Busy week. I've already told you about being paid to drink, and that was just on Monday. Tuesday night with Vinny rocked as usual, and I've been getting to the gym regularly. In fact, I've been so keen for cardio blasting I've been hitting the treadmill, jogging for half and hour then doing some free weights and abs. And yoga at Black Dog once a week. The squidgey feeling is being banished!
On Thursday night the Beaten Hearts cast and director assembled at my place for a read-through. Final casting of each piece is yet to be decided, as is the final line-up of plays. Five plays are locked in, and Cindy is tossing up between a couple of others. We had a jolly evening over scripts, chardonnay and cheese, and everyone seems enthusiastic about the show. I'm thrilled. Gina went to bed early and I don't know how but she slept through our riotous laughter and splendid actorly vocal projection. The only thing that roused her was Milo the cat tapping at her window to let him in. Amazing the noises we can tune out, and those that will wake us no matter how soft they are.
We presently have an issue with the nocturnal habits of our upstairs neighbour. To be fair, it's not that he's some party animal making a racket in the middle of the night, but the soundproofing between our ceiling and his floor is inadequate. We can hear every squeak of the floorboards with every step he takes. And he seems to take a LOT of them, restlessly roaming his apartment into the wee hours of the morning. One would think - or hope - such habits would see him at least sleep in, but no, we find our slumber disturbed yet again by vigorously squeaking floorboards as early as 7am. At 2 o'clock this morning I found myself fantasising that every step he took shot excruciating jolts of white-hot pain through his feet. Doesn't this guy ever SIT? Or SLEEP? Alas this apartment block, for all its charms, is old and the ceilings are thin.
On Friday I attended a writers' workshop; a networking opportunity and another avenue of gaining insight into this crazy industry. The workshop was attended by roughly 50 writers, there for the chance to pitch their brilliant feature film script at three panels of influential industry insiders; producers and agents. I was there to suss out the possibilities of being a script reader and coverage writer. With no precious screenplay to pitch, I was not wracked with nerves as were most of the people in the room. The pitching itself was conducted anonymously; the writers submitted one page summaries and loglines, some of which were read aloud for everyone to hear and the guest professionals to comment on. A logline is a one to two sentence summary of the script and the film it hopes to be. It is therefore something of an art in itself to create to great logline as it must not only give you the basic concept and storyline but a sense of the style of the piece (genre and tone). Not easy. It was FASCINATING to hear them. Very few grabbed the panelists' attention in a good way and their feedback was BRUTALLY honest. For my part, I got chatting with Susan, a writer who edits a scriptwriters group newsletter (amongst several other writerly projects), and Jim who freelances as a coverage writer. Both were helpful in providing encouragement and suggestions as to how I might gain coverage writing training and experience. Writers agents and producers alike employ interns to read scripts, but interns must be college students who can earn credit for their work. The studios can't 'employ' anyone for free (aka an intern) who doesn't get something out of it (such as college credit). Yeah, well I'm sure there's ways around that, and one of the producers I spoke to suggested as much. Ultimately of course I want to be paid for my services, but I'm willing to 'intern' or train for free if it gets me in the door. One of the panels facilitated Q&A by hosting a table each and rotating around the room. From the dozen or so loglines we heard, and some of the questions posed, I suspect that out of the 50-odd writers in attendance, about 40 are indeed quite odd and only half a dozen actually have a half decent screenplay to pitch. Wild guestimate? Yes. Harsh? Yes. But the message came through loud and clear from the producers that at least 95% of the hundreds of scripts they receive each month are rubbish. Perversely, it almost made me feel like I should write a screenplay, because I'm fairly sure I could produce something better than most of the precious pages being clung to in that room. Arrogant and presumptuous? Undoubtedly. Am I actuallly going to write that brilliant screenplay? Not right now.
Saturday morning greeted me with a new adventure; applying for a Census job. The U.S. 2010 Census is about to be unleashed on the American public and the Federal Government is seeking about a million people nationwide to fill 6-8 week part-time positions. Stage one of application is to sit a multiple choice test of basic numeracy, comprehension and organisational skills. I was sent to a nearby school to sit the test along with approximately 30 other individuals on Saturday morning. There I got chatting with Sheila, a 70-something lady of very definite opinions, wearing a hot pink velour tracksuit and matching glitter-pink slippers. Sheila owns five dogs. She had seven, but that was really too much so she found homes for two of them. Sheila is decidedly against mobile phones. She was quick to spot a young applicant in the room using a quiet moment to start texting. "The generation of instant gratification," she said. "They don't know how to be alone." Sheila told me she will make a point of involving herself in somebody's conversation if it is conducted on a cell phone in her presence. She has received a punch in the arm for her efforts. It was at a dog show. She is also impatient with the elderly and infirm, snorting and rolling her eyes at another applicant - more Sheila's vintage than the young texter - not as robust as herself. Sheila is not wealthy, but has enough to live on, I intuit her husband is no longer in the picture (perhaps dead? long divorced? driven away by canine excess?), but she adores her dogs like children. She has earned the right to be a bitchy old lady. Maybe I'll be like that one day. Minus the dogs.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Getting dry, getting drunk and Stepping out
Saturday the rain finally stopped and we saw sunshine and blue sky for the first time in days. Los Angelians poked their heads out of their sodden caves, blinking at the glistening roads and sidewalks, assessing the damage and scrambling to book plumbers and repairmen to clear blocked, overwhelmed drains and fill holes in roofs before the next dose of rain, forecast to arrive Tuesday. In the morning I rose bright and early to attend a Step class at my new gym. It was well worth the sleep deprivation; the class was taught by Sue, whose classes I have attended on previous visits to L.A. Nice to see a familiar face, especially one that puts together a great step routine. Bliss! I have missed Step a lot; I love yoga, and will continue to practice regularly, but the cardio high of step, on top of the pleasure I get from moving through a fun, choreographed routine, can't be beat.
Saturday evening I joined my friend Bruna at a screening of six short French films at Le Lycee Francais de Los Angeles. Most attendees spoke French fluently, including Bruna and her friend Anjes (both born in France but now living in L.A.), and I stumbled through the niceties of collecting my ticket and procuring a glass of champagne in my limited schoolgirl French. It was fun to have a little slice of Paris in L.A. The films were pretty good, although the consensus was that the three before intermission were better than the final three. Intermission was pretty good too, with wine and cheese served. After the screening, the three of us went looking for somewhere to have a drink and a bite to eat. We ended up at a French restaurant on Sunset Boulevard called Clafoutis. I had eaten before heading out for the evening, but Bruna and Anjes were starving. We spent a lively hour or so chatting merrily in French and English before heading home.
On Monday I participated in an alcohol study. One of my actor friends from my Tuesday night class, Tim, works in a bar which periodically hosts these studies. The aim of them is to test the accuracy of a new machine being developed to measure blood alcohol levels. So I turned up at 9.30am, along with about 15 other guinea pigs, and by 11am I had consumed the equivalent of four mixed drinks. We were blood-tested (with the experimental machine - sounds gothic, but it's non-invasive) and breathalised, served up two double-strength drinks each and then tested again about 45 minutes after finishing the drinks. I blew 0.13. Yep, I was buzzing but honestly I didn't enjoy it that much, it was simply too early. At about 1.30pm we were fed and watered and then tested again. This time I blew 0.09. The BAC limit in California is 0.08 (compared to a more conservative 0.05 in Melbourne). Tested again roughly an hour later and I blew 0.077. I waited a while longer before driving home. An interesting experience, but I won't do it again. I got paid $50 for surrendering my body to science for a few hours, money with which I bought a microwave oven. Gina, my roommate, doesn't own one but I am too used to the convenience of reheating food in a microwave to do without. Especially at that price!
Gotta go chickens, time to sweat it out at the gym :)
Saturday evening I joined my friend Bruna at a screening of six short French films at Le Lycee Francais de Los Angeles. Most attendees spoke French fluently, including Bruna and her friend Anjes (both born in France but now living in L.A.), and I stumbled through the niceties of collecting my ticket and procuring a glass of champagne in my limited schoolgirl French. It was fun to have a little slice of Paris in L.A. The films were pretty good, although the consensus was that the three before intermission were better than the final three. Intermission was pretty good too, with wine and cheese served. After the screening, the three of us went looking for somewhere to have a drink and a bite to eat. We ended up at a French restaurant on Sunset Boulevard called Clafoutis. I had eaten before heading out for the evening, but Bruna and Anjes were starving. We spent a lively hour or so chatting merrily in French and English before heading home.
On Monday I participated in an alcohol study. One of my actor friends from my Tuesday night class, Tim, works in a bar which periodically hosts these studies. The aim of them is to test the accuracy of a new machine being developed to measure blood alcohol levels. So I turned up at 9.30am, along with about 15 other guinea pigs, and by 11am I had consumed the equivalent of four mixed drinks. We were blood-tested (with the experimental machine - sounds gothic, but it's non-invasive) and breathalised, served up two double-strength drinks each and then tested again about 45 minutes after finishing the drinks. I blew 0.13. Yep, I was buzzing but honestly I didn't enjoy it that much, it was simply too early. At about 1.30pm we were fed and watered and then tested again. This time I blew 0.09. The BAC limit in California is 0.08 (compared to a more conservative 0.05 in Melbourne). Tested again roughly an hour later and I blew 0.077. I waited a while longer before driving home. An interesting experience, but I won't do it again. I got paid $50 for surrendering my body to science for a few hours, money with which I bought a microwave oven. Gina, my roommate, doesn't own one but I am too used to the convenience of reheating food in a microwave to do without. Especially at that price!
Gotta go chickens, time to sweat it out at the gym :)
Friday, January 22, 2010
Wet wet wet
What a wild, wet week! L.A. has had a thorough soaking this week - or as a friend of mine put it, a gigantic enema - with heavy rain every day. Winter is definitely here, after a slow start that saw skyfulls of sunshine through Christmas and New Year. Truth be told, I'm a bit sick of all the rain after six consecutive days, but its still something to be celebrated and exclaimed upon. Flooded streets in this sprawling desert city are a rare sight indeed.
I'm in a celebratory mood this evening, on a high after meeting with Cindy, who is to be the director of Beaten Hearts (L.A.). We talked through the various scripts of mine and Bridgette's that I sent her as possibilities for the show - too many to all be included - and how the show may be shaped. Next week we'll get the cast together for a read through. Last night I saw a cabaret show, called GravityWorks, in Hollywood, which was designed as a showcase for twelve talented but unknown actors. It was an energetic, frequently hilarious, evening's entertainment, and served as further inspiration and impetus to push forward with Beaten Hearts. Which will be a different kettle of fish; theatre rather than cabaret. Cindy has some great ideas for the show, and feels like a perfect fit for Baggage Productions. I'm flattered and excited by the interest and enthusiasm of Cindy, and the other actors I've recruited, for the scripts and the show. I'm so lucky to have found a group of talented, like-minded individuals so soon. One of my cast-members, Suzanne, recently lauched a webseries that she wrote and starred in, called Playing Dead. It's very funny and well-produced and has me inspired to create a webseries of my own, or at least make short films of some of my short plays.
In the meantime, the agent hunt continues. I mailed copies of my headshot and resume to 12 handpicked agents - with the help of a monthly published report on agents and who/what they are looking for, and Regi's guidance and encouragement. I followed up with polite phone calls a few days later, but so far no bites. It's so frustrating! This is the tough part for me. I've got lots of energy for pushing forward a project like Beaten Hearts, but knocking on doors and selling myself requires a different kind of hard-nosed energy. Uncomfortable, but necessary. Ugh, I hate it! I feel that my resume is a poor reflection of my potential. Being non-union at this stage also plays against me somewhat. Please, somebody sign me up and get me some auditions! My audition to callback/booking ratio is pretty good, I just need to get in the room. Lemme at it!
I joined a gym this week, the better to increase my cardio exercise. There are so many nationally franchised gyms here, membership rates are highly competitive and much cheaper than Melbourne (I'm paying less than half the rate per month, and have access to Bally gyms nationwide). On Thursday morning I checked out a HiLo class - old school aerobics. L.A. doesn't experience the same rush hours as other cities, on the roads or in the gyms. The class was at 8.45am and was packed (about 70 participants), as was the rest of the gym, from weight training equipment to cardio machines. Apart from the size of the class, the most notable thing about its participants was their age. I've never seen so many over 60s in an aerobics class. I kid you not, there were about half a dozen who had to be over 70. In fact, we sang Happy Birthday to a gentleman called Al, who was celebrating his 80th. So I knew the choreography was not going to be complex. Nonetheless, I worked it hard and produced a good sweat. This morning I attended a class called "Straight Up Strength", kind of like a Pump class, based around lifting light-to-medium weights at high repetitions. This was at another location within the gym's franchise, in Studio City, and had a lower average participant age. Unlike the other location, in Encino (about equi-distant from Sherman Oaks), the group exercise studio had some natural light and views of the street (or at least the parking lot), which I preferred to the enclosed, cave-like experience at the HiLo class in Encino. I must say though, that after the meticulous, form-conscious intruction of Pump classes I used to take at Genesis in Prahran, Straight Up Strength felt rather slap-dash. If I'd never worked with weights before, I could easily have injured myself, especially with exercises that combined two muscle groups; such as doing bicep curls while balancing on one leg and raising the other (thus working the bicep and the outer thigh/buttock simultaneously). Try it - that's a lot to think about all at once!
I'm in a celebratory mood this evening, on a high after meeting with Cindy, who is to be the director of Beaten Hearts (L.A.). We talked through the various scripts of mine and Bridgette's that I sent her as possibilities for the show - too many to all be included - and how the show may be shaped. Next week we'll get the cast together for a read through. Last night I saw a cabaret show, called GravityWorks, in Hollywood, which was designed as a showcase for twelve talented but unknown actors. It was an energetic, frequently hilarious, evening's entertainment, and served as further inspiration and impetus to push forward with Beaten Hearts. Which will be a different kettle of fish; theatre rather than cabaret. Cindy has some great ideas for the show, and feels like a perfect fit for Baggage Productions. I'm flattered and excited by the interest and enthusiasm of Cindy, and the other actors I've recruited, for the scripts and the show. I'm so lucky to have found a group of talented, like-minded individuals so soon. One of my cast-members, Suzanne, recently lauched a webseries that she wrote and starred in, called Playing Dead. It's very funny and well-produced and has me inspired to create a webseries of my own, or at least make short films of some of my short plays.
In the meantime, the agent hunt continues. I mailed copies of my headshot and resume to 12 handpicked agents - with the help of a monthly published report on agents and who/what they are looking for, and Regi's guidance and encouragement. I followed up with polite phone calls a few days later, but so far no bites. It's so frustrating! This is the tough part for me. I've got lots of energy for pushing forward a project like Beaten Hearts, but knocking on doors and selling myself requires a different kind of hard-nosed energy. Uncomfortable, but necessary. Ugh, I hate it! I feel that my resume is a poor reflection of my potential. Being non-union at this stage also plays against me somewhat. Please, somebody sign me up and get me some auditions! My audition to callback/booking ratio is pretty good, I just need to get in the room. Lemme at it!
I joined a gym this week, the better to increase my cardio exercise. There are so many nationally franchised gyms here, membership rates are highly competitive and much cheaper than Melbourne (I'm paying less than half the rate per month, and have access to Bally gyms nationwide). On Thursday morning I checked out a HiLo class - old school aerobics. L.A. doesn't experience the same rush hours as other cities, on the roads or in the gyms. The class was at 8.45am and was packed (about 70 participants), as was the rest of the gym, from weight training equipment to cardio machines. Apart from the size of the class, the most notable thing about its participants was their age. I've never seen so many over 60s in an aerobics class. I kid you not, there were about half a dozen who had to be over 70. In fact, we sang Happy Birthday to a gentleman called Al, who was celebrating his 80th. So I knew the choreography was not going to be complex. Nonetheless, I worked it hard and produced a good sweat. This morning I attended a class called "Straight Up Strength", kind of like a Pump class, based around lifting light-to-medium weights at high repetitions. This was at another location within the gym's franchise, in Studio City, and had a lower average participant age. Unlike the other location, in Encino (about equi-distant from Sherman Oaks), the group exercise studio had some natural light and views of the street (or at least the parking lot), which I preferred to the enclosed, cave-like experience at the HiLo class in Encino. I must say though, that after the meticulous, form-conscious intruction of Pump classes I used to take at Genesis in Prahran, Straight Up Strength felt rather slap-dash. If I'd never worked with weights before, I could easily have injured myself, especially with exercises that combined two muscle groups; such as doing bicep curls while balancing on one leg and raising the other (thus working the bicep and the outer thigh/buttock simultaneously). Try it - that's a lot to think about all at once!
Monday, January 18, 2010
Rain and pictures
It is still pouring rain here in Los Angeles, quite amazing. The pool doesn't look as splendid as usual under a grey sky, but here's some pics of my new home to satisfy all you busybodies out there.
The pool and courtyard
Living room
Other wall in the living room, plus Milo the cat.
Note the abundance of crystals.
His eyes aren't really blue, that's just an effect of the flash.
He's a magnificent creature, and has access in and out of the apartment, so no smelly cat litter issues.
New home
It's Sunday night again, but no I am not at Fabs indulging in a half price glass of wine. Today I moved out of the cat house! I'm now cosy in bed in my new room, listening to the rain falling outside. Glorious sound. It has rained non-stop since this afternoon, but I got moved in before it got heavy. Jim the Mover brought his truck and four burly Mexicans to pick up my modest possessions and transport them across the other side of Ventura Boulevard to my new home. It's a smaller apartment than the previous one, but it's big enough for two petite women to share. My new roomie is Gina, who is about 60 years old and something of a former hippie. Large crystals adorn the chunky coffee table in the living room, which is decorated warmly in an Asian/Indian style with big, chocolate brown couches, and a feature wall painted terracotta facing a painting of Tibetan monks. She lived most of her 20s in India and Nepal, working as a dancer and dance teacher. A most interesting woman, with, I suspect, many stories to tell.
By the way, I've put new sheets on the bed and they are distracting. Let me explain; when I first arrived in L.A. I needed to set myself up with basic bedding, pronto. I went to Bed Bath & Beyond with the intention of buying pillows and a coverlet (what we would call a doona, Down Under). Well, they had a bedroom 'starter pack' on sale. For about $80, I got a coverlet, two pillows, fitted sheet, flat sheet, pillow cases, blanket, laundry basket and whiteboard. Yeah, the whiteboard threw me too, but hey. Great deal any way you look at it. However, I had no choice over the colour scheme. Which is pink and brown. The coverlet is reversible - hot pink one side, brown the other - and the highly flammable blanket is brown. The sheets are white with large pink and brown polkadots. Now you understand why they're distracting. The dots are roughly the size of the imprint a small jar of Vegemite would make if first dipped in hot pink paint. A longwinded way to say, about 5cm in diameter. I wouldn't be surprised if I hallucinate large pink dots in my sleep. Another way of saying I'll be dreaming big dots. Here's a photo for your viewing pleasure, try not to hallucinate.
The Golden Globes were on this afternoon, and we watched a repeat telecast of them this evening. Ricky Gervais was in fine form as host, and James Cameron was tedious. The man needs a haircut for a start. I probably shouldn't criticise Avatar, since I haven't seen it, but what the hell. From what I have seen, it is a visual spectacular with a cliched, overwrought script. Pretty much like Titanic, which I have seen. Unquestionably, Cameron knows what appeals to a mass audience. Unfortunately, the masses wouldn't know superior filmmaking if it jumped up and bit them on the arse - in 3D. Boo! I say, BOO! Oh, and Sam Worthington looked positively grumpy. Just what, young man, do you have to be grumpy about? Smile, you surly git, smile!
During the week I checked out a great little theatre, perfect for a restaging of Beaten Hearts. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, Baggage will be making its L.A. debut in a few short months. I also did another mail-out to agents, with Regi's advice. Gotta get that ball rolling, it's freaking 2010 already! I gotta get me more auditions and earn some money!
By the way, I've put new sheets on the bed and they are distracting. Let me explain; when I first arrived in L.A. I needed to set myself up with basic bedding, pronto. I went to Bed Bath & Beyond with the intention of buying pillows and a coverlet (what we would call a doona, Down Under). Well, they had a bedroom 'starter pack' on sale. For about $80, I got a coverlet, two pillows, fitted sheet, flat sheet, pillow cases, blanket, laundry basket and whiteboard. Yeah, the whiteboard threw me too, but hey. Great deal any way you look at it. However, I had no choice over the colour scheme. Which is pink and brown. The coverlet is reversible - hot pink one side, brown the other - and the highly flammable blanket is brown. The sheets are white with large pink and brown polkadots. Now you understand why they're distracting. The dots are roughly the size of the imprint a small jar of Vegemite would make if first dipped in hot pink paint. A longwinded way to say, about 5cm in diameter. I wouldn't be surprised if I hallucinate large pink dots in my sleep. Another way of saying I'll be dreaming big dots. Here's a photo for your viewing pleasure, try not to hallucinate.
The Golden Globes were on this afternoon, and we watched a repeat telecast of them this evening. Ricky Gervais was in fine form as host, and James Cameron was tedious. The man needs a haircut for a start. I probably shouldn't criticise Avatar, since I haven't seen it, but what the hell. From what I have seen, it is a visual spectacular with a cliched, overwrought script. Pretty much like Titanic, which I have seen. Unquestionably, Cameron knows what appeals to a mass audience. Unfortunately, the masses wouldn't know superior filmmaking if it jumped up and bit them on the arse - in 3D. Boo! I say, BOO! Oh, and Sam Worthington looked positively grumpy. Just what, young man, do you have to be grumpy about? Smile, you surly git, smile!
During the week I checked out a great little theatre, perfect for a restaging of Beaten Hearts. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, Baggage will be making its L.A. debut in a few short months. I also did another mail-out to agents, with Regi's advice. Gotta get that ball rolling, it's freaking 2010 already! I gotta get me more auditions and earn some money!
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Gotta love L.A.
Ah, Los Angeles, where the gas stations have water features. Is this just another example of profligate waste, or an artful reference to a desert oasis, that island of greenery thirsted for in a dry, hot land? I'm inclined to the former, but draw your own conclusions.
It's Sunday night and I'm here again at Fabs, sipping a rather fabulous Napa Cab Sav and hand writing the blog. It's busier than last week, but the barman remembered what I ordered last week (a Syrah), with families gathered in the restaurant area while hip singles (moi??) slouch at the bar. Every now and then a child shrieks; whether from delight or outraged indignation, it's impossible to tell.
I've had a lovely weekend. On Friday I lent my car to Regi as his was at the mechanic and he had three auditions to attend. Yes, three in one day. I can't wait until I'm that busy! In all liklihood he will book at least one of them. Anyway, as thanks he took me to dinner to Kate Mantilini, Woodland Hills. It was a bit of an adventure finding the place as his iPhone was dead, but that just sharpened the appetite. Great place; a stylish but family-friendly bistro serving up a huge menu without sacrificing quality. I had the crab cakes (a signature dish) which were delish. Regi had the chicken pot pie, apparently voted the best in town by the L.A. Magazine, which lived up to high expectations. The only slight problem (for me) was that I sat very short at the table. I asked a waiter of they had any cushions I could sit on. No, but would I like to try the child seat? Sure, why not, bring it on. As small and perky as my butt is, it was a little too small to fit. Probably for the best. Not the most dignified seat in the house.
On Saturday I caught up with Jen, a friend I met in acting class. She's American but also new in town, having come to L.A. about the same time as me, from Florida. We went to Pasadena for lunch, about 20 minutes east of Sherman Oaks along the 101 highway. The main drag has a Chapel St, South Yarra vibe; a tourist spot, lots of cafes and bars and mid-to-high end boutiques, without the gilt-edge of Beverly Hills.
Thanks to Skype, I had some major catch-up sessions with three of my besties; Bridgette, Tiffany and Gordi over the weekend. It was so great to see you guys, hear your voices, have a laugh and exclaim further over a certain roommate. Good news in that department; I've found another place to live, quite nearby in Sherman Oaks. The new place is a kind of Melrose Place set-up; a small, gated complex of modest apartments surrounding a central patio and large swimming pool. My new roomie-to-be is an older lady, probably in her 60s as she has kids my age. We got along very well upon meeting and chatted for over an hour. It's a bit smaller than where I am now, but it's considerably cheaper also, with more natural light and a friendly, relaxed vibe. I'm moving next weekend. Hooray!
This afternoon I sweated it out in an intense Boot Camp class - cardio high, anyone? - and later on stopped by Aroma for a coffee. There I got chatting to three guys, two of whom are in 'the biz'. Robert is a veteran actor who trained alongside Pacino in New York. He came to L.A. 20 years ago and is a font of information and advice. He also works as a script writer and producer. Samah is a young director whose most recent short film stars Rainn Wilson (Dwight Shrute from the U.S. The Office). Samah was sharing a huge piece of chocolate cake with a friend, and we got talking because they needed an extra chair which they took from my table, we joked about it, they inquired about my accent etc, then Robert joined in because he knew them and the four of us chatted about acting, filmmaking, L.A., the business and so forth. It was most convivial and we exchanged cards. As you do. Ah, Los Angeles, where having coffee is a networking opportunity!
It's Sunday night and I'm here again at Fabs, sipping a rather fabulous Napa Cab Sav and hand writing the blog. It's busier than last week, but the barman remembered what I ordered last week (a Syrah), with families gathered in the restaurant area while hip singles (moi??) slouch at the bar. Every now and then a child shrieks; whether from delight or outraged indignation, it's impossible to tell.
I've had a lovely weekend. On Friday I lent my car to Regi as his was at the mechanic and he had three auditions to attend. Yes, three in one day. I can't wait until I'm that busy! In all liklihood he will book at least one of them. Anyway, as thanks he took me to dinner to Kate Mantilini, Woodland Hills. It was a bit of an adventure finding the place as his iPhone was dead, but that just sharpened the appetite. Great place; a stylish but family-friendly bistro serving up a huge menu without sacrificing quality. I had the crab cakes (a signature dish) which were delish. Regi had the chicken pot pie, apparently voted the best in town by the L.A. Magazine, which lived up to high expectations. The only slight problem (for me) was that I sat very short at the table. I asked a waiter of they had any cushions I could sit on. No, but would I like to try the child seat? Sure, why not, bring it on. As small and perky as my butt is, it was a little too small to fit. Probably for the best. Not the most dignified seat in the house.
On Saturday I caught up with Jen, a friend I met in acting class. She's American but also new in town, having come to L.A. about the same time as me, from Florida. We went to Pasadena for lunch, about 20 minutes east of Sherman Oaks along the 101 highway. The main drag has a Chapel St, South Yarra vibe; a tourist spot, lots of cafes and bars and mid-to-high end boutiques, without the gilt-edge of Beverly Hills.
Thanks to Skype, I had some major catch-up sessions with three of my besties; Bridgette, Tiffany and Gordi over the weekend. It was so great to see you guys, hear your voices, have a laugh and exclaim further over a certain roommate. Good news in that department; I've found another place to live, quite nearby in Sherman Oaks. The new place is a kind of Melrose Place set-up; a small, gated complex of modest apartments surrounding a central patio and large swimming pool. My new roomie-to-be is an older lady, probably in her 60s as she has kids my age. We got along very well upon meeting and chatted for over an hour. It's a bit smaller than where I am now, but it's considerably cheaper also, with more natural light and a friendly, relaxed vibe. I'm moving next weekend. Hooray!
This afternoon I sweated it out in an intense Boot Camp class - cardio high, anyone? - and later on stopped by Aroma for a coffee. There I got chatting to three guys, two of whom are in 'the biz'. Robert is a veteran actor who trained alongside Pacino in New York. He came to L.A. 20 years ago and is a font of information and advice. He also works as a script writer and producer. Samah is a young director whose most recent short film stars Rainn Wilson (Dwight Shrute from the U.S. The Office). Samah was sharing a huge piece of chocolate cake with a friend, and we got talking because they needed an extra chair which they took from my table, we joked about it, they inquired about my accent etc, then Robert joined in because he knew them and the four of us chatted about acting, filmmaking, L.A., the business and so forth. It was most convivial and we exchanged cards. As you do. Ah, Los Angeles, where having coffee is a networking opportunity!
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
House hunting
The people you meet, eh? On Monday I went to look at a room described as "beautiful, huge, limestone floors, fireplace, glass doors opening onto back garden" - sounds great. The reality was less appealing; while the description was not inaccurate (apart from 'beautiful' but I guess that's in the eye of the beholder) it was somewhat misleading. The room was not designed as a bedroom, but a family/living room at the back of the house. I suppose you could make it cosy, but it looked cold to me. The house is also occupied by a single mother and her 6 year old daughter, a young guy who works as a security guard, and a dog. The woman and the young guy seemed like nice, friendly people, the dog sweet-natured and the girl a typical lively child demanding her mother's attention. It was relaxed in a way, but chaotic. I had to say no.
Yesterday afternoon I checked out an apartment in a groovy location near the NoHo arts district; the building was modern, with a sparkling swimming pool in a central courtyard and a small gym. The apartment is called a 3-bedroom, but the 3rd bedroom would work better as an office as it is quite small, with very limited closet space and is right off the somewhat cramped living room and kitchen area. Upstairs were the other two bedrooms, slightly larger and sharing a balcony. Quite nice. Tiny bathroom. The downstairs room is available immediately, one of the upstairs rooms likely to become available next month. It's currently occupied by a girl who's boyfriend lives nearby and is paying her rent. It seems he wants her close at hand, but not technically living with him. The room seems barely occupied, furnished only with a lamp (necessary, since few rooms in L.A. have ceiling lights) and an inflatable mattress. Having slept on one of those for about three weeks when I first arrived in L.A., I can tell you that they're more comfortable than the floor but that's it. My back was not a fan. The woman who showed me around is called Michael. When I spoke to her on the phone, I envisaged a Janeane Garofalo type; the person who met me at the door was a neurotically thin, bleach-blonde woman of indeterminate age who apppeared to have recently had an eye-lift (she had identical red marks at the corners of both eyelids) and probably some lip-enhancement. There was something decidedly unnatural about her appearance. She talked non-stop in her throaty, assertive twang, telling me about the casting agency she is developing called HotGirlfriendsLA. Seriously. Sounds like an escort agency, I said. She agreed, but assured me it's not, they provide models and other beautiful girls for TV shows (like Deal or No Deal, Entourage and, apparently, Adam Sandler films - "Adam Sandler loves us," she said) and various parties and events. So it kind of is like an escort agency, but with less promise of sex. Michael also dabbles in writing and acting. She seemed like someone who might be fun to hang out with once in a while, and is pretty well connected, but would be less fun to live with, especially in an apartment with such small living areas. That one has to be a No, also.
So, the swimsuit model I met on Monday afternoon is top of the list so far. Wait, did I tell you about her? No, I didn't, my last blog was written Sunday night. Ok, so after visiting the House of Chaos, I checked out a two-bedroom townhouse owned by a Jamaican swimsuit model. Yep, compare the two of us and we look like entirely different species. Anyway, she's owned this place for 6 years, and has decorated it beautifully. There's a huge difference between rental properties and those lived in by the owner. The bedroom windows are arched - very pretty - and there is a balcony, sizable kitchen and comfortable living area. It's a little further north in the Valley than Sherman Oaks, but not crazily so, and she's asking a very reasonable rent. I have some hesitation living with the landlord, but all up it looks like a great deal.
Meanwhile, Emily and I have a girl staying with us this week, sleeping on the couch. Sabea is a nice girl in her 20s, an actress who lives in Seattle and is in LA this week meeting with agents etc and contemplating making a permanent move. This afternoon I came home from the supermarket to discover the two girls rearranging the living room to create an office area in one corner for Emily. It's a big room, so there is comfortable space, but I asked Emily about how well she would concentrate working there if the TV was on.
Emily: Oh, I won't have the TV on when I'm working.
Me: But what if your roommate is watching it?
Emily: Well, I'll get a roommate who is out all day working, so it won't really be a problem.
Me: But sometimes you'll be working in the evening too, if you're teaching during the day.
Emily: Well, yeah, I suppose.
I thought to myself, wow, here's another example of her thinking only of her own needs and not considering others. I wonder if she'll charge less rent to the next person, since she's effectively taking more room in the apartment now (as if the cats didn't already take up space)? I suspect she won't. Boy, I'm glad I already decided to move out because this would really piss me off.
Yesterday afternoon I checked out an apartment in a groovy location near the NoHo arts district; the building was modern, with a sparkling swimming pool in a central courtyard and a small gym. The apartment is called a 3-bedroom, but the 3rd bedroom would work better as an office as it is quite small, with very limited closet space and is right off the somewhat cramped living room and kitchen area. Upstairs were the other two bedrooms, slightly larger and sharing a balcony. Quite nice. Tiny bathroom. The downstairs room is available immediately, one of the upstairs rooms likely to become available next month. It's currently occupied by a girl who's boyfriend lives nearby and is paying her rent. It seems he wants her close at hand, but not technically living with him. The room seems barely occupied, furnished only with a lamp (necessary, since few rooms in L.A. have ceiling lights) and an inflatable mattress. Having slept on one of those for about three weeks when I first arrived in L.A., I can tell you that they're more comfortable than the floor but that's it. My back was not a fan. The woman who showed me around is called Michael. When I spoke to her on the phone, I envisaged a Janeane Garofalo type; the person who met me at the door was a neurotically thin, bleach-blonde woman of indeterminate age who apppeared to have recently had an eye-lift (she had identical red marks at the corners of both eyelids) and probably some lip-enhancement. There was something decidedly unnatural about her appearance. She talked non-stop in her throaty, assertive twang, telling me about the casting agency she is developing called HotGirlfriendsLA. Seriously. Sounds like an escort agency, I said. She agreed, but assured me it's not, they provide models and other beautiful girls for TV shows (like Deal or No Deal, Entourage and, apparently, Adam Sandler films - "Adam Sandler loves us," she said) and various parties and events. So it kind of is like an escort agency, but with less promise of sex. Michael also dabbles in writing and acting. She seemed like someone who might be fun to hang out with once in a while, and is pretty well connected, but would be less fun to live with, especially in an apartment with such small living areas. That one has to be a No, also.
So, the swimsuit model I met on Monday afternoon is top of the list so far. Wait, did I tell you about her? No, I didn't, my last blog was written Sunday night. Ok, so after visiting the House of Chaos, I checked out a two-bedroom townhouse owned by a Jamaican swimsuit model. Yep, compare the two of us and we look like entirely different species. Anyway, she's owned this place for 6 years, and has decorated it beautifully. There's a huge difference between rental properties and those lived in by the owner. The bedroom windows are arched - very pretty - and there is a balcony, sizable kitchen and comfortable living area. It's a little further north in the Valley than Sherman Oaks, but not crazily so, and she's asking a very reasonable rent. I have some hesitation living with the landlord, but all up it looks like a great deal.
Meanwhile, Emily and I have a girl staying with us this week, sleeping on the couch. Sabea is a nice girl in her 20s, an actress who lives in Seattle and is in LA this week meeting with agents etc and contemplating making a permanent move. This afternoon I came home from the supermarket to discover the two girls rearranging the living room to create an office area in one corner for Emily. It's a big room, so there is comfortable space, but I asked Emily about how well she would concentrate working there if the TV was on.
Emily: Oh, I won't have the TV on when I'm working.
Me: But what if your roommate is watching it?
Emily: Well, I'll get a roommate who is out all day working, so it won't really be a problem.
Me: But sometimes you'll be working in the evening too, if you're teaching during the day.
Emily: Well, yeah, I suppose.
I thought to myself, wow, here's another example of her thinking only of her own needs and not considering others. I wonder if she'll charge less rent to the next person, since she's effectively taking more room in the apartment now (as if the cats didn't already take up space)? I suspect she won't. Boy, I'm glad I already decided to move out because this would really piss me off.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Happy new year
I'm using old technology for this blog, putting pen to paper, longhand in a quiet local bar with an excellent Happy Hour. Naturally, I've since transcribed it into the computer for your online reading pleasure, but I enjoyed the old school style.
Backtracking to my last entry, I spent a delightful few days in Huntington Beach with Sarah, her roommate (also Sarah) and Sarah 2's boyfriend Tim. I also met Sarah 1's best friend, a thin single and neat young guy called Matt. New Year's Eve, Sarah 1 threw a modest house party; guests included all of the above and a couple of others, a convivial group. I bought a bottle of Veuve which I shared with Sarah 1, and I stuck to it while some of the others whipped up ghastly-looking concoctions from the assortment of liqueurs stashed on top of the fridge. Anything with Blue Curacao in it looks ghastly and is usually teeth-grindingly sweet. A pair of novelty cardboard '2010' spectacles was passed around, a lot of cheese and potato crisps were consumed and party poppers were dutifully popped at midnight. At a certain point in the evening, we all tried to learn a 'dance' (I use the term loosely) called The Jerk; it features in a video clip for a 'song' (again, loose term) of the same name. Picture Peter Garrett circa 1985 in full flight - backwards. Nothing graceful about it, but an enjoyable bit of nonsense.
The next day, the first of the new decade, I drove back to L.A. Roads were quiet so it took barely an hour. I've been busily scouring craigslist for a potential new home and have seen two places, have two more appointments this week, and have screened two other possibilities over the phone: one was a two-bedroom apartment occupied by two guys - one of which is sleeping in the living room - NO; the other sounded good, nice girl, but with a dog - that's a No for me, especially in an apartment with no yard to run around in.
Meanwhile, my yoga studio is branching out into non-yoga exercises classes, such as "Nasty to the Core" (an abs workout) and "CrossTrain". My eager eyes alighted upon one called "Mixed Martial Arts" which proved to be a very intense workout incorporating boxing training (punches, kicks, skipping rope, push ups) and some principals of tai-chi, focusing on slow, controlled movement, breathing and chakra alignment. An aerobic workout with the soul of a yoga practice. I liked it; great workout without pounding pop music and someone yelling at you.
This morning I went for a hike with Anthony, one of my Aussie friends from my first L.A. visit in 2007. The trail took us from views of the Valley across the hills to views of the coast stretching out from Santa Monica to Long Beach. Part of the trail went past a disused army missile lookout station. It was hot on the hill as we walked, with little discernable breeze. The Pacific looked like a great silver pond; silent and shimmering in the midday sun.
We've had a glorious couple of days, weatherwise, with temperatures returning to the mid-70s (20s Celsius) under blue skies. This is winter?? No complaints here, I'm loving it.
Meanwhile, my yoga studio is branching out into non-yoga exercises classes, such as "Nasty to the Core" (an abs workout) and "CrossTrain". My eager eyes alighted upon one called "Mixed Martial Arts" which proved to be a very intense workout incorporating boxing training (punches, kicks, skipping rope, push ups) and some principals of tai-chi, focusing on slow, controlled movement, breathing and chakra alignment. An aerobic workout with the soul of a yoga practice. I liked it; great workout without pounding pop music and someone yelling at you.
This morning I went for a hike with Anthony, one of my Aussie friends from my first L.A. visit in 2007. The trail took us from views of the Valley across the hills to views of the coast stretching out from Santa Monica to Long Beach. Part of the trail went past a disused army missile lookout station. It was hot on the hill as we walked, with little discernable breeze. The Pacific looked like a great silver pond; silent and shimmering in the midday sun.
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