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.