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.

Workshopping it

Thursday night I did a workshop with casting director Michael Nicolo, who works for the agency that cast the Joss Whedon shows Buffy, Angel and Dollhouse, as well as the show Weeds and a few features. The way these workshops run is the casting person rocks up, has a quick chat about who s/he is, background and the shows the agency casts. There are usually about 20-odd actors present (or 20 odd actors, depending on your point of view) and we have the chance to ask questions. Most questions posed seem more aimed at getting the casting director’s attention than anything insightful. For example, someone asked “what do you expect of us when we audition?” The answer came; “to be prepared and professional”. Well, duh. Another question was along the lines of “is it better to be big and have to dial it back, or be small and have to bring it up?” Not a completely stupid question, but one that I think would prompt a different answer depending on who you’re talking to. It also depends on the character, the script and the type of show it is. Fundamentally, even in comedy, the key is finding the truth; the performance has to be grounded in something otherwise it’s superficial acting and you can pick it a mile off, be it subtle or larger than life.

After the Q&A, the casting person hands out scripts; they have generally been cast quickly, from the headshots we hand in when we arrive, and it is a lottery as to how good the script is (or how well you connect with it) and what kind of actor you are paired with. Lucky me, I scored a very funny script and a lovely young actor – Alberti - to play with. It was a scene between a TV writer (him) and his producer or agent (me), having to deliver the news that the network wants to make changes to his script. Several of the other scripts were odd and clearly sourced from some of the Joss Whedon shows with non-human characters; being landed with one of those scripts could be a blessing or a curse. How do you play a mind-reading non-human? I guess there’s no right or wrong way which could either freeze an actor with indecision or give them the freedom to let loose. Anyway, Michael seemed to like what Alberti and I presented. He asked if we had seen the movie it was taken from, which we hadn’t (it’s called The TV Set, and starred David Duchovny, Sigourney Weaver and Judy Greer), because we played it pretty much exactly the way it was in the film. Cool.

As a foreigner, I have to decide in these workshops whether or not to test out my American accent or just go with my natural accent. I tend to stick with my natural accent, as most casting directors say in a workshop situation they’d rather see someone use their normal accent than be focusing so much on being American that their acting suffers. Of course, 95% of real auditions would require a flawless American accent. There were a couple of Aussies in the room and a couple of Brits. The Brits attempted American accents, which weren’t bad, but Michael picked them as non-American and asked them to do the scene again in their natural accents. I went with my natural accent and he asked me if I can do a U.S. accent – sure can! – although we didn’t do the scene again. I’m tempted to trot out my U.S. accent at the next workshop. It may depend on the script, because at the end of the day I’m going to need to prove I can do it, and get really comfortable with it for most auditions.

Sunnies side up

Dear readers, I’ve been neglecting you! It’s Wednesday, nearly three weeks to the day since my arrival in Lala land, and I’m pleased to report that I’m in deeply caffeinated love with my little espresso maker. Oh, baby what a darling device! It’s a cute little number, simple and compact, and it delivers perfect coffee. The Ethiopian Organic blend is fragrant and delicious, almost fruity, with good body. Next time I’m going to try a darker roast.

Feeling like a princess in my glorious new bed and sleeping well, thanks for asking. I’ve started sniffing around for part-time work. I have an interview with a recruitment agency on Friday, and I’m applying for a couple of writing/editing/assistant type jobs advertised on craigslist. I’ve also got another audition lined up on Friday for an actor’s showcase. They’re not asking for money (a lot of showcases are funded by the actors), just the energy and willingness to promote the shows, which will be four consecutive Wednesdays through November/December. And of course they want to ensure a certain standard of performance, hence the auditions. Definitely worth checking out, now I just have to pick a monologue.

The drama of the week has been the loss of my new sunglasses. OK, it’s hardly the end of the world, but annoying nonetheless. I left them on the counter when I checked in for my yoga class. My hands were full what with my bag, water bottle and the mat I bought at the time. Anyway, with all that I completely forgot about them until the end of the class when I opened my case to find it empty. Then I remembered about putting them on the counter, but by then they were long gone. The thing that bothers me the most is that this is not a busy thoroughfare; the studio is only frequented by staff and participants so whoever took them is probably someone I did the class with. Anyway, I’m trying not to dwell on it now, because it will get me nowhere but irritated.

Acting class last night was awesome as usual. We mostly worked on monologues, which is nice and juicy. A couple of people were sick, but present, and participated to varying degrees. There seems to be something going round, a few of the IBISWorld folk have come down with colds too. It’s a change of season, the weather is considerably cooler than it was two weeks ago, although it’s still sunny and gorgeous. I’m hoping that the battery of bugs I caught during the Aussie winter will see me armed against a U.S. onslaught!

Yesterday I picked up a batch of headshots, so I'm ready to get out there and start distributing. I've signed up for a bunch of workshops with casting directors at TVI, a good way to start meeting them and showing my wares, so to speak. I also picked up my green card - which is disappointingly not very green. It is rather high-tech though, complete with holograms, and came with its own little paper sheath to help keep it in mint condition.

Slimmons!

Today’s activities included going to Richard Simmons’ last aerobics class. Have you heard of this guy? If not, Google him. He’s kind of an aerobics icon, once of the first to do videos etc. He has a gym in Beverly Hills called Slimmons. Richard is apparently due for a knee operation, so this will be his last class for awhile, or possibly forever. The class was really old-style aerobics, I couldn’t say it was a tough workout for me, but it was so much fun! The room was absolutely packed with people of all shapes, sizes and ages, and Richard was hilarious and camp and full of beans. He wore a tiny little pair of red and white striped running shorts with a red tank top decorated, Christmas-style, with sparkles. At the age of 61 (a fact which prompted a round of applause when he announced it – Americans!), he still sports his trademark red-brown afro fuzz of red hair. Richard is a performer as much as a fitness guru. The moves were simple, but augmented with lots of "jazz hands". He yelled motivational things at us like; "What time did you get to bed last night?!" and "Did you have breakfast?!" and referring to our bellies while doing abdominal crunches "You fit it, now lift it!" He is one of a kind. After the class everyone wanted their photo taken with him – including me!

I went along with Julie and her friends Eric and Ben (all actors!). After the class, we went to a coffee place in Pasadena called Jones. I was sceptical about the coffee they might serve up, LA is hardly a shining example of coffee culture. However, my reservations were quickly dispensed when we got there. This is a serious coffee house; they roast and sell their own beans and it smells great. I had an espresso which was very good and took the opportunity to buy an old-fashioned Italian stove-top espresso maker. They are as rare as hen’s teeth in LA (the reliable Bodum French press is more common). I bought half a pound of ground beans too - Organic Ethopian, no less - which is currently smelling divine in my kitchen. I know what I'll be drinking with my breakfast tomorrow morning.

Sleepytime

This is a special posting to celebrate the arrival of my yummalicious new bed. It's been a perfectly lovely day, starting with the delivery and assembly of La Slumba, followed by a relaxed lunchtime catch up with Julie. We met at Aroma, of course, where I indulged in not one but two coffees. It was a beautful day, in the low 80s (high 20s, celsius), perfect for a sundress and a leisurely lunch in a shady courtyard. New copies of my headshot have been ordered, which I'll be able to pick up on Monday, and then I'll be just about ready to launch myself at agents, casting directors and the like. Oh, and the other good news is that my green card has arrived already! Having been warned it could take between 3 and 6 months to be delivered after entry into the country, it only took two weeks! Watch out LA, CC is in business!