Home.

And I'm home. Two months was both a lifetime and no time at all. Long enough to have me confused about what side of the road I should be on, but not long enough to feel like I've really been away.

My final audition in the U.S was for a stonking great blockbuster. However, and I should've guessed really, it was just like any other audition. The Casting Director knew I was leaving town so slotted me in amongst all the child actors she was seeing that day nd their very determined mothers. Frightening. I nearly went for Chicken Mole Enchiladas at my favourite joint, Loteria in the farmers markets one last time but at the last minute decided beans before a 14hr flight might not be a great idea.

The last thing I did in Los Angeles was to meet up with my Australian agent who was in town, and as it turns out flying back to Sydney on the same flight as me. I sauntered into the Peninsula Hotel in Beverly Hills smiling at the bell hops in their little white suits, paused briefly to listen to the Harp Player in the foyer then took the golden elevator to the 10th floor and rooftop bar. Please God don't let him be poolside, I really don't want to have to weave my way through the breasts and margaritas to find him, no, there he is. Surrounded by a small clutch of his Aussie clients Mark Morrissey was doing it in style. One of his big names had a premiere last night and he was relaxed and jovial. It was good to hear from a bunch of Aussies a little further down the track than me. They all had the same thought, it just takes time. And money. In L.A those two things are often considered one and the same. Mark has been coming to L.A on and off for 15 years and in the process seen many actors succeed and fall by the wayside.  I had a chance to really pick his brains at the airport. He's a good man. Mark, Imogen in New Zealand and Lena in the U.S are all great people and I feel lucky to have them on my side.

That flight really is a killer. The few hours in Sydney airport aren't much fun and sleep for me is impossible. On the plus side I've finally caught up on all the Oscar winning films. If you do have to do this flight I recommend having an awesome girlfriend. Mine picked me up and took me to the Langham Hotel for a Chuan Spa tri-bathe/massage combo and a room for the night in absolute luxury. A bottle of champagne and a dozen oysters later I slept like a baby. The top story on the morning news was whether beer sold at rugby world cup matches should be sold in cans or cups. Ah yes, I'm home.

With two and a half months until rehearsals start for Romeo and Juliet (I'm playing Friar Lawrence) and no money I'll be off to the dole office this week. It's been a while and if memory serves the workstart 'how to get a job' seminar that bears absolutely no relation to my life or circumstances awaits me. 

Last night I went along to The Classic to watch Six-Dollar-Fifty Man. This is a short film made by my friend Louis Sutherland and his partner in crime Mark Albiston. I worked with Louis On The Insiders Guide to Love. He played Serena's lover. It's their second short film and has been enormously successful in New Zealand and around the world, picking up the equivalent of second place at Cannes. It's a great short. Louis and Mark spoke afterwards about their process and the genesis of the idea. It was inspiring to think that a moment, a shared memory from the childhood of these two men could travel the world as a short film and touch everyone who sees it. They are working on a feature together and I have no doubt they will produce something we will all be proud of one day. 

So that's it really. This blog is called Adventures in Los Angeles. Now I am home. I have no doubt learnt a lot, and over the next week I might even figure out what exactly. It's been an experience to remember. It hasn't killed me, so if the saying is right, it's made me stronger. Thanks for coming with me. I hope you got something useful from it, and next time I see you I won't have to tell you all about it!

G

Fear and Leaving Los Angeles

3 days left in Los Angeles.
The white car I hired is now grey with the soot I must be breathing when I go for a run through the streets. I'm looking forward to drinking from the tap and being able to walk places. It's been ... odd.

Pilot Season, the mad scramble to make new TV has all but wrapped up and Hollywood  refocuses its attention back on film. I've had my fill of police detectives for now thanks. I read an interesting statistic the other day. In this Pilot Season the big 4 studios ordered 22 pilots about law enforcement agencies, including the C.I.A, F.B.I, Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, U.S Marshalls, Bounty Hunters, Police Psychologists, Forensics and the Rank and File. This probably wasn't the best year for me then. Next year will most likely be lawyers, doctors and the like. Swings and roundabouts. There's a lot to be said for being in the right place at the right time.

I have my first audition for a ridiculous big budget blockbuster tomorrow. Nice to see Speilberg's name on your audition form from time to time. I'm polishing up my maniacal Wild West outlaws demented younger brother routine this afternoon. Be nice to leave some sort of impression before I go. I also have a full afternoon of A.D.R (additional dialogue recording) for Tracker tomorrow. Most of the film was shot exterior on West Auckland beaches and hillsides in Glenorchy so you can imagine the sound quality might be a bit sketchy. Usually it's a word here, a line there. I wasn't quite prepared for the amount of pages I got sent however. The entire final scene! ADR is a funny thing. Alone in a soundproof booth with a pair of headphones on you have to put yourself back where you were a year or so ago and match to your own mouth the same dialogue. Some times the opportunity to adjust or even improve on the original performance can be a blessing and certainly the paycheck is welcome. It can be damn tricky at times but for me the hardest thing is always seeing raw footage of your work and realising you don't look or sound nearly as cool as you thought you did. I can understand why some film actors never watch their own work, and given the chance I think I'd be the same.

I have learnt, through limited but interesting travels, that the best way to learn about a place and its culture is through its people. I have found that it certainly throws into relief my own peculiarities and cultural hang ups. Americans, Californians, the ones I've met are a handful to say the least. I've found myself thrust headlong into uncomfortable conversations regarding spirituality or conspiracy theory. People are also 'super-nice' however (super being adjective of choice, as in super-fun.) There seems to be a real outward-looking, heart on your sleeve mentality that highlights my own inward-looking, easy going with a dark streak kiwi way. Of course, this is L.A not America, and I'm hardly the cultural paradigm for Male New Zealand. I stumbled across a poet today. He's one of the most famous poets in the world and I'm glad to have finally found him. These were the words that caught my eye ...

The way we are living, timorous or bold, will have been our life.
-SEAMUS HEANEY

Yep, he's quite something. On further investigation I laughed when I read this ...

”The political implications of lyric art are quite reactionary,” Heaney says. ”You are saying to people, ‘Everything’s all right.’ And, in fact, one of the things America exposes you to quite radically is people’s hunger to be comforted. And it’s very moving, and it’s authentic, but somehow you get co-opted into a language of comfort that is quite bogus.”


I think I have come to understood a little of what he is saying.

As I write my neighbour is taking his pet Boa-Constrictor for a walk on the grass. No that's not right. A slither? My other neigbour sits in his usual afternoon sun spot in short-shorts chatting happily on his big chunky cordless phone in some sort of African dialect. Phillip the squirrel is crashed out on a power line snoozing and the crows rummage through the recycling. They'll have to be quick, it's about now the local homeless dude rummages through himself for the 5-10c returns he'll get from our glass and plastic. I have a nice cold root beer waiting for me in the fridge and I have half an ear out for the sound of the communal laundry to stop so I can get my last load in before I leave. The Hollywood map I kept from a 6 year old Empire magazine that is sellotaped to my wall is now covered in blue crosses and marks pinpointing studios and audition rooms. The LAPD Eye in the Sky is still circling a few blocks away, I still find it loud and annoying but that'd go after a while I assume. I live next to the motorway in Auckland and without it now, I usually have trouble sleeping at first. We are adaptable creatures. I think I could do okay here. To quote the Governor of California, Governor Schwarzenegger,  "I'll be back".

Got Up and Gone.

The blogs are few and far between at the moment I know.
I've tried to resist writing whilst feeling I have nothing good to write about to balance up the bad. Now I have decided that the bad is part of the experience and has to be worth writing about too. I'm just all too painfully aware that the troubles of an unemployed actor are just not that interesting, and being in Los Angeles doesn't change that. I'm boring myself already.

As usually is the case exercise and social interactions are keeping me afloat. It's been nearly two weeks without an audition. Pilot season is wrapping up and with only two weeks left here and a legal status that means I can't pick up small guest roles, I'm not much use to anyone. So I went to the basketball. College basketball. A uniquely American experience. The competing school bands, cheerleading teams straight out of Bring it On and a national anthem sung in reverence, hand over heart, hats off and facing the flag. All of us. I've never felt that before. That kind of deeply held nationalism. It was uncomfortable for me and went some way to making me understand why being called Un-American is such an insult. When the ice-cream vendor (Getcha Ice Creeeaaammss!) walked past selling New Zealand Natural I smiled and relaxed again. Naturally I rooted for the underdog and Washington State came through to beat California State right at the very end. It was an exciting game and great to see these tremendous athletes doing their thing live. And great to see it at the Staples Centre. The beating heart of L.A Basketball. I'm going to Jay Leno on thursday. I don't know why. Because I can.

It occurs to me that in the Ten years since I graduated from Drama School I haven't been unemployed much. A little travel and a soul-crushing stint tele-marketing aside, I have been in constant work. The majority of actors aren't and I have been very lucky. Now I know what it feels like. I've never been big on 'networking'. No one has ever given me a job from a conversation or thinking I'm cool at a party. But here in 'Actor City' no one is going to know who I am without me telling them. Armed with that knowledge I have responded by hiding in my room, waiting for the phone to ring, watching my favorite tv show and rewriting a famous play into the version I want to direct. I'm guessing this is what most unemployed New Zealand actors do when not telemarketing or suchlike. I haven't really made the adjustment to being an L.A actor. I hoped I could show in an audition room what I could do and let my previous work speak for itself. I bombed on both of those accounts. Realistically I shouldn't expect much, this being my first time here. However, with a lead role in a tv series the only thing providing me with the cash to try it, it may be some time before I can try it again. I need to learn these lessons faster and respond better.

A friend, upon hearing that I was coming to L.A asked me why. Why did I want to leave New Zealand where I was doing so well? Where we made such great work and where life is sweet?
Those questions rattle round in my head as the days blur into each other. I certainly remember Why a month ago. I always wanted to be a film actor. I watch movies constantly, I love them. I spent years in the theatre learning my craft, loving every minute but having no idea I could ever be in a movie. Now I have been in a few. Small, small parts in massive films and massive parts in small, small films. I realise now that if I stay in New Zealand my chances of making a Science Fiction Film, a Pirate Film, a War film, any film where I can have a shot at a good character in a film with the resources to achieve its vision, are slim. We make maybe 4 films a year. With the film commission funding them, they are somewhat duty bound to explore our national identity. I love my country, and I know we have great stories to tell and we have wonderful storytellers to tell them. I hope to be part of that process. But I also want to make a Pirate Film. And a Space Film, and a Western. I want to work with my heroes. America is where that happens. I want in.

I'm Not Harry Jenson has been accepted into the Indie Spirit Film Festival in Colorado Springs. I won't be here then, but hopefully the film will get some notice. Two upcoming big jobs in New Zealand aren't interested in using me. Rejection is par for the course in this line of work. But, ouch, it hurts more when you're far away without a beer at the local with your mates. I fear with The Cult being labelled "A Flop" I may have to wait a while for the smell to wear off. In the mean time I'm going to have to find another day job when I get back to NZ. I apologize in advance for your lousy coffee or lukewarm steak and chips.

Dark days in Los Angeles. My Get Up and Go has Got Up and Gone. I admit temporary defeat and will hereby devote myself to writing a small cast gritty emotional drama that explores our national identity to make into a film for $4. (And secretly concoct a Western Sci-Fi Pirate film for me Sam Rockwell, Helen Mirren, David Lynch and Christoph Waltz-Yes and you too Serena. I'm still dreaming big Dad. Promise.)

G

Random Shuffle

Having your iPod on random shuffle can be downright embarrassing sometimes. Songs turn up that I just hope someone else put on there. Then again, there must have been a point in history where we all spent hours transferring our mountain of C.D's onto our computers and some of those tunes may have slipped through the cracks of good taste. At other times though the random shuffle can provide for the odd epiphany or unexpected emotional experience. Case in point. I'm going for my daily run, well day 2 of what I hope will be my daily run, and One Tree Hill by U2 turns up. Now this album was written from a hotel in Joshua Tree and was heavily influenced by California/Nevada and it's Desert landscape. And of course this song is written to honor the memory of one of U2's roadies Greg Carrol. Greg was a Maori who became a good friend of Bono's and was tragically killed running an errand for him on Bono's motorcycle. The song describes his Tangi on One Tree Hill and the album, one of my favourites of all time is dedicated to his memory. The story goes Bono felt he could only perform the song once, and the one take he did in the studio is what you'll hear on the album. That got me thinking about home. The next song that popped up was a cover of Africa by our own Wellington Ukulele Orchestra. Now, I'll come right out and say I wasn't an instant fan of these guys. I went to a gig where I couldn't hear a damn thing and figured it was a bit of a gimmick. I've come round, they're quite magic. As well as some nice sentiments and surely the longest sentence in pop music history ... (The wild dogs cry out in the night as they grow restless longing for some solitary company I know that I must do what's right as sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti) it features a good mate of mine letting fly with his incredible pitch perfect tenor stylings. At Drama School I had a lovely old singing teacher who for what some people may have thought he lacked in technique more than made up for by literally being able to get anyone to sing and feel okay about it, myself included. However, when it came time to sing as a group all the guys in my class would edge subtly closer to surround my mate Nigel Collins and take our cue from him. Nige is a rare talent. A great actor, musician, writer and fine poet. To hear his voice soaring on my iPod as I ran round and around a little league practice session suddenly hit me in the gut. Homesickness. That really caught me by surprise. It reminded me a little of the way grief can do that. After I lost my father I found out the hard way how Grief can jump out from behind the couch without warning and knock you over. Homesickness. huh. Who woulda thought.

While I'm all melancholic and introspective, another thought occurs to me though that certainly brings comfort. Miserable as it can be at times, there are some real perks to growing up. Aside from being able to have ice cream whenever you damn well want and loving someone who loves you in return, having hit my thirties I am watching my friends begin to fulfill their potential. Sure, there are plenty of fears shared over a coffee "I'm 30 and have NOTHING to show for it," but I look around and I have friends at the forefront of the entertainment industry in New Zealand and around the world, new parents with beautiful children and the odd one or two even owning property. In the ten years since I've left Drama School I've gotten to know a lot of brilliant people who have done some quite brilliant things. In the next ten years it will be quite something to see what they come up with for us.

If you've read this far it will be clear I've had no auditions this week. (it's wednesday.) No news on the work front I'm afraid. I'll try to leave the house today however so I have something to write about. I scored my 5th parking ticket yesterday so I'm a little bitter about the car, but on the other hand I should put it to use and go exploring. The Pacific Coast Highway is supposedly worth a drive.
Hope you're all well.

And for those interested this is the Uke's performing Africa. Nige is the one with the tie round his head. Just see what happens to the crowd when he lets rip towards the end.
Click here to watch Africa.

G

Giving a Rats Arse

Ah monday. The start of a new week. Jump out of bed, breakfast, coffee, brush teeth, sit down to check emails ... nothing. Now what. Waiting, waiting, waiting. My manager had a few clients involved in that whole Oscar thing, so they'll be a few hangovers at the office this morning I'm sure.

My meeting with the Horror film director went well last week. I'm pretty much basing that on his first comment when I walked in the room."Hey, look at you. I could put you in my film right now, you look perfect!" Hmmm. Hopefully that means an audition at least. Americans are very good at smiling, being polite and appearing extremely passionate when they frankly couldn't give a rats arse. I guess in New Zealand we're more inclined towards grumpy, quiet and apathetic when we're not interested. I certainly can't recall a supermarket staff member asking me if I'm finding everything okay and whether I need any help at Foodtown Grey Lynn. So, hard for me to judge how it really went. However, it did serve the purpose of making me feel good enough to pitch my ideas for the character and it was a welcome relief to the pre-reads I've been on. The script is a good genre film with a twist. The character is a nasty piece of work that you end up rooting for, and the lead actors are fantastic. It would be a great gig. sigh.

I kept quiet over the weekend saving my fun points for an Oscar party. Foolishly tried to drive there through the actual Oscars. Roadblocks, limos, spotlights. Woops. Got there a little late but still managed to come in close to winning the sweepstake. (I blew it with Adapted Screenplay. However I would highly recommend In The Loop. Very clever and funny script.)

At the Football I met a Kiwi songstress Florence Hartigan. She's playing tonight just down the road, so that'll be me for monday thanks.

A good man gave me the entire series of BattleStar Galactica before I left NZ. Now, I watched the original when I was a kid, was never a big fan and this new version is synonymous with serious geekdom. I've been dubious about this show to say the least. However, critics have consistently put it above and beyond my favorites The Wire and Deadwood. While the jury is still out on that one, I have to say, I'm loving it. Halfway through series two and I'm a bona-fide fan. And a serious geek.

Go the Phoenix. And the Black Caps. Dammit.

G

Soccer, Palm Springs and The Big Bang.

(nb: Not one for taking photos, I have posted some Serena took while here in the appropriate blog. So have a scroll back through the earlier blogs and take a look. Also the Tracker link to your right has been updated and features some interesting 'behind the scenes' footage you might enjoy. G.)

Yes, it's been nearly a week. Having just dropped Serena off at the airport I find time opening up in front of me again. I'll miss her. There are some unexpected bonuses to saying goodbye to her however. My room looks really massive and I feel like I'm back to work again. I only have a few more weeks in L.A so I need to make the most of it. Boy we had some fun though and she was kind enough to leave me a good half a head of long blond hair everywhere.

Last Saturday was my HouseMates birthday. Ken, our driver rolled up in his black stretch limo and we all piled in for a Ventura winery tour. We were 6 and a half in all and only made it to two vineyards. The half was a 6 year old plied with sugar to keep her interested. Poor thing. 6 hours in a car, even if it is a limo is a long day. I was knackered at the end of it, and have had to explain knackered, buggered, shattered and shagged a few times. Interesting we have so many words for tired in New Zealand. Was very tempted when asked if we "mix with the aboriginals in New Zealand" to make up some bollocks about a slave trade but couldn't do it. Bless.

The following morning the girl and I were up early and on the road to Palm Springs. A two-three hour drive into the desert gateway towns is quite something. We took the Aerial Tramway (it's a Gondola) from the desert floor to the snow capped peak of Mount Whatsamacallit. ahem. Apparently it's like going from Mexico to Canada, temperature-wise, in 14 minutes. We threw snowballs, prayed for a mountain lion sighting (well I did) and threw more snowballs. Back to the desert, mexican for lunch in town and off into the desert to fart in solitude, 4 Mexican meals in a row was starting to take its toll. A quick look in town didn't inspire us. It's a kitsch retirement village with hints of rat-pack former glamour.

 We opted for the Indian Canyons and got a eyeful of why the place is called Palm Springs. Walking through canyons under the shade of date palms following the streams to their source, I loved it. So have centuries of other people too and the signs are everywhere. Serena got all excited about cacti and I finally figured out my keys jingling in my pocket wasn't a rattlesnake after all.

I've managed to accrue another couple of parking tickets. Yep. Two more, at $50 a piece. Read the signs buddy. And 4 minutes over is still over. Ouch. We've been eating lots of great food, and when I can drag Serena away from all things Mexican some good cafe's too. Though we found ourselves taking a lot of photos of food when it arrives. When a plate of food is bigger than my head I'm not quite sure what they expect me to do with it.

Tuesday night we were VIP guests to the live taping of an American comedy show The Big Bang Theory. Serena's good friend and now buddy of mine is a production assistant on the show. It was a fascinating and bum-numbing experience. We don't have anything like it back home. After surrendering our phones, camera etc to security we were allowed onto the Warner Brothers lot and oo'ed and ahh'ed at the lists of films shot in each building. Stage 1, Casablanca, Demolition Man, that kind of thing. Mad mix of everything. We were early so our man took us for a pin on a buggy to fetch Johhny Malecki his pre-show jamba juice. (And it's sentences like that that really make you feel like you're in L.A.) Mr Malecki was in Roseanne many years ago and is now playing Leonard in The Big Bang and slammed a door into my face by accident. He was in a hurry and I was standing in a really stupid place. When time came we are lead to our seats in a small theatre-like seating block. The four main sets are laid out side by side in front of us. Comic-book store, Hall-way, Penny's room, Boy's lounge. A big stage with impossible sightlines for us on all but two of those sets really. Also there are 4 large moving cameras with a crew of three each roaming between us and the action. Luckily we have Numb-Nuts the goofball crowd warmer-upper. God knows what his actual name and title is but he's been doing it for years and is paid a small fortune per show. He explains how it al works, cracks gags, makes us make noise, pulls out lame magic tricks and does every cliche buskers trick in the book to keep us chuckling along. We were over him pretty quick but the majority of the crowd was loving it. They plied us with pizza and candy and recorded our laughter all night. The actors were great, and under a lot of pressure. 1 take and 1 for safety, producers and directors and writers running in to change lines between takes if we didn't laugh hard enough. The actors do a curtain call and some of them are obviously affected by us more than others. It's a weird mix of tv and theatre and I'd love to have a go. Afterwards we stuck around for the final of the cast/crew table-tennis tournament that had been running all season and got to meet some nice people.

The gods heard me. The following morning I had my first comedy audition. Guys in their thirties dealing with girl troubles. Feeling pretty relaxed, enjoying the mad warm up routine in the waiting room by the girl who said I look like a young Anthony Hopkins, walk into The Room and Hello! 8 People? Producer, writer, creator, and others, I think. Cue nervous giggle, stupid gag and dry mouth. I did okay, but okay isn't really what anyone's after over here. Good comments on my accent and told my audition was 'hip'. Curious.

Got to really blow out the post audition blues by painting my face black and white, wrapping a New Zealand flag around my shoulders and joining 4 actors, 2 Air New Zealand Pilots and a honorary Kiwi mexican mother-daughter duo at the Mexico vs All Whites game at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena.

Kick off at 8pm and we really should have left at 4. 90,000 people all wanted to drive there too please. We we walking up to the stadium as our national anthem was playing. I swear, we were the ONLY Kiwis there. That's 6 Kiwis and approximately 91,800 Mexicans. Some people just stared confused, others would run over to shake our hands, call us brave, and run off to tell their mates some crazy New Zealanders were here. Serena and I never got to our seats. It was impossible. Security was overwhelmed, entrances were blocked, the noise was unbelievable. As we walked up to the gates I had just a small notion of what it must have felt like approaching Omaha Beach on D-Day. We saw some of the first half where we held Mexico to nil all, and most of the second half when the All Whites finally buckled and went down 2 nil. Not a bad result for them, and we made it out alive so not a bad result for us.

Serena's last day today spent at the Getty Center. Stunning building designed by, um, some amazing modernist genius to house Getty's beautiful collection of Art. The whole experience is a treat. You arrive to be whisked up to the summit aboard a space-age looking white monorail and wander around this architectural masterpiece looking at ancient, middle ages, renaissance, modern art works. Funny though, same reaction I had at the Louvre to massive middle Age and Renaissance paintings. Boring. And weighed down in Christian Guilt and fervor for me get interested. And photos of modern american urban landscapes didn't really do it for me. A gas station s a gas station mate. But amazing tapestries and 13th century books and the like made it all worth it. Actually the gardens, the views and the building itself were the highlight. So there.

Tomorrow I have a meeting with a director about a horror film. Exciting. A genre I'm not the most familiar with, but a character I am. I'll let you know. Well done for reading so far. That one was well overdue and I'll endeavor to keep it short and succinct from here on in. Well, I'll give it a go. I'm a good quarter Irish.

G

Parking tickets 3. Gareth 0.

3 auditions all over L.A and meeting with acting coach first thing in the morning. Belated Valentines Day dinner with girlfriend.
Yesterday was epic. Today after earning my third $50 parking violation the wheels finally fell off. I'm exhausted.

It was worth seeing Nikolai in the morning. Once again he was able to remind me that it's all out of my hands. Keep it simple, play one thing and commit to it in the scene. Then don't worry. Some guy has written this scene in Starbucks two days ago and the part has already been given to some TV Star or the next best thing. 50 other actors will go through this room today. Most will be terrible. I'm a good actor, if I'm right for the part I'll be called back. Problem is, so far, I hardly ever am.

Audition 1 saw me playing the cop with an anger management problem. You know the guy, he snaps and beats up a witness, saves the little girls life but gets a grilling from the chief. Not really me. And they know it as soon as I walk in. It would save everyone a lot of bother if they simply said "thanks, this isn't gonna work" at this point, but we go through the whole game. The best I think I can hope for is that they then see how great an actor I am and put my headshot and resume in the "hmmm ... interesting" pile.

Audition 2 was at Walt Disney Studios. Serena joined me on this one. It was a funny sight having Ms Cotton in a waiting room full of men in suits like me doing her NZ Listener crossword. We'd been for lunch at Big Boys Burger in Burbank. Finally a good American burger! The Big Boys Burger in Burbank is the oldest Big Boy in the U.S. It's an original 1950's drive in diner. On weekends people bring their classic muscle cars into the lot and car-hops bring their burgers out to them. It's like being on the set of Grease. I changed into my suit in the parking lot like a real L.A actor. Character is a lawyer, District Attorney with mayoral ambitions. Maybe more my style. Hoping they can see past the scruffy beard I'm sporting for the NZ audition I'm putting down on tape later. I get a similar reaction I'm getting at most auditions now. It seems to be a mixture of relief to see someone half decent, and confusion as to why I'm not quite right for this job. The sooner I figure out what kind of product I'm selling in this enormous marketplace, the sooner my potential customers will recognize it as something they want. I'm getting there. My manager is making time for me next week to run through my auditions, my approach, my look etc. and we will be reviewing the footage from a couple she has procured. Doesn't that sound like fun.

Always always always take I.D out with you in L.A. You have to be 21 to drink and with everyone suing everyone all the time no one will take a chance if you forget yours. We drove back home to get I.D debating whether it was worth it the whole way. It was. The Edison is an old power station converted into a bar. All the old fittings and machinery have been used to decorate the place and a live Jazz band plays. A Green Fairy with electric wings pushes round an Absinthe cart and the cocktails are sublime. We loved it. Though these Kiwis are still getting used to the idea of someone driving off in your car to park it for you.

My house-mates birthday tomorrow. Plan is to drive to vineyards in a limousine. Could be fun.
Pleased to report that Knotsberry Farm was nearly deserted and all the roller-coasters were cleaned up in a couple of hours.

Steel Panther were hilarious. One 15 minute guitar solo that included every famous rock guitar riff ever written, plus Flight of the Bumblebee for good measure and concluded with Guitarist exclaiming "How fucking Awesome am I!" Stage ended up filled with women going crazy and Serena bought a t-shirt. Have learnt that "Appetizer" in L.A means "Mains" for Gareth and that 5 minutes after your parking runs out you WILL be stung.

A reporter from Metro interviewed me over a cocktail on wednesday. Pretty sure I said some dumb-ass stuff so look out for that one folks. Serena has put down her Reeces Peanut-Buttercup Ice Cream and is doing bedroom yoga. I need a nana nap. Sorry for slacking off on the blogging. Hope it's still interesting.

G