Ralph Waldo Emerson

The health of the eye seems to demand a horizon.

Sunday, February 24, 2008

blah blah blog.

More pics at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/8151765@N03/sets/72157603836465565/
New ones start from "Freddy"

As per usual, the insanity continues.

First order of business: the show. Caravan of Amazement, or as we lovingly came to call it, Train Wreck of Amazement. Yes, it was one of those shows that you told your friends to go and see just so they could experience it in all its horrific, gruesome glory. Though I had fun leaping about on our grass stage, there were times when I whole-heartedly agreed with the cat calls of passing punk-teenagers: "Hey jackasses, your show sucks!" Why, yes, ear-plug bearing cretin, you're quite correct.

But in recognizing and embracing the utter mediocrity of our show, the cast bonded together in our 4ft high tent (thusly constructed so that it would not suffer the same fate of our first "caravan", which snapped in half due to the gale force Wellington wind). I would attempt to describe this nightly 1/2 hour of utterly abysmal theater, but I think the attached pictures speak for themselves.

In other acting news: I finally got to do that extra part for Avatar which was loads of fun. It's amazing how much effort they put into making you look good as a "background artist"; especially seeing as my greatest hope is to catch a glimpse of my left foot as the lead character gets pummeled on the floor in front of me. Two days of hanging out, wearing ridiculously red lipstick and being fed like a queen ain't bad though, I tell you what. The next acting gig I actually got to be the one being pummeled in an overwrought student film where I played the wife of a split-personality psycho. My part consisted of: lovingly embracing split-personality 1, lovingly embracing split personality 2, getting choked and dying. Move over Meryl Streep.

Beyond those gigs, I've also been practicing my rather impressive temping skills. No more door to door crap for me. Oh no, I'm half way respectable as a thoroughly efficient office-minion machine with filing, data entry and typing speed skills that could stun a yak. If there is anything positive about being a temp-bitch it's definitely getting to work in vastly different office environments. One day I was in the top floor, corner office of a life insurance executive in an office that had 5 of its very own espresso machines. The next job I was in the Ministry of Education, winding my way through the varying shades of second-hand cubicle walls and under the overgrown office plants of underpaid government workers. Ah, contrasts are fun.

But now it looks as if I'm leaving Wellington sooner than expected: after 3 months here and I take off tomorrow to meet up with my parents in the S. Island before picking up a couple more filming gigs. Yup, the parental unit decided to come for a visit and baited me with a ticket down to Queenstown to meet up with them a bit earlier than expected. As excited as I am to get on the road again, I know I'm leaving behind some incredible friends and some tasty opportunities. Last night was such an example of what I'll miss about Wellington: after the cast party I met up with my buddy Nathan to go to a gig in Thorndon, the most historic part of the city. After winding up circuitous roads we came to massive old town house with a couple artsy types smoking out front. "You know where to go, man?" They asked. Nathan nodded and led me through two huge entry rooms that seemed haunted by faded grandeur. And then suddenly the chords of good, kitschy folk music brought us into a pack of people gazing down at a sunken dance floor inhabited by an eclectic crew of musicians--complete with a piccolo player. Century old wall paper peeled from the wood-slated walls and port-holes peeked out into the lights of the harbor. Turns out this 1850s house used to entertain the sailors when they got into town. It has been handed down through the generations from one family member to the next and now boasts a rag tag crew of inhabitants who take care of the place and bring in home-grown New Zealand artists to entertain their buddies at small, word-of-mouth parties. As I gazed down from the gallery into the dance floor below I could just imagine the bawdy parties that went on 150 years ago.

And that's why I'll miss Wellington. And why, if one day I can think of nothing else to do, I'll be very tempted to come back.

But now's the time to leave and I'm looking forward to getting out in nature again before heading off to Bangkok on April 14. So wish me luck friends, and all the best!

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