Less rant, more news

Wow.  I just read my last entry.  It's pretty feisty.  The culmination of a few things that I guess have been simmering for awhile.  Anyway, moving along!  Can you believe I'm just three weeks away from my one year anniversary in LA?  Which happens to coincide with my Mum coming to visit - really looking forward to seeing you, Mum.  Maybe it's my recent birthday, maybe the impending anniversary, maybe the growing anticipation of visiting Melbourne in just a couple of months' time, but I'm suddenly homesick.  Last night I watched a terrific Aussie film, made in Melbourne, which was released a couple of years ago; Noise.  It was critically acclaimed but had a brief run in cinemas and I never saw it on the big screen.  It's a tense, quiet, drama about a reluctant cop (played by the very talented Brendan Cowell) suffering tinnitis (a constant ringing in the ears) on the periphery of an investigation into the slaughter of seven people on a train.  The Lilydale line.  It was excellent; tautly written and beautifully acted.  And I got such a kick out of seeing the familiar green and yellow-striped silver train, recognising scenes shot in the city loop, hearing those laconic, lilting Aussie accents. 

The latest news is that I'm moving house again.  Not far though, just into an apartment upstairs.  Hooray!  No more creaking floorboards cracking and groaning in the middle of the night as my restless upstairs neighbour walks around in circles just to torture me.  Yes, I'm taking it personally.  When my sleep is disturbed I'm known to become a little irrational.  Even murderous (not that I've ever gone through with it, but I have passed the time, while otherwise prevented from sleeping, in fantasies of jumping repeatedly on his head).  So, at the end of September I'm moving out of this dark, noisy little apartment into a lighter, brighter place upstairs sharing with two other girls.

During the week I auditioned for a Chevy commercial.  From the brief notes I received about the commercial, it was all about the working people; they wanted "real, interesting faces" and the guys didn't need to shave.  Generally when I go in for these auditions, I don my American accent, giving them no reason to think I might be from anywhere else.  This time was different.  I was ushered into the casting room with two other women, about the same age.  One was Asian, the other strawberry blonde.  We were lined up in a row facing the camera and then one by one asked a few questions, an on-camera "chat" with the casting director.  I was third in line.  It transpired that the blonde was French and the Asian was in fact Japanese, and neither had an American accent.  It was surely no coincidence that we three foreigners were brought in together.  I therefore decided not to hide my natural accent when it was my turn to "chat."  I have no idea what any of this had to do with a Chevy Silverado. 

The audition was conveniently timed late enough in the afternoon that I was able to go after work.  And it was in Santa Monica which then gave me the perfect opportunity to catch up with Frankie, a former IBIS colleague who doesn't have a car and therefore has apparently not ventured far beyond the Santa Monica/Venice ghetto.  We shared a drink and shot the breeze, compared dating stories (she declares having completely given up on American men) and remarked on the fact that she has just reached her one-year anniversary in the United States.  My how time flies.  I miss you, Melbourne.