with his customary whine (to call it a meow would embue it with more melody than he possesses).  Mounting the stairs, I heard music coming from Emily's room and her bedroom door was ajar.  I called out 'hello' but got no response, not even an answering meow from Pearl, the kitten.  I peeked around the dooor and made out the shape of a body sleeping in the bed.  Perhaps Emily's friend Nicole - who she had enlisted to look after the cats while Emily was on her cruise - was staying the night.  This morning, the radio was still playing, which seemed odd.  I peeked around the door again and discovered that the reclining shape in the bed was just pillows arranged under the bedclothes to look like a sleeping person.  Was this intended to fool the cats into thinking they were under human supervision??  Seriously???  I checked Pearl's amenities - sufficient food and water, almost overflowing litter tray.  But where was Pearl?  I still hadn't heard a squeak from her.  I started looking carefully around the room and under the bed.  There is a little alcove in one corner of the room, which leads to a back door exit from the apartment.  The door is rarely used (it was necessary to use it to bring my bed into the apartment, but that's it) and Emily uses the alcove as storage space.  From the darkness in the alcove I heard a plaintive mew; Pearl.  She crept out.  Clearly, this has been her hiding place from Pilot, who has not been fooled into thinking Pearl had any kind of human protection and who upon hearing her cries this morning wasted no time in galloping up the stairs.  So the door is once again closed, for Pearl's protection.  Man, it stinks in there.  Emily is due back today or tomorrow. 

Meanwhile, I'm planning another escape this week, to visit a friend in Huntington Beach, an hour or two south of L.A.  I'm also looking at share accommodation ads as I prepare a more permanent escape from the cathouse.

In Review

I'm on a quest to find more sources of exercise.  Yoga is great, Boot Camp is a love it/hate it good hard workout, but I need more cardio!!!!!  So, I've been checking out a few gyms in the area to see which have step classes.  Most seem to only have one or two step classes a week, at an intermediate level.  There is one in North Hollywood however that describes its Step as 'Advanced' - that's my baby.  Not able to get there this week unfortunately as it's on a Saturday morning and I had my final class with Rick and Russell; the end of a tumultuous 8 weeks!  So for this class we were to present our 'signature' piece; that's a lot of pressure on a 2 to 3 page script because one feels it has to be PERFECT, it has to show the world who I am and why I'm FABULOUS, and nothing seems to quite live up to that.  I went looking for something comedic because that is one of my strengths and I've had few opportunities to demonstrate that in this class.  Midway through the week I emailed R&R for some advice.  Rick called me back and got me thinking in a different way.  He said think about what inspired me to be an actor, what films do I love?  Find something you'll really enjoy performing.  Well, I fell in love with Hitchcock films, Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn, and 'Gone With the Wind'.  So I dug up the screenplay for 'Notorious', the classic 1940s B&W Hitchcock film starring Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman in their prime.  It's so interesting to read the script of an iconic film, one that I first saw more than 10 years ago when I paid more attention to the actors and the costumes - the images - than the script.  It's a great script; it efficiently introduces the key characters and establishes the setting all while being sharp and slyly witty.  Sometimes this seems like a lost art in modern filmmaking.  The next classic screenplay I found was 'His Girl Friday'; Cary Grant once again, this time trading fast and funny dialogue with Rosalind Russell.  Bingo.  I picked a scene, trimmed it down to a manageable 2.5 pages and changed the names.  Loved it.  Performing this on Saturday morning I was the least nervous I've been in that room for 8 weeks, and it went over really well.  Hooray! 

After class, I got chatting with one of my fellow actresses, Bruna.  She felt like seeing a film, chilling out and taking her mind off herself.  Would I like to join her?  Sounded like a great idea to me.  It was good to chat to her and realise that I wasn't the only one eaten up by nerves in some classes.  That was something I missed in this course; usually when you spend that many weeks with the same group,  you get to know everyone.  But we never played any 'getting to know you' games so there were some people whose names I was unsure of right up until the final week, and after most classes we dispersed, eager to escape the black box we'd been sitting in for 3 hours and get something to eat.  There was one week when a few people gathered together for lunch after class, but that was the week I missed due to my improv show.  As a group we never had the opportunity to let off any steam about the classes, the feedback we were receiving, how we were feeling, the chance to discover if anyone else felt the same way.  Bruna and I saw 'Nine', the latest musical directed by Rob 'Chicago' Marshall with a star-studded cast; Daniel Day-Lewis, Marion Cotillard, Penelope Cruz, Nicole Kidman, Kate Hudson, Judi Dench and Sophia Loren.  Gorgeously shot, a tribute to the golden age of Italian cinema, fabulous costumes, charming performances but in the end less than the sum of its parts.  It's really not that great a musical; the songs are so-so and the plot is thin.  It's a showcase for the actors, each one gets a big number - their moment in the spotlight, sexy and fabulous - but there's not much holding it all together.  Nonetheless, it was far superior entertainment than the execrable 'Twilight'.

What possessed me to rent 'Twilight'?  I didn't expect it to be very good, but I thought it would at least be amusingly bad, something to chortle at derisively.  Alas, it took itself far too seriously and was not just filled with tedious teenage stuttering and mumbling, dodgy make-up jobs and even worse acting, it was slow-moving and BORING!  I had quite enjoyed the book. Teen-angst aside, it's an action-filled page-turner written from the perspective of Bella, the heroine, who reveals herself to be wryly funny (well, for an angsty teenager); sadly missing from the film.  I couldn't watch it all the way through.  After about 45 minutes of lip-biting, grey-skinned torture I switched off.  The most interesting thing to note was the young actress currently starring opposite George Clooney in 'Up in the Air' playing a supporting role as one of Bella's schoolfriends.  She's really good in 'Up in the Air'.

Last night I went to see my friend Anthony in the final performance of an independent theatre show called 'Pandora'.  It was based on the ancient tale of Pandora and her box, which upon opening unleashes misery on the world.  The show had parallel storylines - the classic tale and a modern take on it - and was a blend of music, movement, dance, vocal landscaping and conventional dialogue scenes.  In his program notes, the director says the show "should be seen and heard - absorbed on a sensory level."  Uh-oh, what am I in for? I enjoyed the movement and dance sequences more than the vocal work and the script, which was a bit clunky and sometimes redundant because the movement and dance told the story more effectively and more vibrantly.  Also, some of the acting was pretty cringeworthy.  I have to applaud any theatre company willing to create and explore original work, but overall the show encompassed many of the cliched characteristics of 'experimental theatre' and all the jaw-grinding, sphincter-clenching trepidation that inspires.

My blog would not be complete without a cat note.  Pearl (the kitten) is expanding her range of meows, she gives quite the tour-de-force performance each night from mournful cries through angry growls, hopeful trills and soul-searching mews.  Sometimes Pilot climbs the stairs and joins in.  Or perhaps he's just voicing my own thoughts; shut the f*%k up!

Grrrrrr!

Life in the cattery continues.  Litter smells haven't been an issue as in the end Emily successfully arranged for a friend to come over every few days to take care it, however the meowing and growling and necessity of keeping the two separated is tiresome.  When I'm home I can babysit, unless I'm sleeping.  All other times Pearl has to be kept behind a closed door because Pilot will stalk her and given the opportunity even drive her out of her (and Emily's) room.  The doors to both bedrooms are right next to each other.  Yesterday morning, pre-dawn, I awoke to the sound of low growling outside my door.  At first I assumed it was Pearl, although her pitch is usually much higher.  Then as my sleepy ears adjusted I realised the sound wasn't muffled enough to be coming from behind a second closed door, it was right outside my own.  What the hell was going on?  So I got up, grumpily.  It was Pilot, growling at Pearl through the door; "I'm gonna f*%k you up little pussycat, just wait, momma's gonna find your corpse... grrrr."  Or words to that effect.  I chased him off.  When I chase him I have to bark at him to really get him moving, otherwise he only backs up a few paces.  The barking does the trick, he streaks downstairs and hides under a chair.  It's a madhouse.  The other night I dreamt Pilot attacked me, the beast; it wasn't a long torturous nightmare, just that moment of being caught off-guard and having to shake him off my back.  A little unsettling nonetheless.  Needless to say, I am looking forward to getting away!  Regi and I are planning a trip up the coast to San Francisco and a visit to a friend in Monterey (hi Garyth!) next week.

On Sunday I went to Boot Camp class again.  I seem to be getting there only every two weeks, but want to make a better habit of it.  I'm feeling a bit squidgey, need more cardio exercise.  Boot Camp doesn't engage the mind very much but is a great workout, the kind I still feel the next day.  On Monday afternoon I went over to Ted's place to rehearse one more time before class on Tuesday.  It happened to be his birthday, so I scored an invitation to stay for dinner.  His partner, Suzanne (a lovely actress, also in Vinny's class with us) was cooking a turkey because Ted was in New Zealand during Thanksgiving so he missed out.  Some other friends joined us and it was a delightful evening all round.

A few things are wrapping up this week.  We had our last class with Vinny for the year last night.  Ted and I performed our scene, got some good direction and things to work on (especially me) for the next time we present it - in 2010!  It was a small class, and we had a little party at the end of it; Vinny and his wife Cindy brought along some sparkling wine, and Ted and Suzanne brought leftover birthday cake.  It was a big delicious chocolate cake and plenty to go around. 

This Saturday will be the last of the emotionally tumultuous 8 week course I've been doing with Rick and Russell; on the whole I've enjoyed it and learned a lot, but I'll also be glad when it's over!  This week we can pick any scene or monologue to perform; it's supposed to be our "signature piece", the 2 minute piece that presents us in our best light, a star-making role.  No pressure!  I tried writing a monologue for myself, but it's tough and I prefer writing monologues for other people.  I looked at various scripts, from The Hours to Orlando and What Women Want.  Great female roles in all of them.  Nothing quite clicked, nothing seemed 'good enough'.  I emailed Rick and Russell for advice.  Rick called me.  He advised getting back in touch with the movies that made me want to be an actor, that lit the fire in my belly.  So I thought about Alfred Hitchcock, Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn and Gone With the Wind.  I looked at the script for Notorious, Ingrid Bergman's role - not quite right.  Thought about The Philadelphia Story but I'm so enamoured of that film and of Hepburn that I fear I would end up simply impersonating her.  Then I hit upon His Girl Friday and have extracted a rapid fire Cary Grant/Rosalind Russell scene.  At the end of the day, whether or not it can be considered truly a signature piece, I'm going to have fun performing it!

Sights and smells (mostly smells)

Found myself fighting off a chest cold last weekend, successfully, I might add. After weathering three colds in Melbourne this winter, I certainly hoped that my immune system was the stronger for it in the end. So far so good. Being able to take it very easy for a couple of days helped too. I finished reading A Prayer for Owen Meany - great book, highly recommended.

The drama of the week centered around my roommate Emily's imminent departure on a 10 day cruise. She will effectively be away for 11 days, home for a couple of days, then off again for at least another week to spend time with family over Christmas. What about the cats, the warring cats?
E: Oh, they're staying here.
Me: Who have you got lined up to look after them?
E: Well, I was kinda hoping that you...?
Me: No, I'm not cleaning out their litter trays. And I don't want to be responsible for them for the better part of three weeks. I might be going away myself.
E: Oh, well that's ok, they'll be fine. They'll just poop on their poop.
Me: But you're counting on me to clean it out because I'm the one who will be living with the smell.
E: Well... yeah.
Me: What if you didn't have a roommate? Would you really be prepared to leave the cats on their own for that long?
E: Yeah, it'll be a disgusting mess when I come back, but I'll deal with it.
Me: What about taking them to a cattery?
E: No, they're staying here.
Me: Can a friend take them? You could pay someone to come every two days. It's not fair to them to just leave them.
E: No, I'm not paying someone. You know, I really need a roommate who can look after my cats for me.

At that point I really had to resist the urge to punch her in the face. I was furious. She seemed so oblivious to her own selfishness. I had to resist the urge to get sarcastic too; sure, it would be nice to have a roommate that did your laundry for you too, and cooked and did all the cleaning and wiped your arse when you go to the toilet. No? But you expect me to pick up your cats' shit. Impasse. And now I'm thinking I'm going to have to move out. I certainly want to be away as much as possible in the next three weeks.

She left tonight (Friday, L.A. time). And has apparently succeeded in lining up a friend to come over every few days to take care of the cats. A good thing too, and what a good friend to agree to that. Well, I would do the same for a friend, but I objected to the assumption I would do it, despite stating clearly I was not prepared to clean litter trays (topping up food and water bowls is another thing) simply because my own comfort would be affected if I did not (let alone the comfort of the cats). Perhaps our discussion sank in a bit after all. I still think I should move out by the end of January. A pity, but cats living in an apartment with no outdoor access available to them is less than ideal. I've been accommodating, but this is the deal breaker.

Cats aside, it's been a good week. As the year winds up and people start going away on holiday, numbers in Vinny's classes have dropped off a bit so he has opened up both nights to all students at no extra charge. So I went along on both Monday and Tuesday night, worked on a new monologue, presented a scene I've been working on with Alex for the last time, and scored a new scene and new scene partner. Ted is a very experienced actor - a real character actor - who has had roles in dozens of films (including the Spiderman series, directed by his brother Sam - yes, Raimi) and TV shows. Honestly, I didn't recognise him, but others in the class did and were a tiny bit awestruck so I IMDb'd and Youtube'd him. Check him out, he's very funny and a lovely guy to boot. We've got a great scene to work on together, funny and sweet; my character is his boss and I'm threatening to sack him so he can't brag about "what happened at the party" the other night when I was drunk. So drunk, in fact, that I can't actually remember what happened, I just know that something did! Ted and I bonded over New Zealanders vs Australians (he was recently in NZ filming something, and spent a lot of time there when he was a regular on Xena), and coffee. He's originally from Detroit, which being colder than L.A. is much more of a coffee city, and he pointed me in the direction of his favourite coffee dealer. The Supreme Bean is a coffee dealer, pure and simple - no cafe here - and is located in a light industrial street in North Hollywood. I checked it out today; the heavenly scent of freshly roasted coffee curled its way into my joyful nostrils as I got out of my car. I bought a pound of their Nocturne blend, which smells divinely rich and is described on their website thus: "... a blend of three peak roasted origins, enhancing the body while adding sweetness to the hints of smoke. Smooth and full bodied, with a long molasses finish that lingers in the mouth long after the cup is empty." Oh baby!

On Thursday I sat my driving test again. In preparation, I decided it wise to have some professional instruction so on Wednesday I booked a lesson. My instructor was a jocular fellow who ended up giving me close to two hours in the driving seat (I only booked and paid for one hour). He gave me several tips on securing a pass, or rather, minimising the number of points they could dock me, most significant of which was to move my head (not just my eyes) when scanning the road ahead and noting every cross street in this manner, to be sure the tester cannot fail to see that I am constantly looking, checking and scanning the road. We also practised The Stupid Move, aka the 30 foot backing maneouvre. Man, I hate that bloody thing! Do they test parallel parking? Not anymore, the 30 foot back has replaced parallel parking. Well, there's not much call for parallel parking in L.A.; most businesses have off-street parking lots so only passers-by use metered street parking that may require the parallel manoeuvre. Hurrumph! Anyway, all worthwhile because I passed the test without any problems - no accidental curb-riding this time, sister! - only losing six points (anything under 15, aside from certain "dangerous driving" errors - such as riding the curb, failing to stop at a stop sign, not checking your blind spot when changing lanes, giving your tester a heart attack etc - is a pass) due to erring on the side of caution. In other words, driving like a granny. Better than driving like a teenager! At the end of the test, after he informed me I passed, he asked if I'd had trouble with the backing manoeuvre on my previous test. He could tell, because I took so much time to check everything and prepare myself for it!

Once again, Regi came along as my "grown up", ie my accompanying licensed adult. This is a requirement for the test, because of course most people sitting for their license are not permitted to drive without a licensed person in the vehicle. Being internationally licensed, this doesn't apply to me, I was allowed to drive unaccompanied. As Andrew, my miserable previous tester, put it, I was able to take advantage of a loophole. Anyway, screw Andrew, I'm now official and eagerly await the arrival of another little plastic card with a hideous photograph of me on it; my very own Californian Driver's License. In the afternoon, Regi helped me record a voiceover demo. He does quite a bit of voiceover work, and has the equipment and fancy computer programs to create professional, polished recordings. He downloaded some advertising copy and I one in my Aussie accent, one in standard American (a gloriously irritating commercial for teeth whitener) and one in pseudo-British - "think sexy robot," said Regi. Ace fun. We'll do a couple of character voice recordings another time, then he'll edit the lot together and bring it to his agent. Yay!

Hot sauce

Another week has whizzed past. What the heck have I been up to? Yoga on Tuesday and Thursday morning; lunch with Regi Tuesday afternoon; acting class with Vinny on Tuesday night; re-recording voice over for Ginger on Wednesday; casting workshop Thursday night. And today's Friday. OK, so yoga. I've started attending some different classes; still love Shari's classes but am enjoying the extra challenge of a slightly more advanced class with Sigrid, who also likes to play music during the class, an eclectic mix with everything from atmospheric instrumental compositions through to Madonna and the Rolling Stones.

On Tuesday, Regi took me to lunch at 'The Cow Jumped Over the Moon', a kosher cafe/restaurant nestled in a sort of open-air courtyard of a small boutique 'mall' (Chadstone this is not) off Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. The food was simple and delicious; my vegetable panini contained home-made pesto (and, somewhat surprisingly, only one vegetable - grilled zucchini - nonetheless delicious). Their only real failing in my view was the coffee. I ordered an espresso and knew at first sight it was not going to be good. It looked watery, almost transparent; more like strong tea than coffee. Alas! The waiter asked if we would like to see the dessert menu. Always! He brought out a serving of each available dessert on a plate. No leaving the decision to chance interpretations of the written word, here you are folks, we know you can't resist this! Neither did we; the strawberry tart, thanks, to share.

Yesterday I took myself to Aroma for a modest lunch and a sunny spot in which to read my book, A Prayer for Owen Meany (enjoying it very much and nearly finished). I ordered a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich and while I waited for it to be delivered, I checked out the array of condiments available on the table. The usual salt, pepper and various sugar and sugar replacements, plus ketchup and hot sauce. Hot sauce is chilli sauce, but not the glutinous, sweet chilli version I've more often seen gracing the tabletops in cafes around Melbourne. I suppose hot sauce is more like Tabasco, it has a relatively thin consistency and is bright red. I thought a dash to two might be quite tasty with my toasted sanga. Indeed! Bring on the hot sauce! I now see why it is a staple condiment, and unlike so many American flavour enhancers, it is not sweet. Hallelujiah!

Last night I attended a casting workshop at TVI, my first for about a month - November proved to be such a busy month for me, what with improv and short films. It was kind of a last minute decision, but when I checked the website in the afternoon and saw there were still places available I figured, what the hell. I'm so glad I did. It was a really fun night with an associate from the casting office that casts The Dollhouse (which has just been cancelled, sorry Joss Whedon fans out there) and two new shows which I haven't yet seen, Hung (about a retired football player with one large, ahem, asset left) and Party Down (about a group of actors who come to LA and end up working as caterers). So, quirky comedy seems to be their thing. Perfecto! I scored a very funny scene about a woman in her 30s waking up with a blinding hangover to discover a cute 20-something guy in her bed. She has a vague memory of meeting him in a bar last night but is now feeling pretty seedy and embarrassed, "my cup of shame runneth over," she says; she wants him out of there, but he's smitten. Really fun scene, my scene partner was great, and Garrett (the casting director) liked it too much to give any redirection. I think we were the only scene of the night that got no redirection. Although Garrett advised me to get new headshots (which I've been thinking about, since it is now two years since I had them done) because my current one doesn't reflect the light shining in me, or words to that effect. Interesting. I have been thinking that although I like my photo - it's a nice shot, looks like me, very natural etc - it doesn't distinguish me, doesn't show what is unique or special about me. Basically, it's about capturing my personality, but I don't know how to demonstrate that in a still photo without it coming off cartoon-like.

Say cheese!

OK, so the play reading went really well on Saturday night. I was a little nervous actually, because although I know all these plays have been well received in Australia, I wasn't sure how well they would translate on the other side of the Pacific - especially the comedies. Aussies and Americans have a slightly different comic sensibility. Anyway, I needn't have worried because everyone got the jokes and are excited by the idea of putting together some of these scripts to create a show for ourselves. Woo hoo! It was quite a riotous evening; hey, you put five actors in a room, we're not shy! So the next step is to suss out some local theatre spaces, see what they cost and what is available.

I bought some fabulous cheese to accompany the reading from my favourite cheesery in Studio City. It's a cute cafe and very serious about cheese. The guys behind the cheese counter are always friendly and cheerful - quite flirty actually - which adds to the fun. They had some wine tasting happening when I went in, so tried a few lovely things and bought a cheap bottle of French something (white burgundy?) which was delicious and went beautifully with the cheese. For the foodies out there, I'll describe the cheese (apologies, I can't remember what each was called): a French lightly blue veined cheese, wrapped in vine leaves which had been soaked in brandy - the overall effect was sweet, with a slight tang from the blue; a Spanish goat's cheese, much like Swiss cheese in consistency, almost floral aroma; and lastly, a very stinky French washed rind soft cheese. Pure decadence.

Yesterday I met up with some Aussies, referred from my friend Laura in Melbourne (thanks Laura!). Kevin is a familiar face on Aussie TV and is travelling in the U.S. for a holiday (next stop Las Vegas) and to celebrate his 50th birthday with some mates, also turning 50 this year. They've known each other since high school. Amazing to think of friendships lasting that long, and I hope my current close friendships will too. I expect they will, some of them have already lasted more than a decade. You guys mean a lot to me. Also meeting up with Kevin yesterday afternoon was another young Aussie, Paul. We had already "met" on Facebook, thanks to Laura, so it was nice to meet in the real world. He has also won a coveted green card, the same draw as me, and arrived in L.A. barely three weeks ago. Kevin said he was really happy to help facilitate a bit of Aussie networking here, that's what it's all about baby! The more connections you have - be they friendly or purely professional - the easier it is to tackle this big weird town.

Thanksgiving

My first Thanksgiving. When I was here in 2007 at this time of year, I skipped town with Nick, Tiffany and Anthony; we headed to Vegas. This time I'm not just visiting and scored an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner with Regi and his friends. Mark and Karen provided their home and Regi provided The Turkey. A 26 pound bird that barely fit in his ancient oven, Regi spent about a day and a half preparing it; 24 hours in brine, and several more in the oven with regular basting. He refused to give up his stuffing recipe, but it was a delicious concoction which included figs, ginger, croutons, some kind of liqueur and... secret herbs and spices. All up, it was quite a spread; turkey, two kinds of stuffing (Mark made a traditional batch, which seemed to include beans, onion, garlic, breadcrumbs), cranberry sauce, yams (sweet potatoes), mashed potatoes, sauteed green beans, pumpkin pie and apple pie. We were joined by Michael, Steve and Stacy, and a merry group we were, full of opinions and good humour. Conversation ranged from the quirks of the Aussie accent, through national treasures and embarrassments (Aussie and U.S.), So You Think You Can Dance (and my Mary Murphy impersonation; the frozen face of shrieking hysteria) and American Idol through to cross-dressing and transgender surgery.

Emily is away this weekend, spending the holiday with her family, which puts me in charge of the warring cats and their litter trays. Not my favourite thing. I like cats, but I'm not a big fan of keeping them in an apartment with no outside access, forcing them to use litter trays indoors. Both cats are very good about using their respective litter trays, but it's still a stinky job to remove the poop and refresh the litter. Bleurrgghh! Pilot is such a bully, any chance he gets he corners Pearl (the young interloper) under Emily's bed. This is a safe spot for Pearl because Emily stores a lot of stuff under her bed and with Pilot's partial blindness, he can't see her under there. Besides which, I don't think he really cares whether or not he gets the chance to jump her, he seems content to simply bail her up and deny her access to the rest of the house; in other words, let her know who's boss.

Cat grumbles aside, I have much to be thankful for. I'm very lucky to have scored a green card and the opportunity of living and working here, pursuing my dreams. I feel so very welcomed by the people I meet in my new home, the new friends I'm making. I also feel loved and supported by my dear friends and family in Melbourne (and Paris), I know that if I reach a point where L.A. no longer feels like the right place to be, that I'll be welcomed back in my old home.

Tomorrow night, I'm meeting with some of my new actor friends to read some of my short plays, with view to putting a show together. It will be interesting to see how well they 'translate', I suspect some will need a bit of tweaking and some may simply not work at all. But hearing new voices (and accents) reading them will no doubt provide me with inspiration to write new material.

As I write this, I'm half-watching Footloose starring a very young Kevin Bacon, Sarah Jessica Parker and John Lithgow. Oh, those 80's bouffant hairstyles! Oh, those high-waisted jeans! Oh, that awesome 80's soundtrack!

Busy, bizzy, buzzy

Very bizzy weekend. Actually, it's been a very busy two weeks what with improv at UCB almost every day. What a great group of people, we had such fun! Our graduation performance took place on Saturday afternoon, and went pretty well. I'm a harsh personal critic of course, and I look back on it and think about where and how I could have been funnier/made better offers etc, but we made people laugh and enjoyed ourselves so what more can you ask for? For the performance, we called ourselves "Full Grown and the Chastity Tools"; absolutely an in-joke. I can't quite remember where the "full grown" came from, but Chastity Tool is the name of a girl that Jen (one of the girls in the group) went to school with. They were arch-enemies by the sound of it. Jen is the daughter of a judge and Chastity is the daughter of a pastor; they were highly competitive with each other, from schoolwork and grades through to boyfriends. It's now many years hence but Jen still can't stand the thought of her. Chastity Tool.

Saturday night was Mike's birthday so Nic gathered a group of friends together for dinner at a local Greek restaurant. It's a merry place, with lots of mirrors and live music. The cocktails were awful (my fault for ordering an Orange Cosmopolitan - tasted like cough syrup) but the food was excellent! Phwoar... flaming saganaki!

Sunday was spent shooting Lost Girls. The scene takes place in a garden, and we were able to shoot at a private home, belonging to the in-laws of one of the other actresses, Jenna. It was a lovely setting and afforded us luxuries (such as bathroom and changing area) that a public park would not have. The sun is setting just before 5pm these days, so we had to get it all in the can before then. I was grateful to finish then, and looking forward to crawling into my nice warm bed. I love this photo, it reminds me of Weir's Picnic at Hanging Rock; somehow mysterious and dreamlike but with a strange intensity.

Monday was a lovely relaxing day. I slept in, ate a leisurely breakfast and went to yoga in the afternoon. So good to get back to yoga! I didn't manage it last week at all, between improv classes, auditions and rehearsals for Lost Girls.

Great to get news from abroad; Marit and Elias are making progress with house renovations (I'm planning a visit next year), Bridgette has a webcam and Mum has headphones (all the better to Skype with, my dears). No Regrets was well received at Short & Sweet, and BB's Vienna Syndrome is taking the stage this week. I wish I could be in more than one place at a time! Now come on, Tiffers, when are you getting married?

Fail?!?!

Failed my driving test. Failed badly. Failed on several counts in fact. Driving to pass a test is different from driving in the real world. One of the unexpected manouevres I was asked to perform was to back 30 feet along a curb. Really? Now when exactly does one find that necessary in real life? I would argue in fact that it's a slightly dangerous thing to back that far on the street. Well, I was pretty close to the curb to begin with, having been asked to park the car curbside, so I didn't have much wiggle room. About 6 to 10 feet behind me was a driveway, in other words, a break in the curb which allowed me to ride the curb a little. If there had been no break, I wouldn't have been able to ride up the curb as I wasn't "wobbling" at such an angle (or speed) as to have pushed up and over a 4 inch barrier. However, because I ended up just on the curb, instant fail. If that wasn't enough, when instructed to pull out from the curb and resume driving, I didn't look over my shoulder to my blind spot; rear vision mirror and side mirror, yes, but not the blind spot. According to the box ticked on my test form, this is regarded as dangerous driving. I always check my blind spot when changing lanes, but pulling out from a curb in a very quiet street, no I didn't. Instant fail. One has to treat pulling out from the curb in the same way as changing lanes. Reading the report of my test, Andrew (the tester) also noted that I failed to stop behind the lines. Not that I failed to stop, but that I did so over the lines. Honestly, I thought I was behind the lines in every instance; I was regarding the front wheels as the marker (I think that's what I was taught all those years ago), but it seems I should take it from the very front of the car. Lessons learnt. Very frustrating.

Allow me to let off some more steam by describing Andrew to you. A white guy in his 50's, Andrew moved slowly and heavily, much the way he explained the reasons for my numerous failures. He had a pot belly and seemed uncomfortable sitting down. His voice sounded a little strained, which added to the impression of his general discomfort. This is not a happy man. He didn't introduce himself (so I did the honours) and grunted when wished "a nice day". He used to be an instructor and was good enough to spend some time at the end of the test explaining exactly what I'd done wrong and why it was important that these rules I'd broken needed to be adhered to for the safety of everyone. I appreciated the advice, and there's certainly no arguing with it, but his explanations were so laborious, and his voice so whiny, that I just was about ready to strangle him. Instead I thanked him and silently hoped that I get a different tester next time.

Short and sweet

Hey there, I got cast in Lost Girls! I'm to play Wendy, whose playtime with Peter Pan is well in the past and has now settled down to a life of middle class boredom with her husband. Lady Alice and Dorothy from Kansas allow her the opportunity to open up about her "dreamworld" life. We had a rehearsal on Sunday night at the director's house. Jerry showed us some pictures from the original graphic novel online; they are beautiful, dreamlike and very pornographic. I've never seen so many wet pussies. Ahem. These are not the scenes we'll be shooting. Tonight we present the relatively chaste picnic scene to Jerry's class for discussion and feedback (for Jerry's benefit) and this Sunday we shoot. As it turns out, we have an American playing an Englishwoman (Alice), a British girl playing an American (Dorothy) and me playing a Brit. So none of us are using our natural accents!

Improv at UCB is going well, and we're getting more into scene work. We have a graduation performance this Saturday afternoon, which I think I'm not alone in feeling both nervous and excited about. Good to know we've still got more three sessions before we go public.

On Thursday afternoon I have a driving test for my Californian driver's license - wish me luck!

Improvising

Here's what I love about LA. Took myself off to Aroma for a double espresso and some kind of sticky cake arrangement and got talking to a New Zealand guy and his American wife. He's been here about 20 years, came over to race motorcycles and had quite a bit of success until one too many injuries put him a few milli-seconds off his game. We chatted for a few minutes, I told them my story in a nutshell, and we exchanged cards. This kind of thing happens a lot in LA, more than in Melbourne I find, people are more open here.


It's been a busy week as on Monday I started a two week intensive improvisation course with Upright Citizens Brigade (UCB). It's every weekday except Wednesdays for two weeks, culminating in a graduation performance this Saturday. The class comprises an even split of guys and gals, a diverse and friendly group of people. I'm not even the only new kid in town, although I am the only non-American. The classes are pretty intense - 3 hours with just one 15 minute break - and lots of fun. Part of our course requirement is to see at least 2 shows at the UCB theatre (free to students), which offers the opportunity to see some UCB alumni who have been working together in improv for several years; they're pretty awesome. On Wednesday night a bunch of us went together and saw a show called Facebook. The way the show works is a volunteer from the audience is interviewed on stage while looking at their Facebook page. They sign in and big screens show the audience what is on the computer screen. The interview is efficient, slightly cheeky and elicits a lot of details about the person, their experiences, hobbies and view of the world. The improv troupe - comprising 4 guys - then proceed to use various details from the volunteer's story to kickstart a series of scenes. It is not intended as a replaying or reinterpretation of the volunteer's life, the details are just used as launching pads, but because the audience knows the reference point our enjoyment is enhanced. Very clever stuff.


I've also had a couple of auditions for student films this week. One is a scene study, which is a practical assignment for the film student in casting and directing actors. The scene is taken from a previously produced work, in this case Woody Allen's Hannah and her Sisters. I read for the roles of Hannah and one of her sisters, Lee, who is having an affair with Hannah's husband (something the audience knows at this point in the film, but Hannah doesn't). Great scene, audition went well, I'll know sometime next week if I got it. Cross fingers 'cos it would be fun to do. The other audition was for a USC (University of Southern California, well reputed filmmakers program) graduate student film. This film is an adaptation of a graphic novel called Lost Girls, which is the story of female heroines of children's literature (Alice from Wonderland, Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, Wendy from Peter Pan) and reimagines them as adults. There are overt lesbian overtones, very saucy. I auditioned for the role of Wendy, who is now a 30-something married woman who overhears 20-something Dorothy and 60-something Alice talking about their "dream world" childhood. Wendy follows them to a park where she spies Dorothy sunbathing topless while Alice rubs sunscreen on her back. And they are eating peaches. With their fingers. You get the picture, it's all rather nudge-nudge, wink-wink.


My frustration with my Saturday morning class continues. This week was "callbacks", where we performed the scenes assigned to us last week, with lines learned. It's a big class and not everyone was in pairs - in fact, most weren't - so it took a long time to get through everyone. Also, Rick worked quite a lot with some actors, trying to elicit their best performance or at least help them understand where/how they were falling short. By the time I got the chance to strut my stuff we were already running overtime. My scene partner, Andy, hadn't been there last week and I didn't know if he was going to be there this week. He was emailed the script, so he had learned it but we hadn't had a chance to run through it or talk about it at all. This put us at a disadvantage, especially as our characters are a couple whose relationship is faltering and they are arguing about their son's future. I don't want to make excuses, but this was an element which compromised our ability to do our best. The first take felt almost like a cold read, as we hadn't worked together before and were improvising the blocking. Rick gave us a couple of brief notes, purely technical, then bang, take two. A bit better, not great. That was it. After seeing how much time was spent with so many of the other actors, some of which Rick practically gushed over, assuring them of how great he thought they were and they just need to do this or that to slam dunk their audition, Andy and I were shortchanged. I felt like, boy, we really underwhelmed him. He was bored, keen to move on, and apparently doesn't see enough potential in us to spend time on. Even if that's true, this is after all a class, not an actual audition, so we deserved more than to have his back turned on us. Perhaps I'm overreacting, but it was very upsetting and frustrating. As I walked back to my car after class I was ready to cry. I caught up to an older gentleman who had been sitting in on the class. He appears to be someone Rick knows, probably with some connection to the biz - writer? director? casting director? producer? - we haven't been told. Anyway, he said "good work", which I really needed to hear but which opened the floodgates. I thanked him and scrambled into my car, feeling like a hysterical actress. I calmed down enough to drive home, at which point I called a friendly shoulder to cry on. Regi was a champ. He came and picked me up, bought some food and a bottle of wine, and drove us to a lookout point in the Hollywood Hills for a picnic and a pep talk. I felt much better then, and we had a really lovely afternoon. Later on I performed Bridgette's awesome monologue for him, which he loved and which helped restored my faith in myself.

Today I watched the video of Beaten Hearts, for the first time, and was reminded what a great little show that was, how much combined talent made it happen and made it special. My new theory about the Problem with Rick, or Rick's Problem with Me, is that I don't think he knows how to cast me. He doesn't know which box I fit in. I'm not generic. That's ok, neither is Toni Collette. Neither is Steve Carell or Rachel Griffiths, or Judy Davis or Katharine Hepburn for that matter. I've been waiting to be told who/what they see when I walk in the room, but no-one can tell me because they don't know what they're looking at. So it's up to me to show Them, whoever they are, what I can do, what I'm great at.

A little patience

Blimey! How did 5 days go past so quickly? I'm failing in my pledge to blog every two days. Um, ok so Friday I started the day with a fairly intense yoga class. It's an intermediate to advanced level class so it is definitely challenging for me, which is why I like it. One of the challenges is how hot the room gets. The class is held in the smaller of the two studios at Black Dog and is very well attended so it doesn't take long for all that collective body heat to rise. Friday night I caught up with Aussies Nic and Mike, and Norwegians Julie and Dag for a few drinks at a local bar. Good wine list, tasty bar menu, not too noisy or packed with people; altogether quite cosy. On Friday nights, we discovered, they have a jazz band play a couple of sets. This was at just the right pitch; loud enough to hear and enjoy, but quiet enough to talk over without undue effort.


Saturday was another glorious sunny day. I spent the morning inside a theatre in Hollywood, attending the second of a series of classes with Rick Pagano and Russell Boast. As is often the case, there were a few people missing this week, I guess they decided it wasn't their cup of tea. Anyhoo, Rick handed out sides (scene scripts) to everyone and made a point of not letting us out of the room to go rehearse them. We had time to read them over, but he wanted this session to be about absolutely cold reading. He gave each of us some redirection, a few notes, and next week will be treated as a "callback" audition for which we will learn the script. It's funny; sometimes in a class like this I feel like I stand out, maybe I get lucky with a script that I immediately click with or that allows me to display my comic timing or something. Or maybe the average talent level in the room is lower. There's a lot of talented actors in this class, and while I feel that I match up to them, I don't feel that I've demonstrated that yet. It's frustrating and I think I'm psyching myself out. At least this week I can learn the script and prepare.

Quiet night Saturday, stayed home and watched Sleuth - the remake from a couple of years ago which recast Michael Caine in the Laurence Olivier role, and Jude Law in the Michael Caine role, directed by Kenneth Branagh. Sadly, it was not a patch on the original. The film got too caught up in technological wizardry in Caine's mansion; remote control lights, sliding walls, hidden doors, sophisticated video security etc. With so much attention paid to the bells and whistles, the essential tension and mind-game playing between the two men was somehow lost. When I switched that off, I discovered The English Patient was playing on TV and got drawn into that. I remember loving the film when it came out (now approaching 15 years ago, would you believe - 1996!) and it attracted a lot of Academy Award nominations, most of which it didn't win, so it then had this reputation as being overhyped. Not true. It stands up well as a beautifully shot, elegantly written and superbly performed piece of cinema. It's an desert epic with some Laurence of Arabia splendour, but also a meditation on the personal effect of war, the displacement of people and the actions it leads them to take which would have seemed inconceivable in peace time.

Sweet

Wednesday night I attended a workshop at TVI with Ben Harris, the casting director of The Office, among other shows and some features (including the next Judd Apatow film). There was some discussion about the audition process for The Office. One of the other women in the class had a friend who auditioned and had been told "do less, do less". What does that mean? Keep it simple, don't act, just be. Ben talked about the style of the show being very "real" - basically, you've got Michael (the Steve Carell/Ricky Gervais character) behaving bizarrely and everyone else just reacts to him. So the casting process is really about finding the person that fits the role perfectly, without "acting". They'll see SAG and non-SAG actors in their search for the right fit, and have Taft-Hartley'd several actors (that effectively means, paid the necessary fees to SAG to allow them into the union).

With the emphasis on "being real" and "doing less", we got a lot of very subdued performances in the cold reads, although I don't think there were any Office scripts used. In fact, there were two scenes I recognised from the movie Knocked Up. Some people were asked to do less/simplify while others were asked to lift their energy level a little. My scene partner Melinda and I scored a script from the short-lived Aaron Sorkin show Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip which was about the behind-the-scenes of a TV show. It was Sorkin's next project after The West Wing, but I gather it only lasted one season. Anyway, our scene was a bit of a face off between two executives, the old guard (Melinda) and the new (me); not laugh out loud funny but had some moments. The dialogue was quite brisk and logical so after reading it over a few times we almost had the whole thing memorised which made it easier to keep eye contact during the scene. After all the discussion of "being real" I considered whether or not I should adopt an American accent or stick with my own, but decided to go American. I'm proud to say that Ben held us up as the perfect example of the naturalistic style he had been talking about. Sweet, go team! He didn't say a word about my accent, which I also took as a good sign. In wrapping up the class, somebody asked about sending him showreels and he said actually right now is a good time as they are in a bit of a lull until casting for The Office picks up again in December. So today, I posted him a copy of my reel on DVD. Oooh, I would LOVE to be on The Office!

When I got home last night, I found Emily had left some groceries out on the bench, comprising almost entirely of breakfast cereals. When it comes to cereal, she is the female Jerry Seinfeld; just loves the stuff, eats it any time of the day as a snack. Well, this lot looked more like candy than anything else: Marshmallow Mateys, described on the box as frosted (that means covered in sugar glazing) whole grain cereal - so, healthy, right? - with marshmallows; Cinnamon Toasters, described as sweetened whole wheat and rice cereal with cinnamon; Raisin Bran (aka Sultana Bran - ok, I recognise that as breakfast cereal); and Caramel Popcorn with Peanuts. It's possible the Caramel Popcorn is in fact candy, not masquerading as cereal, but then again it's hard to tell.

Yesterday afternoon I recorded the narration for Ginger, the student film I worked on over the weekend. Into the booth, a few takes per section, in and out in 30 minutes. The director and the sound guy love my voice. Actually, a number of people have commented on my suitability for voiceover. I need to put a voice reel together - it's time I started getting paid!

Pussy cat update: Pilot and Pearl are making some progress, and have even deigned to share the same couch occasionally (under Emily's watchful eye). However, Emily still thinks Pilot will take any unsupervised opportunity to bully Pearl, who continues to hide out in Emily's room most of the time.

Gingerbread house

Three hours drive north of LA is the town of Visalia. This is where a little student film called "Ginger" was filmed over the weekend. The drive was all freeway, so generally tedious, but it did take me through some different landscapes of southern California (aka SoCal). The cracked concrete river wound through rocky, yellow hills, followed by scrubby hills and flat farmland. My destination turned out to be a large red brick house decked out like a wedding cake, complete with gables, ornate decorative iron-work and formal English garden. Inside it was a crazy funhouse with black and white tiling, plush royal blue carpets, a spiral wrought-iron staircase, jars of lollies behind the bar, an old-fashioned wrought iron stove (who knows whether or not it was actually functional), archways dripping with fake ivy, gothic statues and a fireman's pole; it was like a Tim Burton film set, cleaned up for the kiddies. The college these film students are associated with have some connection to the house - possibly the owners? - but it is also rented out as a wedding venue, as evidenced by some brochures lying about and the Laurelwood website. Check it out, I'm not exaggerating! I highly recommend viewing the Laurelwood movie (link on the home page), it's a divinely cheap exercise in sentimental, misty-lensed cheese.

The place lacks the authentic sophistication of Ripponlea, but it was the perfect venue for the whimsical tale of young Ginger whose four year vow of silence is broken by the charms of an amiable cable repairman. I played Ginger's self-absorbed mother, and also the narrator of the film in British accented voice over. The crew worked efficiently and were running on schedule so in the end I spent more time on the freeway than at Laurelwood. I felt quite bleary by the time I got home on Sunday evening.

Today (Monday) I researched some good female monologues. Alas, my favourite monologue to date (the marvellous work of one Ms Burton) is a good 10 minutes which is waaay too long in an A.D.D. town like LA. Well, to be fair, it would be considered too long as an audition piece anywhere. I need to find a couple - dramatic and comedic - that run under 2 minutes. The internet yielded a few promising results. Monday is a yoga day - bliss! - and I also rehearsed a scene in preparation for my acting class tomorrow night. It's a very funny, fast-paced scene of a bickering married couple in therapy. I'm also reading John Irving's 'A Prayer for Owen Meany' which I'm enjoying very much. I've not read John Irving before, but I like his style; warm, witty and wryly nostalgic.

Cars and balls

Another week flown by. I took my car to the mechanic to check out an intermittent "gudoink gudoink" noise in preparation for a three hour odyssey to Visalia on Sunday (short film shoot). Naturally, all sorts of things were picked up that need attention, the most urgent of which was the tyres and a leaking coolant tank. Ouch. The gudoink is still occurring, so the car will have to go back for more work but it's been ruled safe to drive for the time being. Discovering all the faults that are going to cost money to fix, faults you were unaware of, or which turn out to be bigger problems than expected, are the reason why people put off going to the mechanic, or the doctor or the dentist. As if problems don't exist until we find out about them. Of course they can't be avoided forever, the sensible thing to do is get them checked and attended to promptly, but... did I mention the word Ouch? Cars suck, basically. The necessity of having and maintaining a car sucks. To coin a phrase from an American I've met, it "sucks balls".

Thursday night, my Norwegian friend Julie invited me to housewarming party of a Norwegian friend of hers, Olav, a director who has worked on TV docuemtary series in Norway and is looking to branch into feature films. Naturally, Hollywood beckons so he is here to check it out and network. I said housewarming, it was more like nice-box-warming. Olav has rented studio apartment in, aptly enough, Studio City, part of a gated complex with an abundance of security guys. His furniture consists of an inflatable mattress so Julie and her boyfriend Dag brought some chairs to aid the festivities. It was a small but pleasant party, with a few other friends of Julie's attending, plus Olav's neighbours who are in a band. What different creatures they are to actors! These guys were typical emo types, all skinny, slouch-shouldered and black-jeaned, peering out from behind long black fringes; the full stereotype.

Friday night I saw the Michael Jackson film, This Is It. The film comprises video footage shot of MJ's rehearsals for the tour he was barely more than a week away from embarking on when he died. What a strange experience, watching a ghost at work. And what a marvelous sight, too. The man lived and breathed music, and for all his oddness, his warped appearance, the drug dependency that led to his death, when he is singing and dancing you forget that and all you can do is marvel. I'm so glad that this footage was shot because it is a testament to his readiness to perform. I recall hearing rumours he was not up to touring, and thinking they could well be true; he seemed to have been on a downward curve for years, his best music behind him and his peculiarities receiving more attention than his art. But the film puts paid to that; the concerts would have been spectacular and his singing and dancing, even dialled back a bit for rehearsal, were as remarkable as ever.

This morning I attended the first of a series of 8 classes I've signed up for with Russell Boast and Rick Pagano. These guys are more than just casting directors. Russell hails from South Africa and is quite passionate about theatre, he directs stage shows frequently. Rick is a writer, and they both like working with actors (which can't be said for everyone in the biz). I haven't met Rick yet, as Russell took today's class. I met Russell last year when he taught a few classes at TVI, and I really like him. He has an easy sense of humour and a practical, encouraging approach to teaching, bringing with him all that he has observed and experienced in casting and directing over the years. He spoke about the need for us to not sit around waiting for the phone to ring but to get out there and put on shows or make films of our own. Well, he's preaching to the converted here. Part of the next 8 weeks will be about not just identifying our own strengths and individuality as actors, with a view to producing our best work and knowing how to market ourselves, but also planting the seeds of creating a show for ourselves. Awesome!

Cat fight

Literally. About three weeks ago, Emily brought home her pet cat Pilot who has for the last few years been living with her mum in a farming area outside of LA. Pilot is a male cat, neutered and middle-aged in cat years. He seems to be a mix of Siamese, Burmese and something else; a creamy short-hair with brown and caramel points. A very handsome creature and quite a man about town apparently. The area is notorious for coyotes and few domestic cats survive long unless they are kept strictly indoors. Pilot, however, is an adventurous outdoor cat and often amused himself by out-manoeuvring the neighbour's three dogs to climb into his boat. This Pilot achieved while being partially blind. The neighbour, however, was unimpressed and threatened to set a trap in his boat if he ever saw Pilot in there again. So Emily brought him to Sherman Oaks. Poor Pilot. He is much loved, but is confined indoors here. He undoubtedly misses the freedom of the plains but has been behaving very well in his new home.

Feeling sorry for him, Emily thought it would be nice to get him a playmate so she rescued a 9 week old kitten from the pound. Pearl is very similar colouring to Pilot and very grateful to be rescued, very affectionate and sweet. Not being too young, she is already toilet trained. She is also on heat. Pilot is not impressed. The day Emily brought Pearl home, Pilot bunkered himself underneath a big easy chair in the living room and would not come out. If Pearl, or anyone else for that matter, came near him, he would hiss and growl. Pearl, meanwhile, boldly explored her new home and cuddled up to her saviour. The stadd-off was maintained for about 36 hours until finally a skirmish erupted and Emily separated the two, keeping Pearl locked in her room away from Pilot. Over the last couple of days, when she is home to supervise, Emily has left her bedroom door ajar but Pearl, now quite frightened of Pilot, has not emerged. Pilot ventures in every now and then, but is unable to find Pearl. He can smell her, but he can't see her. It's been a week now but no signs of rapprochement.

In the meantime, I've been cast in a delightful short film about a young girl called Ginger who has taken a vow of silence because her family are horrible bores. I'm playing the Narrator (voiceover with a British accent) and also Ginger's mother (with American accent). We had a read-through earlier this evening and are filming on the weekend. It will be a 3 hour drive north of LA to the location! So, a road trip! Methinks it is time to buy a GPS for my car...

Mika magic

Friday night was all about Mika. This irrepressible, flamboyant musician is a huge hit around the world but not very well known in the United States. My roommate Emily had only heard of him from her travels in France, and her friend Nicole had only heard of him because her roommate is gay. The Hollywood Palladium is a classic venue with art deco styling. One can imagine it once used to host the likes of Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin.

The concert wasn’t sold out but the audience comprised true fans, most of which were teenagers and young gay men, and we danced and jumped and screamed and sang with joyful enthusiasm. The staging was simple by rock concert standards, but nonetheless theatrical. Mika is a playful showman who invites us into his world and gleefully shows us all his tricks. He had bare feet and wore white pants and shirt, accessorised with an array of jackets and occasional colourful headpiece pulled from a shabby old brown suitcase. The band wore 1950s-style black and white outfits with a mish-mash of patterns; the guys in suits and the girls (back-up singer and drummer) in polkadot dresses nipped in at the waist. Mika played the keyboard on several of his ballads and quirky numbers, and jumped, kicked and danced about the stage on the upbeat songs. The playlist included almost every track from both albums, the second of which has only recently been released so I’m less familiar with those songs. Seeing him perform them live really made them come to life for me, and I know I’ll enjoy listening to the album all the more now. Because it wasn’t a full house, and it was all standing room/general admission, we were able to get pretty close to the stage. Unfortunately, my camera doesn’t have a great zoom and is slow to focus in dim light so none of my attempts at capturing the moment were very successful, and make the stage seem much further away than it was. This is the clearest shot I got (somewhat spoiled by the big noggin of the security dude).

Being general admission, when we arrived on Sunset Blvd 30 minutes before the doors opened there was already a line around the block to waiting to get in. Streetcarts operating sausage sizzles were dotted along the line - the smell of fried onion never fails to make the mouth water – along with ticket scalpers trying their luck (and surely failing, given the concert was not completely sold out). We also spotted something I’ve never seen before: a mobile ATM machine in a truck. Seriously, this thing is just begging to be hijacked. In fact, the passenger seat window bore the marks of a break-in, hastily repaired with duct tape. Alternatively, the truck may in fact have been in the business of recording the debit card and pin number details of anyone stupid enough to avail themself of its services. Either way, dodgy as hell!

After the concert, Nicole and Emily took me to a Hollywood institution of sorts: Big Wangs. It’s a sports bar famous for its BBQ chicken wings, which once a week are sold for just 25 cents each. The place is decked out with multiple flat screen TVs, and you can buy a jug of Stella for $13. I’m sure you could get a jug of Bud Lite for even less (if you really want that much dirty dishwater). In short, it’s bloke heaven. There are a lot of other much classier bars along the strip, but having worn jeans and comfortable flat shoes (all the better for jumping and dancing around in), we were underdressed. Emily and Nicole inform me that you have to wear skyscraper heels to get into these places; it’s like, a Rule. Pic below shows Emily on the right and Nicole in the middle.

First paycheck

Earned my first paycheck today on a modest little corporate video shoot. The product is some kind of self-help/life-changing/confidence building program. The script was written by the Doctor – presumably the creator of this amazing system – in the Netherlands. A Dutch doctor? An American doctor in Amsterdam? Who knows? The program is called Cracking the Egg and the video is clearly intended for the English-speaking market. I was cast off my showreel, and the director therefore said I should use my natural accent. Aww, but I’d been practising with my best Standard American! Okey dokey then. Sigh.

My role was one of several so-called “actor testimonials” whereby actors are brought in to personify the kind of people the program is aimed at, telling the sad tale of their deficiencies and defenses, miraculously ‘cracked open’ and mended. “It’s been the most amazing ride!” Uh-huh, seriously. Mrs One Take Wonder here whipped through it smartly, much to the delight of the director, who had fallen a little behind schedule. So, all wrapped up in under two hours. Just as well, or the modest paycheck would indeed have been looking miserable per hour.

The shoot was in a studio in a run-down looking building in downtown Los Angeles. It took about half an hour on the freeways (in pretty good traffic) to get there from the Valley, but it seemed like a different country. I don’t think I saw a single white person on the street around there, mostly Mexicans waiting at the bus stop. Everything was grimy. Upon entering the building, my nostrils were immediately assaulted by the smell of ammonia. It almost seemed like a ghost building; the foyer floor was art deco marble, but the lifts were creaky (and even more strongly smelling like cleaning fluid) and reminiscent of those more commonly found in a car park. However the studio suite was professional, they had a make-up artist there to make me ‘camera ready’ and it was all very easy really. The director promised me a copy of my part of the video once it’s edited. I’m not making any promises, but if it’s amusing enough I’ll post a snippet for your viewing pleasure.

After the shoot I headed up to North Hollywood for a callback audition for A Christmas Carol. Kinda feel like I slam-dunked it, but time will tell. It’s just not fair, Americans simply can’t do authentic British accents!

Tuesday night we welcomed back Vinny after surgery and a two week break. It was a great class, lots of work and play. I love being in a group of people and feeling like I want to work with each and every one of them. It’s like a Baggage production :)

This week I have also taken possession of a car. Yes m’am, my very own automobile. Goodbye rental! The insurance just about killed me; I have to pay more because as far as California is concerned I’m a new driver. It will be 18 months before I’ll be considered seasoned enough to get more insurance for my buck. So the car? It’s a 2001 Ford Focus ZX3, white, auto transmission, 2 doors with a hatchback. Kind of like an update to my old ’88 Ford Laser. By American standards, this is a tiny little car. Sweet.

Monday I caught up with fellow Aussie abroad, Nicola, who is refreshingly not an actor (although she is married to one). We ladies lunched at Marie et Cie, a charming little café/furniture/cutesy gift store. You wouldn’t expect the coffee to be so good. Although sadly it is served in takeaway cups. Nothing so forlorn as an espresso in a large paper cup. Food selections were modest but tasty. It was perfectly lovely and great to catch up with Nic.

After the rain

It’s been a productive few days. Following a couple of days of rain - a rare sight in LA, and much celebrated - we've been plunged back into 80 degree weather (high-20s to low 30s celsius) which I've welcomed since I'm not quite ready for another winter. Got my hair cut on Wednesday, long overdue but nothing drastic. Please note photo on the left is not intended to showcase the haircut, it's just for those of you who have been hassling me to put some pics up to prove I really am alive and this blog is not being ghostwritten. Happy now? Sheesh!

On Thursday I completed part one of the requirements for my Californian driving license; a written test. Easy peasy, all multiple choice questions and I had conscientiously studied the DMV manual. Having passed that with flying colours, I’m now permitted to undertake the second, vital, requirement; the driving test. Not particularly looking forward to that. There’s something about being scrutinised that makes one nervous and more likely to make silly errors than under normal circumstances. Also, I’ve been driving for nearly twenty years so it will be humbling to be treated like a teenager, and more humbling still if I screw up and fail! On the upside, I’ve got a few weeks to gear up for it as the soonest appointment available is November 10th. After that I went to lunch with Regi, who took me to a very nice restaurant on Beverly Blvd where I consumed a perfectly delicious lentil and arugula (aka rocket) salad, topped with a lightly fried egg. We eschewed the 101 freeway for the scenic route through the Hollywood Hills. The roads that wind through the hills are in places so narrow, and overhung with trees, that I’m often reminded of driving through little villages in France. Who’da thunk it? There are also quite a lot of eucalyptus trees thriving in the hills, which give me pangs of homesickness.

On Friday I stopped in at TVI to check in with Corey, my consultant, and get my hands on a mailing list of agents and the ones he recommends approaching first. Then I test drove another car (which I’m going to buy – pictures to be posted when the transaction is completed on Wednesday - stay tuned), and went to a pretty intense Hatha Flow yoga class. On Saturday I auditioned, in my best British accent (what they were asking for), for the role of narrator in a short student film. From what I saw of the script, it’s very good and will be delightful, so fingers crossed. Sunday I had two theatre auditions; one for another narrator role in a stage adaptation of A Christmas Carol, and the other for a whimsical American play called Almost, Maine. I trotted out both my American and British accents for the Carol, and my American accent for the other. There is a lot of theatre in LA, but it’s interesting the way shows run. They don’t do many performances per week. In fact, in some cases, they just do one night a week, but they run it for a couple of months or longer if tickets are selling. This seems representative of LA commitment phobia. Nobody wants to fully commit to anything in case a better offer comes along; be that another gig, another party or another date. Perhaps it’s also indicative of LA’s TV and film mentality, as opposed to traditional theatre; TV shows are only on once a week (re-runs aside), so why would you perform a play more often than that? Weird. I bet they don’t do it that way in New York.

On Sunday I also took in the Sherman Oaks street festival. This takes places along Ventura Boulevard between Van Nuys Blvd and Kester Ave (go on and Google map it), which means it was practically at my doorstep (Willis Ave). There was everything from slippery slides and rock climbing, to pony rides, muscle cars and choral singing. Stalls were set up along the centre of the road, spruiking local business, politicians, churches, crafts, music (Beatles songs played on the pipes of pan – shudder!) and food of course. I bought a beautiful necklace made from an orchid. They dry the flower and then preserve it in resin. It’s very delicate. Foodwise, I partook of some Argentinian empanadas and an all-American cookie ice-cream sandwich. It was delicious but I regretted it somewhat. The cookie especially. But I didn’t regret taking the opportunity for a happy snap with members of the LA fire department. Well, what was I supposed to do? They and their big red trucks were parked right at the end of my street!

Hot air

Sunday was cruisey. I took myself off to Aroma for a quiet coffee and read a feature film script that my roomie is producing. It’s the pet project of the writer/director and is a torrid tale of a sexy young female serial killer who gets targeted by another serial killer. Not really my taste, but Emily was keen for a fresh set of eyes on it because she feels it needs some judicious editing. The writer is highly resistant to this idea of course, fervently believing in the perfection of his product. It’s difficult for me to be objectively critical of it because it’s as far from my cup of tea as fermented elephant urine, but I certainly agree that it needs trimming and some scenes rewritten (or at least tweaked). Much of the dialogue is unsubtle and overwritten, I disliked the lead character (she’s supposed to be a kick-ass, independent chick who only kills child molesters so you’re supposed to root for her) and found the other serial killer’s so-called “obsession” with her ludicrous. Anyhoo, it undoubtedly has a market; there’s a lot of angry emos with no artistic taste out there lining up for this kind of thing.

In the evening I met up with Janeen for her last night before flying home to her toy boy, along with the friends she was staying with in Bel Air. We met at a little bar in Sherman Oaks, called Fabs, and it was rather fab indeed. Happy hour afforded us half price drinks from a decent wine list and delicious bar food. Janeen’s friends are a casting director and her actor husband – good people to know in this town. We spent a perfectly lovely couple of hours at Fabs. Robin and Karen were charming and friendly, very willing to share their experiences in “the biz” and give me advice. As we said our goodbyes, Karen and I realised that not only were we wearing very similar black shirts with pintucked, bib detail, but THE SAME JEANS. Same brand, same style, same colour. And knee-high boots over the top. We were, like, totally twins or something!

It’s now Thursday and the week has been a blur of car shopping and casting workshops. The car shopping is tedious, so I’ll not go into detail there, just to say that I’m hopeful of settling on something in the next couple of days. Casting workshops have been fun, and I’ve trotted out my American accent each time, to great acclaim. Well, a few people said it was good. And the casting directors didn’t quiz me about my natural accent. Great acclaim or uncriticised, same difference, right?

Today America held its breath as live news footage of an experimental hot air balloon (looking much like a silver Portobello mushroom) in which a 6 year old was believed to be trapped as it drifted across Colorado. They actually interrupted regular programming to bring us these live images as a couple of commentators repeated over and over what little was known, in the tremulous hope that more information would come to light. Or that the balloon would crash and provide some real “must-see TV”. Luckily (or not, if you’re a hard-nosed news exec), the child was not in the balloon when it finally descended to a surprisingly gentle landing. It seems he had been hiding in the family barn all the time. Feel good story or brazen publicity ploy? You see, the experimental balloon is the brainchild of said 6 year old’s father. Hmmm, curioser.

Cars and blues

Saturday. Alas, no Richard Simmons this weekend, but considerable time devoted to the urgent matter of Car Shopping. For the hell of it, I went to check out a sporty-looking 2-door cherry red Chevy at a nearby dealership. Online reviews of this model were numerous and glowing, it was in my price range with quite low miles for its 8 years so why not? Happy to report that the used car salesman did not fit the stereotype; no sleaze, no oily charm, no overworked smile. Since I don’t yet have a Californian driver’s licence (I’m working on it, okay! Had to wait two weeks for an appointment, written test on Thursday, shut up already!) I wasn’t allowed to test drive on my own. However, Mike took me for a drive around some backstreets and – don’t tell anyone – let me get behind the steering wheel for some of it. Gotta say, I was underwhelmed. The car sure looked pretty, but it was a heavy, lugubrious iron box. “Tell me what you think about it, honestly,” said Mike. I told him. “I could tell you weren’t really feeling it,” he said. What I want is something small, economical and reliable, for under $4000. He recommended the Ford Focus ZX3, which is the 2-door hatchback version. Perfect! So that’s what I’ve been searching for on craigslist ever since. I took a look at a promising one today. I’ll get a mechanic to check it over tomorrow, so if all is well, I may be the proud owner by the end of the week.

Ooh, dark chocolate-covered cranberries; gooood.

But back to Saturday. In the evening, Janeen and I headed to Santa Monica for happy hour. After enjoying a few delightful beverages and tasty Japanese delicacies for half price, we headed to a nearby blues club for some tasty tunes. Harvelles is a dark’n’divey joint which attracts a mixed crowd; black, white, old, young. The music was GREAT. A group called The Boneshakers played, fronted by a cool black dude in white hat, suit and red shirt. We found ourselves seated at a table with another cool black dude in a suit. His name was Moses, he had to be at least 60, and he was quite taken with Janeen. Sadly for him, he had no idea how not her type he is. A few months shy of fabulous 50, Janeen is a lively woman of the world who prefers her men – how can I put this? – fresh. Untarnished. She has a devoted 22 year old waiting for her in Melbourne. Moses, however, was remarkably persistent. He declared he wanted to marry Janeen. After she told him in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t interested. Then he demonstrated his kung fu moves with an enthusiasm belying his age. Perhaps some men never grow up. Certainly some never know when to give up. Eventually, we did, and left. Outside the club we got chatting with a merry young man called Tim, an actor/financial advisor. He was much more fun than Moses, who really took himself too seriously. Turns out he was older than he looked (although considerably younger than Moses) and doesn’t drink (although still has wine in his house, leftover from his ex-girlfriend??). He gave me his card, seems I’ve made a new friend.

Fri-daze

Friday. Busy day. Kicked off by registering at a local recruitment agency. Aside from the usual skills tests (typing, Word and Excel proficiency), newbies are required to watch a short video illustrating basic safety rules and explaining what is expected of employees, such as calling your account manager if you’re going to be late. Much of it seemed blatantly obvious; don’t place liquids too close to your keyboard, keep drawers closed, adjust your chair to a comfortable height, don’t try to fix a malfunctioning Xerox machine yourself. You’d think anyone with an ounce of common sense would know how to look after their own wellbeing and respect that of others. We were then tested on our comprehension and memory of the safety and behavioural rules outlined in the video! OK, whatever. Rates of pay are absolutely miserable; $15 an hour is the top rate through this agency. I think I’ll keep shopping around, but I’ll also be grateful for any addition to my funds in the meantime.

More fun later in the day when I auditioned for an actor’s showcase. Instructions were to present a 1-2 minute monologue, which could be comic, dramatic or classic. I grabbed the opportunity to bring out the Bard; a feisty monologue from Romeo and Juliet. There were about 25 actors at the audition, which were held in a small, well-kept theatre in Hollywood. Located in a shopping strip, above an ice cream store, it seemed a most unlikely spot for a theatre but like so many places in LA, once you step inside you are transported into another world. We sat together in the theatre and watched each other’s monologues, which was great. The standard was pretty solid, no stinkers, and the guy running the auditions dipped the lights and encouraged everyone to applaud each performance. Lots of love in the room, tempering the competitive atmosphere. I thought I did a good job, better than some, and was certainly the only one to go classic. Was that a mistake or not? I don’t know, but long story short I didn’t picked for the showcase. Bummer. It would have been fantastic to do a showcase in the next couple of months as I’m approaching agents and so forth. Ah well, something else will come along. I’ve got a voiceover audition lined up for next week (unpaid student film), they want a British accent for the narration.

Friday evening I caught up with a theatre friend from Melbourne, Janeen. On a recommendation we headed to a Thai restaurant on Sunset Boulevard. It was called something like Toi Rock’n’Roll Thai; not so much a fusion as a clash of cultures and cuisine. Thai spaghetti, anyone? We ordered a red curry and pad thai with black rice. The rice was delicious, the curry not bad (very mild though) and the pad thai appeared to be ketchup-flavoured. Quite peculiar. American tastes are certainly sweet. The décor was amusingly rock’n’roll grungy, like a truculent teenager’s bedroom.