There I was the other day, wandering through the local massive 'mall', buying up on what few wintery items of clothing I could find for our trip to Sydney over the rest of this month. Challenging, given we're in the throes of summer right now. Not many shops have started stocking autumnal gear yet, but fast-growing kids and me being 16kg lighter since last (northern) winter has meant a need for new clothes. Damn these opposite seasons.
Being kids-free, I was in a daydream when a woman crossed my path, with a very expensive-looking camera strapped around her neck, and possibly the longest lens I've ever seen attached to her dangling camera. I couldn't help but do a double take.
I continued on up a nearby escalator, when I felt a tap on my shoulder, and it was the camera lady.
She introduced herself, and explained that she was doing preliminary casting for a print commercial for... a pharmacy? Oncology? I can't remember. At this point my mind was spinning, wondering why on earth she was telling me this.
The next words to come out of her mouth had my jaw falling to the ground.
Her brief was to find a woman, about 35, who looked like... well... me.
The shoot would pay $3,500 and she was just grabbing a quick photo and details of women today but would I "possibly be interested in that sort of work?"
Would I be interested in more than three grand for a day's work? Uh... WHERE DO I SIGN UP???!!! What's to think about?
I nodded, and - attempting to sound as cool as possible - asked when the shoot would be taking place.
Turned out the shoot would be at the end of August... when I'll be in Australia.
Bugger.
Hilarious, too. The old cliché of being approached by a casting agent in an L.A. mall? Me?
But you know, I'll take it as a compliment. A nice little boost to the old self-esteem. Confirmation that this gym and calorie-counting malarkey has helped me become a 'bit of alright'.
Thirty-five hundred bucks would have been pretty sweet, though...
Showing posts with label L.A. Woman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label L.A. Woman. Show all posts
Monday, August 6, 2012
Thursday, July 14, 2011
L.A. Woman in the sun
With my brother and his girlfriend in town, and keen to undertake one of those touristy hop on/hop off bus tours, J kindly took the day off work to mind the Faery and Miss Pie so that I could play tag along. After being in LA for well over a year, I still hadn't done anything hugely touristy.
We decided to do two of the four available circuits - one around Hollywood and Beverly Hills, and one that interchanged at Beverly Hills and took us to Santa Monica, passing through Century City, Brentwood... and a shite load of traffic.
Each of these two circuits was supposed to take two hours, so we knew we were looking at a minimum of four hours on the road. The frequency of these buses varied from every twenty to forty minutes, so we knew we really only wanted to hop off once from each of the circuits. We opted for a walk around the shopping district in Beverly Hills - Rodeo Drive, baby! - and again at the pier in Santa Monica for a late lunch.
It was quite fun, until it was time to head back from the beach to to Beverly Hills , and we hit a major snarl of traffic.
Did I mention these buses were open-top double-deckers?
Did I mention I forgot to vigorously reapply my sunscreen?
Yeah. Smart, huh?
I'd estimate that we ended up spending at least five hours on those buses, four of which were in the sun (once the morning grey had lifted)... and five hours inhaling the finest, most pure LA road fumes.
I know, I know - no one forced me to sit up the top of the bus. However, the views from inside, downstairs, were fairly limited. This was a sightseeing expedition, after all.
Needless to say, by the time I got home, my lungs felt like they were lined with gunk, and my skin in need of a good soak and scrub.
Only one problem. My skin was too poorly for a scrub - it was a hot shade of red already. Nothing like having a white camera strap outline across one's neck - plus red shoulders and nose to rival Rudolph's - to make one feel foolish. On a vain note, the contrast of my skin colour gives the illusion of my neglected blonde hair now appearing lighter.
Speaking of highlights, one of the highlights of the day was going past the Whisky a Go Go, on Sunset Boulevard.
When I was fifteen - and going through a small obsession with The Doors - I sneakily borrowed my mother's copy of No One Gets Out Alive. I say sneakily, because my parents were quite overprotective of me, and didn't want me reading about sex, drugs and rock'n'roll. Hmm. My mother did end up finding the book under my pillow, and reclaimed it before I'd finished it, but not before I'd read about The Doors playing regularly at the Whisky a Go Go.
We drove past it once, last year, but were on the other side of the road and moving fast, so it was mostly a blur. This time, I got a great view - look closely (below) at who's scheduled for the next gig.
Ray Manzarek and Bobby Krieger from The Doors... how FREAKY is that? Even more so because my brother was with me, and we have a shared history and appreciation where The Doors are concerned.
It made my day, actually.
We decided to do two of the four available circuits - one around Hollywood and Beverly Hills, and one that interchanged at Beverly Hills and took us to Santa Monica, passing through Century City, Brentwood... and a shite load of traffic.
Each of these two circuits was supposed to take two hours, so we knew we were looking at a minimum of four hours on the road. The frequency of these buses varied from every twenty to forty minutes, so we knew we really only wanted to hop off once from each of the circuits. We opted for a walk around the shopping district in Beverly Hills - Rodeo Drive, baby! - and again at the pier in Santa Monica for a late lunch.
It was quite fun, until it was time to head back from the beach to to Beverly Hills , and we hit a major snarl of traffic.
Did I mention these buses were open-top double-deckers?
Did I mention I forgot to vigorously reapply my sunscreen?
Yeah. Smart, huh?
I'd estimate that we ended up spending at least five hours on those buses, four of which were in the sun (once the morning grey had lifted)... and five hours inhaling the finest, most pure LA road fumes.
I know, I know - no one forced me to sit up the top of the bus. However, the views from inside, downstairs, were fairly limited. This was a sightseeing expedition, after all.
Needless to say, by the time I got home, my lungs felt like they were lined with gunk, and my skin in need of a good soak and scrub.
Only one problem. My skin was too poorly for a scrub - it was a hot shade of red already. Nothing like having a white camera strap outline across one's neck - plus red shoulders and nose to rival Rudolph's - to make one feel foolish. On a vain note, the contrast of my skin colour gives the illusion of my neglected blonde hair now appearing lighter.
Speaking of highlights, one of the highlights of the day was going past the Whisky a Go Go, on Sunset Boulevard.
When I was fifteen - and going through a small obsession with The Doors - I sneakily borrowed my mother's copy of No One Gets Out Alive. I say sneakily, because my parents were quite overprotective of me, and didn't want me reading about sex, drugs and rock'n'roll. Hmm. My mother did end up finding the book under my pillow, and reclaimed it before I'd finished it, but not before I'd read about The Doors playing regularly at the Whisky a Go Go.
We drove past it once, last year, but were on the other side of the road and moving fast, so it was mostly a blur. This time, I got a great view - look closely (below) at who's scheduled for the next gig.
Ray Manzarek and Bobby Krieger from The Doors... how FREAKY is that? Even more so because my brother was with me, and we have a shared history and appreciation where The Doors are concerned.
It made my day, actually.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
L.A. Woman in the rain
Who said it never rains in Los Angeles? They were so wrong.
This morning I managed to get out by myself for a bit.
The weather was wild. The mountains were hidden under the weight of clouds, the rain was coming sideways, and the recent spring-like weather seemed to have skedaddled.
A feature of L.A. life is that supermarket car parks seem to be sprawled out around the buildings. There are are no sun shade cloths, and covered parking only really applies to the multi-level parking structures. I guess this is because people focus on the lack of rain.
It means that in summer, your car turns into an oven. I've always wondered why - for such a warm, sunny climate - sun shade cloths haven't been installed (like the ones on rooftop levels of car parks in Sydney). Palm trees may look pretty, but they don't exactly provide shade.
When it does actually rain, you get soaked - like I did today.
Driving home, I didn't mind being wet. I'd managed to acquire more hot cross buns, and was coasting along nicely on a caffeine buzz, feeling toasty warm inside the car.
I had the heat blowing onto my hands to thaw them out, and the steady vawp vawp vawp of the windscreen wipers transported me back to being a kid again. There's something so soothing about that sound, and feeling cocooned from the immediate wet landscape whizzing by.
And what a landscape this morning. The palm trees were swaying and the streets were littered with palm branches - resembling Miami in hurricane season instead of L.A. in spring.
The way these palm trees punctuated every corner I turned, every street I drove down... they reminded me of the inverted exclamation marks used for Spanish.
The soundtrack in my head was L.A. Woman by The Doors.
"The cars hiss by my window, like the waves down on the beach... "
It's an album that my parents played a lot when I was little, and an album that I know by heart. Every nuance, every beat.
That whole album is my lullabye. Even in my twenties, if I had trouble falling asleep at night, all I had to do was listen to L.A. Woman.
Tonight, that won't be necessary, though. I have the rain drumming on my window, and that sound is almost as soothing for me as Mr Mojo Risin's voice...
This morning I managed to get out by myself for a bit.
The weather was wild. The mountains were hidden under the weight of clouds, the rain was coming sideways, and the recent spring-like weather seemed to have skedaddled.
A feature of L.A. life is that supermarket car parks seem to be sprawled out around the buildings. There are are no sun shade cloths, and covered parking only really applies to the multi-level parking structures. I guess this is because people focus on the lack of rain.
It means that in summer, your car turns into an oven. I've always wondered why - for such a warm, sunny climate - sun shade cloths haven't been installed (like the ones on rooftop levels of car parks in Sydney). Palm trees may look pretty, but they don't exactly provide shade.
When it does actually rain, you get soaked - like I did today.
Driving home, I didn't mind being wet. I'd managed to acquire more hot cross buns, and was coasting along nicely on a caffeine buzz, feeling toasty warm inside the car.
I had the heat blowing onto my hands to thaw them out, and the steady vawp vawp vawp of the windscreen wipers transported me back to being a kid again. There's something so soothing about that sound, and feeling cocooned from the immediate wet landscape whizzing by.
And what a landscape this morning. The palm trees were swaying and the streets were littered with palm branches - resembling Miami in hurricane season instead of L.A. in spring.
The way these palm trees punctuated every corner I turned, every street I drove down... they reminded me of the inverted exclamation marks used for Spanish.
The soundtrack in my head was L.A. Woman by The Doors.
"The cars hiss by my window, like the waves down on the beach... "
It's an album that my parents played a lot when I was little, and an album that I know by heart. Every nuance, every beat.
That whole album is my lullabye. Even in my twenties, if I had trouble falling asleep at night, all I had to do was listen to L.A. Woman.
Tonight, that won't be necessary, though. I have the rain drumming on my window, and that sound is almost as soothing for me as Mr Mojo Risin's voice...
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