Just Another Actor in LA

Life Imitating Schlokk

2010-04-14T09:37:00.000-07:00

Many actors I know have the occasional performance nightmare. I mean that literally - a bad dream that revolves around a performance. Typically it's the on-stage variety. My own version has me waking up (or suddenly become aware of being) on-stage, naked, behind a couch. There's no way to sneak off stage without being seen and, while I could just wait for the play to end, I realize that my cue is coming up and I will have to deliver my lines! Fortunately, the dream ends before I have to make a scary decision (no doubt a relief for both actor and audience).

Last night was a double helping of anxiety. I dreamed that the horror movie "Train" I was in, was actually real. This is a first, mind you. Movies hadn't previously crossed over into my sleep world. I found myself tortured and on the run from a bunch of crazies. Not terribly pleasant, as you might imagine. (You'd imagine vividly if you happen to have seen the actual film, in which case you have my apologies)

Cut to: me racing on stage to beat the rapidly unfurling curtains for a performance of Not the Midnight Mass, an a capella group I was once a part of. I don't know which number we're starting with. Graham blows the pitch pipe and I'm desperately trying to guess the song. Somehow I'm able to pick up the number, but there's choreography too - and I haven't got a damn clue where to move. I manage to exit from the front of the stage - actually, I fall off the edge and plop to the floor. It gets a laugh, so I play it off by making a real effort to climb back up, as if it's Mt Everest. Eventually one of the cast lowers a chair next to me, so I relent and, throwing my arms in the air for the benefit of the gag, shuffle over to the chair and climb back up.

After the show, I hear myself telling the others "Well that actually wasn't that bad". But as I'm hearing it, I'm thinking "Are you insane?! It was bloody awful!" Thankfully, that's where it all ends. Or perhaps it became so excrutiatingly embarrassing, I've had to blot it out. Either way, it begs the question: Why did I bleach my hair? And why the crazy dreams? I suppose stress that you're not channeling will manifest in one way or another. Some people break things. I have dreams about being broken. Curious that they were both acting dreams, but after a quiet spell, I think that's just me, keen to return to work.

Tonight I hope to dream of a sandy beach, with the gentle sounds of lapping waves. Mmmm....a beautiful beach. A few gulls chatter overhead. It's warm, but the cool breeze makes it perfect. There's a scent of seaweed mixed with coconut. I'm drifting off to sleep within sleep.

And then I hear the wolves...

If I Should Die...

2010-01-19T17:55:00.001-08:00

"...think only this of me; that there's some corner of a foreign field that is forever England." So opens the classic poem The Soldier by Rupert Brooke. Such is how I felt when I lived in South Africa. But returning there for a few weeks over the holidays, I realised that no matter where I am, dead or alive, there will be a part of me that is forever Africa.

I have missed South Africa dearly and really only appreciated how much during my recent trip. She raised me during a politically cruel time, which afforded me great opportunities thanks merely to the colour of my skin. Messed up, absurd and beyond forgiveness, I fortunately managed to grasp some of the complexities of the society in which I was raised as a child. She was beautiful even then and is even more so now, after a decade and a half of democracy.

There are many improvements and the country has grown and flourished. But despite the remarkable transition engineered by an extraordinary man from a prison cell, plans set out and put to test by Nelson Mandela, sadly not all of her people have felt the good fortune that a comparative few have enjoyed in large amounts. It's not a perfect science and while she has been a beacon of hope for the rest of Africa and indeed the world, especially insofar as peaceful transition is concerned, her challenges remain vast and at times, insurmountable. Nevertheless, I believe the vast majority of her people want peace and prosperity for all. With the FIFA World Cup mere months away, she is spotlit once again, as she was during the '95 Rugby World Cup, to show the unifying power of sport.

I miss Africa: the warmth of her people, the big skies, the thunderstorms, the smell of rain on parched earth. When Mandela was elected, there was an incredible anticipation and joy that crossed colour and economic lines. With thousands of people working hard to ensure the 2010 Soccer World Cup goes off without a hitch, I felt that same excitement once more. From corporate SA to the humblest street vendor, there seems a thrill, a spark in the eyes, a new hope for the future.

I wish you well, my friend, my beautiful South Africa. You will always be with me.

Be bold. Be beautiful. Be glorious.

I'm Sorry, Ripley

2009-11-20T17:56:00.000-08:00

What can I say? I've been bad. I've ignored you, walked all over you and treated you poorly. You deserve better. You're talented, beautiful and strong. You redefined what women can be, what they can achieve, what they're truly capable of. You showed me that sometimes the best man for the job is a woman. You don't take any prisoners or suffer fools. But if I put my trust and faith in you, you'll lead me to the light at the end of the tunnel. You're tough, passionate, inspired and sensitive. You're deadly, yet caring. If it's a crap day, you're the one person I can count on to pull me out of the abyss.

You are strong enough to fight for both of us, yet gentle enough to cradle. You are Ripley, Dr Slaughter, Dian Fossey, Dana Barrett. And I'm sorry I've treated you like a doormat. At least once a day. If you weren't right at the foot of the stairs on the way to the gym, this wouldn't have happened. I really didn't notice for the first few months. Please forgive me. I'll take more care, now, I promise.

*EDIT: Just noticed the cigarette butt. Does no-one care? LOL.

Soldering, Sounds and Superheroes

2009-10-06T00:04:00.000-07:00

After delicately (and successfully) soldering new earphones onto my iPhone earphone cables, I realized that I can actually do something else other than act with some degree of skill. (And even that is open for debate) Buddy James even suggested I could perform the same task for friends. I could call it Pimp My Phones. Or I could call it Nothing At All, as it's never going to happen. Seeing as it took me easily an hour to perform and may have fried countless neurons in extreme concentrated effort, I highly doubt I could do it again. Like climbing Kilimanjaro, it's a one-time thing. And Kili was a walk in the park by comparison. Literally - Kilimanjaro National Park. But I digress. Mountain: easy. Headphones: not so easy.

Speaking of the 405, how wonderful would it be if you could just go bang-bang at drivers who change lanes without signalling or steal the parking bay you've been waiting the past 7 minutes for. (Just to avoid confusion, "bang-bang" is not a sound that emanates from one's mouth.) Oh, and what's the deal with people who drive with one arm out the window? I understand if you have to make a signal because your indicator's not working (how many are these days?), but why hang an entire arm out the window? Flipping the bird can be done quite comfortably within the confines of your standard automobile cabin.

I'll admit, I rest an elbow. I'm an elbow rester. There, I said it. But it's only an elbow, folks. Like a skirt that ends at the knee, I'm not showing the whole thing. I'm leaving something to the imagination. Plus, my hand is actually inside the car (or skirt, if you will), so as to provide immediate assistance should the need arise. What use are 5 limp and dangling digits when there are only milliseconds to respond? Huh? No use at all. Except perhaps to open their own door from the outside, which is just stupid. Arm danglers are just advertising the fact that they can't drive stick. (Or that they can't fit into a pair of jeans, if you're still following my awful analogy) I know that makes no sense whatsoever, but it makes me feel better, so there.

Moving on...

I guess the point of all this is that there will always be things to whinge about. Those arm danglers aren't going anywhere. It's the little things that surprise us, sometimes and bring us pleasure. Like a good cup of tea (even if it's been microwaved 3 times 'cos you forgot to drink it and it went cold). Or soldering something for the first time. And if you don't succeed at first, at least you gave it a good go. We can't all be superheroes all the time. Even Spiderman needs to take off his mask and have a smoke break sometimes...

Diapers

2009-09-06T11:01:00.000-07:00

We've been going through a heatwave in California and I realize that heat can drive people to do things they wouldn't ordinarily do. Like wander out at midnight because they can't sleep. Cover themselves with fake tattoos. Play the kazoo and enjoy it. The list goes on. I've found myself doing more online shopping. Daft really, considering it keeps me at home in the stale heat of my apartment. There's something very wrong with the fact you can return home late in the day when the heat has finally subsided, only to open your door to an oven. Very wrong.

Even more wrong is the strong probability that my landlord thinks I wear nappies. What could possibly give him that idea? Perhaps it was the large box which arrived yesterday, emblazened with the words DIAPERS.COM. If I did in fact order diapers, I would ensure they arrived in something a little less conspicuous. The actual item was a stand for my laptop. It's a used item, so Daddy56 (or NewMom29) figured he'd just drop it into whatever was handy. "Too big...too small...ooh, wait. Honey, do we still have that big diaper box? You know, the one that says diaper that you can read from like a mile away? We do? Cool."

Now I get to endure endless chuckles and sniggers whenever I enter or leave my apartment. (I should mention that I am sans child and my landlord is fully aware of that) I could explain the real contents of the box. "Oh and by the way, that box? The one with with DIAPER on the side? Funny story, but that actually had something else inside it. No, really. Haha. Alright, then. Have a good day, now."

But what would be the point? Would YOU believe me? Probably not. It's not like I can prove that the stand actually came from the box. Even worse, I distinctly recall being excited when the landlord gave me the package. I thanked him warmly and ran upstairs! No doubt to slip into something more comfortable!

Healthy and Good

2009-08-03T12:17:00.001-07:00

I went to help buddy Cliff Simon on a shoot recently and we stopped at a gas station for snacks. Among the usual assortment of chocolates and candy, I spotted this (how could I miss it?). A stand offering bananas. Not just any kind of banana, mind you, but fresh, healthy bananas. It even called them "good". Yum. I like bananas. Offer me a banana: I'll take it. Leave me in a room alone with a banana and lemme tell you - only one of us is coming out alive. You might even call me a banaddict.

Anyway, clearly one of the yellow fellows was well past his prime. And not in a "passed in the night" kind of way. More in the "dead for a week" kind of way. It was black, for crying out loud and bloody conspicuous. How the heck does one miss such a thing? Admittedly the guy behind the checkout was a little slow, as in weed slow. But surely he's not the only person in the store? Did no-one notice the thing? I find that hard to believe. Nay, impossible. I reckon he or one of his stoned San Bernadino cronies did spot the offending fruit and simply ignored it, too lazy to chuck it out. Instead, they left it for an unsuspecting/complaining customer to bring it to the counter for them.

It's not as if Chiquita Bananas are directly responsible for the lies on their stand. (For they become lies once the bananas go rotten) But on some level, they should shoulder the blame. Who actually delivers on their promises? In this case, clearly Chiquita did not. What's worse, of course, is the flood of TV ads promising to cure your headache, back pain, joint pain, sleeplessness, erectile disfunction, give you fewer periods or more hair. All sound wonderous and full of hope, yet the side effects, more often than not, include the very symptoms you're trying to alleviate. Anti-nausea drugs may cause nausea. Headache tablets may cause headaches. Anti-depression medication may lead to suicidal thoughts. How the f%$&* do all these things get approved the FDA (Farcical Drug Administration) if they can cause such hazardous or even lethal side effects?

It's all down to business, of course and the pharmaceutical companies are the biggest business, alongside WMD production. So they can push their products through, grease the right palms and it's business as usual. Maybe in 1980, but in 2009 it's still happening? They're not protecting us, the public. They're protecting the health of their stocks and patents. Every week I see a new TV ad from a law firm declaring a major suit against a drug company. "If you or a loved one became ill or died while taking XXX, call the law offices of..." Has no-one learned from all this? The sicker we are, the more it costs to treat us. That costs the economy in the long run. And the worse off all of us are, as States fall into bankruptcy and disrepair.

But we won't see change as long as drug companies and politicians see only as far as the next quarter. And the worse conditions get, the more they'll push their snake oils. I wouldn't be surprised if we see the emergence of infomercial style drug ads. Pfizer's own Billy Mays, shouting "Limp dick? I've got your card; Viagra's the pill that gets you hard! Call now and we'll even throw in these edible panties. That's a $20 value, absolutely free!"

Socks in Crocs

2009-07-19T12:46:00.000-07:00

Went to the Coldplay concert last night, which was fantastic. We were in the pit, so got a great view of the band. I also got a great view of one of the patrons leaving wearing crocs with socks, which is never a good look. And an excellent view of another gent heaving his guts out 2 feet behind me. Personally, I didn't think the concert was that bad, but I guess people have different tastes.

Speaking of crocs (the chomping kind), you can catch me in killer croc movie Primeval on FX, today at 1pm and 7pm. And I'm in Creepy Gid repeats on CSI:NY on Tuesday at 1pm and 5pm. Without repeats, I'd just be repeating myself, in that I have nothing else to report. Although I did discover a store in Pasadena which sells, amongst other oddities, stone hands, scarab beetles and a stuffed beaver. Quite why you would want one or all of the above is beyond me, but, for the man/woman who has everything, I know a place...

Come to think of it, I have always wanted a stuffed crow. Since I was a kid, I dreamed of owning one. Why stuffed? So it wouldn't fly away, have to be fed or mess on the floor. Perhaps these are commitment issues. Perhaps simply a small window into the mind of a creepy young man who would grow up to play creepy roles on television and film. Perhaps...perhaps.

Just Another Bloody Day at the Office

2009-06-30T20:28:00.000-07:00

I was going to call this entry "Michael Jackson Made Me Fat". But that seemed in poor taste, even if it is somewhat accurate. Here's the thing - my gym is on Hollywood Blvd, just on the other side of Mann's Chinese Theatre. In other words, juuust past MJ's star on the Walk of Fame. Which is all fine and dandy, except for the throngs of people both on foot and in vehicles, clogging up the roadways.

It's been nearly impossible to get through them to get to gym for nearly a week. In fact, I've made it through only once. And once a week does not a 6-pack make. I can feel myself getting softer by the hour. It might be insensitive to cut through the masses with a machete, but hey - "I'm tryin' ta work, here!" And casting peeps are looking for fit creeps. I don't go up for creepy slobs or chunky stalkers. It aint me. Nor is this pseudo East Coast accent.

So why the pic? Well, it's from a recent gig and hey, I hadn't posted a pic of me in a while, so there you go. Except for the one with bike - and that pretty much cast me as a background performer. Which I'm not, okay? Okay. Moving on...

What else? I just completed narrating The Atrocity Archives, a rather fun sci-fi novel and am set to voice another video game next week. So things are looking peachy, despite the industry slow-down. Just waiting on that cheeky recurring creep of a role. I know he's out there somewhere...

Miami Heat

2009-06-08T20:25:00.000-07:00

It's been a busy patch after a rather dry spell. And, as if to drive hom the point, I have been caught in a number of rain showers. I've been in Miami for the past week or so, working on a TV show. Really humid here, if you don't already know that fact. So humid, in fact, that on my first day of filming, I was close to brain dead by lunch time. Fortunately I got through a rather lengthy scene, chock full of dialogue and am a tad more acclimatized than I was.

This is me in between showers in what I quickly learned, is the rainy season. I traveled with my folding bike for the first time and have had great fun tooling around the hood of Coconut Grove, where I'm stationed. (Note el cheapo plastic bag on the seat for weather protection) Today I stopped for my first ice cream in over a year, which was a ridiculously good Argentine chocolate flavor. Yum.

Have 10 pages to shoot tomorrow, so keeping this brief. Just to let you know I'm still alive and kicking (though somewhat slower in this oppressive heat). Nice role, too. For once in my acting life, I don't come to a grisly end. Will share more details once it's all in the can.

American Accents

2009-05-19T20:21:00.000-07:00

For years, I foolishly watched American television. I endured marathon sessions of Airwolf, Golden Girls and Magnum. I purchased my own copy of Gotcha, so as to replay the scenes where Anthony Edwards teaches Linda Fiorentino about Roots Beer floats and Big Macs. I would sit there, blurry-eyed from hours of study, absorbing as much as I possibly could, before passing out and being woken by the dog licking my face. As time went on, and we got satellite TV, I even sat through weeks of the first Iraq war on CNN, just to hear Wolf Blitzer's scholarly tones.

Little did I know that there was another, quicker and more effective way to learn an american accent; indeed, any American accent. The solution? Furniture. But not any kind of furniture. Oh no. You can't sit your ass down on a pine dining chair and expect a transformation. There's only one kind of material to help master an American accent. And that's wicker, my friends. Good old, time-trusted wicker. Like a good neighbor, wicker is there. Or maybe that's State Farm.

Anyways, I thought about getting an armchair and then I thought "Why not get the whiole dinette set, too?" So I did. Well, I tried to. Fact is, it's not furniture they're advertising, but paint. Spray paint. No matter. I bought a couple cans, but after a month spraying my throat with "ocean blue" and "matte black", I sound no more American than when I brought it home. Though I am sounding a little more hoarse. And the nausea's killing me.

But maybe that's how it starts! The transformation might already have begun. This will be handy at my next audition - I can just throw a can in my bag and have a quick pfffft before I go in! Gonna sign off and go spray again. I just wish I had a can of "pearl white". I could give myself a movie star smile at the same time!

Klingons and Corpses

2009-05-17T21:28:00.000-07:00

There are many strange and interesting sights on offer in a town such as Hollywood. Today, I offer you a glimpse of but two. Strolling to my local coffee shop, I passed this gentleman, lying sprawled on the sidewalk. Still recovering from a heavy night of drinking, no doubt. Returning home an hour or so later, the man was still prone and passed out. Or possibly dead. He did fit the very stereotype of a chalk-outlined corpse. And in that, I took some solace. If he was really expired, I am sure his position would have been far more ghastly.

The following day, en route to watch a certain film, I was accosted by 3 peculiarly dressed thugs. They were speaking in foreign tongue and brandishing weapons. As I passed by, they became aware of my presense. (Although, I suspect they were aware of me all along) I surreptitiously snapped this photo, before moving on. Only in the comfort of my home, hours later, did it hit me. These men were undoubtedly responsible for the sprawled man's demise!

Phew. Another lucky escape. You gotta watch Hollywood, people. Turn your back for a second and it'll stab you with a spork.

Men Who Wear Masks (and other tales)

2009-04-29T18:32:00.000-07:00

As I left my apartment building this afternoon, I was greeted in the lobby by a man cutting a woman's hair. There are 2 things I find disturbing about this encounter. The first is obvious: giving a haircut in a public thoroughfare is, well, creepy. The second thing that irked me was the blase greeting: "Hey there, how you doing?" As if this was the most normal sight in the world.

Now I don't know about you, but if you're going to have someone cut your hair, professional or otherwise, do it in a salon. If you don't have access to a salon, do it in a private room. Away from prying eyes. And people who might be perturbed by strangers' follicles falling to the very stretch of floor you have to cross to get from the front door to the elevator. Note that there was no special mat or assistant sweeping up the brown locks; they were landing in delicate abandon on the bare floor.

I thought at first there must be a shoot going on. One of those "ambush make-overs" they have for breakfast TV, but, alas, no camera crew in sight. I was further disappointed by the fact I had an appointment to get to and thus could not engage the "stylist" in the health implications of such an event and who the heck was gonna clean up this hairy mess?! It won't be my fellow tenants, who see fit on occasion to walk their barking dogs after midnight and stomp out cigarettes in the passages.

With my own private GFR (Gideon Freakout Rating) reaching code red, I breathed deeply and headed for the car. Safely straddling the 101, I felt a little calmer, until it became apparent that the car behind me contained a robber. The driver had a mask on to conceal their identity. Easing off the gas (to afford myself a closer view), I realized that the driver was a man and his mask was of the surgical variety. I thought immediately of the dreaded Swine Flu and looked for other passengers in the car. None. Unless his girlfriend was in the terminal stage and curled up in the footwell, Masky was travelling solo. (He was also driving a Honda S2000, so had no backseat for a hidden person to lie on)

So why the mask? Surely if he did have flu, he would only need the mask around other people. Then I figured that perhaps he'd just had some kind of facial surgery. Rhinoplasty or a particularly aggressive Restylane session. But then he'd simply have a surgical dressing, wouldn't he? Maybe, like me, he simply prefers his dressing on the side. In the current pandemic pandemonium, a surgical mask tells people you're cautious, sensible, with a family to protect. As opposed to vain and insecure, with a desperate need to alter your appearance. Or maybe it's the latest fashion trend and I've been left behind. Yet again.

Maybe...

The Cheesy Creep

2009-04-26T17:20:00.000-07:00

Being somewhat of a cheesy actor, I thought it fitting to venture downtown for the Grilled Cheese Invitational. As the name suggests, the event is a competition to see who can create the best grilled cheese sandwich. There are 3 categories: Missionary (standard cheese, bread and butter), Kama Sutra (any cheese, bread, butter and other ingredients) and Honey Pot (dessert sandwich sweet in nature).

It seemed like a splendid outing and so, with buds Karma and Nicole, I jumped on the Metro and cruised from historic Union Station, through the fabulous food fest and trinket-laden Olvera Street, to join a queue half a mile long. After an hour drooling in line, we were informed that judging tickets were all gone and we would only be sampling the free Kraft Singles sandwiches. Better than a kick in the pants, but, after a further 20min wait in another line, the tiny triangle, albeit free, did not fill much of my belly.

So we headed back to Olvera and scoffed down some cheesy Mexican fare instead, washed down with a couple of Dos Equis and a churro. A rather good way to spend a Saturday; out and about with other humans and feeling almost normal. But that feeling was short-lived. As I arrived home today, I held the elevator door for a woman just entering the apartment building. I asked what floor she wanted. She said I should just go to my floor and that would be fine. No, she wasn't flirting. She was afraid to give me her floor number, lest I follow her out. Yup, even when I'm smiling and being friendly and nice, it seems I still come across as creepy.

Good to know I haven't lost my touch...

PS. Fear not, Incognito, the blog will continue unfettered!

Gid is now on Twitter

2009-04-24T17:25:00.001-07:00

After boring untold dozens on a near weekly basis, it is time to take things to the next level. I have joined the Twitterati and now have a Twitter account. You (all 4 of you) can now follow me as gid72 on Twitter.

I like the idea of Twitter - a real time update, where each entry must be kept to 140 characters. I like compact. I like brief. Even now, I am, struggling to come up with anything meaningful to share. After today's rather rough voice session, I am left speechless in both word and print. (I think I experience mild brain atrophy after such gigs) So with that said, I will leave you to a well earned weekend.

Tweet tweet!

Lost in Trainslation

2009-04-23T18:57:00.000-07:00

The Japanese website for horror movie Train has a new trailer. A little different to the first one. It also has a very brief (2 person) cast biography. The still shot above shows me trying to decifer it, without success. Eventually, after gaining naught apart from a blank stare and some bleeding from the temple, I thought I'd try an online service to see what they said about me.

I think it may have lost a little in the translation...

I am from the U.K. and will emigrate to the Republic of South Africa later. In the days of a student, I take the audition of a professional theatrical company and start a career as the actor triggered by it. I repeat a career as a comedian, a singer. For a movie star TV movie "Rhodes" of the BBC production96), "TheSorcerer 'sApprentice"02), "GloryGlory"There are 04), TV movie [red water / shark hell]. I play the leading part in [the marsh of the カニング・キラー massacre] (07) by a guest-shot, the movie in [24] popular TV series, [CSI: New York] after emigration in Los Angeles.

Couldn't have said it better myself! And now I am off to hunt down one of my recent appearances in a little gem called The Marsh of the カニング・キラー Massacre. I hear it's like The March of the Penguins...

Only different.

Barely Functioning

2009-04-19T12:02:00.000-07:00

This morning, I poured cereal into my coffee cup. Do I prefer it that way? No. Am I on a strict diet? No. Am I having a stupid day? Quite possibly. What joys are in store for me, after starting the day like this? Only time will tell...and this blog.

It could be the pineapple juice I had last night. With vodka. There was a time when I was drinking fit. I could have a couple of beers, multiple shooters and still conduct a lucid conversation and (irresponsibly) get home. That time is long gone. I simply don't train any more. I barely drink twice a month, so when I do, it's a strain.

As with any exercise, a warm-up is essential if you're going to push heavy. Start with a Rock Shandy or light beer, perhaps. After that, you're ready to ease into a few sets of Guinness or white wine spritzers. Then (and only then) should you attempt your heaviest reps of clear liquors. Or go for a one rep maximum with a straight-up shot of Tequila or Jack Daniels.

Now I will take my leave and finish cleaning up the kitchen after pouring an espresso onto a side plate. It was all going well until I tried to add the sugar...

Is You IQ Above 98?

2009-04-16T13:41:00.001-07:00

That is the question designed to lure you to an online test-your-intelligence application on Facebook. Unfortunately the creators of the thing would have to answer "NO", seeing as they can barely even speak. The correct phrasing, of course, is not "YOU IQ", but "YOUR IQ". Oh the sweet irony.

Perhaps they're targeting people who say things like "Is you gonna eat that?" and "I aint no criminal". In which case, I would recommend putting [sic] after the question. Sadly, they can't be all that stupid because, after you take the test (and get results sent to your cellphone), the app surreptitiously charges you $10/month until you cancel. And that is really sic...er..sick.

Another choice example of the dumbing-down of the world was on my radio yesterday. Here follows the commercial (give or take):

WOMAN VO: Wherefore art thou, Romeo?
MALE VO: Flashlight...five dollars.
WOMAN VO: Wherefore art thou, Romeo?
MALE VO: Eye glasses...forty dollars.

And that's where I stopped listening. (The eye glasses may have cost more but I care not) What the heck?! Wherefore does not mean where, people! It means why. As in "why are you Romeo, because if you weren't Romeo, you wouldn't be part of this ridiculous ongoing Capulet-Montague clash and we could live happily ever after". Poor Shakespeare would be turning in his grave, as would any other English speaker who ever studied Romeo and Juliet at school. Which, presumably the copywriter (and intended audience) of this spot did, otherwise s/he wouldn't have written it!

And yes, it's a Mastercard ad. Not an SNL sketch, in which case the misinterpretation could be said to be deliberate. I'm glad I don't have a Mastercard. After hearing that, I'd be compelled to give it back. However, I have decided that the spot could still work, with a little rewrite...

WOMAN VO: Wherefore art thou, Romeo?
MALE VO: Paperback copy of Romeo and Juliet...eight dollars
WOMAN VO: Wherefore art thou, Romeo?
MALE VO: Vocal training...two hundred dollars
WOMAN VO: Wherefore art thou, Romeo?
MALE VO: Wondering what you really learned at school...priceless.
For a quality education, there's anywhere but here. For everything else, there's Mastercard.

And as I searched online for a photo to go with this post, I discovered this Google AD which says it all:

American IQ test
Get your IQ in few minute´s
try our proffesional IQ test now.
www.test-iq.com

Gawd 'elp us!

Billboard Bliss

2009-04-13T10:27:00.000-07:00

I was driving along the other day and this billboard caught my eye. I don't remember getting paid for it. Come to think of it, I don't recall the photo shoot, either. But, to be honest, I barely recall what I had for supper last night. So that's no surprise.

Anyway, it's pretty cool being up there. I've always wanted to be up in lights. Or at least large and looming on a wall. I'm just a tad concerned about the message: Rescue Me. Yeah, I need rescuing, but isn't that a bit personal? Like printing Unemployed Actor. That bit's not cool. Not cool at all.

I don't think I like my billboard any more. I'll get them to take it down. Rescue shmescue. And why do I look all dejected? Look at my posture. It's positively suicidal. Oh man. I'm gonna jump...

Don't jump, Gideon! Don't jump!

Hang on. I'm not really up there. Why am I shouting at a billboard. It's not even a billboard. It's my computer screen I'm shouting at. Ah, silly me...

What's that? (sorry - someone is talking over my shoulder)
Not me? What do you mean it's not me?
Shut the $%@** up! It's clearly m--

Wait a minute. You might be right. My nose does look different. That's not me at all!

Oh, I see what's going on here. They used a photo double. That's why they didn't pay me! Sneaky bastards.

I'm calling my lawyer...

A Scarf in Summer

2009-04-11T23:30:00.001-07:00

The weather has been warming up nicely and what better way to welcome in the summer, than by scarfing down an entire roll of Oreo cookies? To be fair, I only had half. Half a roll. Well, half of two rolls. I may even have had more than half of one or both, which means I may have scarfed more than a roll. Alone. In one sitting. Well, I was standing with a friend. But it was a single session. Of excess.

I don't even like Oreos. I think I've only eaten them once or twice before. Well I certainly made up for it tonight. And shoot me now if they weren't the most delicious thing I've tasted in 2009. What's worse is that I vaccuumed up a turkey panini in between the two rolls. Or two halves. Whichever way you look at it, it isn't pretty. That's like having dessert, followed by an entree, followed by another helping of dessert. Disgusting. And yet so very very good.

I've never been a big eater, but I may be changing. These days, I can't go to bed without a jam sandwich. Hey - I eat it, I don't snuggle with it! This is how obesity starts. I might be preparing for a new movie role. Yeah, that sounds good. "I'm bulking up for a feature". Sounds better than "I just can't stop shoving crap in my face". Jared Leto reportedly gained 60 pounds for Chapter 27. Pa! Gimme a couple more weeks and I'll be ready for Chapter 28. I think I have my dodgy 90210 glasses lying around here somewhere...

Manly Men and Secret Sects

2009-04-06T22:01:00.000-07:00

I'm happy to reveal that I have two upcoming audio books. The first is an abridged version of Neil Oliver's Amazing Tales for Making Men Out Of Boys, which is rather a long title but good stuff nevertheless. It's a good old fashioned compilation of tales of manly men and their remarkable accomplishments through history.

Scott of the Antarctic, the men of the Birkenhead and the astronauts of Apollo 13 are just three of the extraordinary stories brought to life. The kind of book a father reads to his son. As the author states in the opening, "there was a time when boys were taught to be men" and this is just the sort of book to help them on that path.

The second book is entirely different. An international thriller reminiscent of The Da Vinci Code, The Genesis Secret by Tom Knox centers around journalist Robert Luttrell, who is sent to cover an archeological dig in Turkey, but soon becomes wrapped up in something far more sinister and deadly. Bizarre murders are being committed in the UK and soon we discover that Luttrell's story is inextricably and terrifyingly linked.

The Genesis Secret is a captivating read and, with its large cast of characters, was a real treat to narrate. More news when these audiobooks are available for download.

Oh yeah, and you can catch me on the CW's 90210 tonight at 9pm playing, you guessed it, another creepy guy. I look a little like Nineties James Spader in this one. Wasn't a good look then and still isn't. But hey - director Jason Priestley did choose which glasses I got to wear, so...

Fake Cops and Real Detectives

2009-03-27T22:50:00.000-07:00

Watching the news today, there was a report about a murder in Sherman Oaks, California. Then a detective came on to read a statement. Fair enough. Except, the detective in question wore a fedora as if he had stepped right out of the fifties. And the murder in question? Perpetrated by 3 guys posing as cops.

Ironic that the real detective reporting on fake cops looked every bit the fake cop himself. Or mafia hoodlum. I mean, he looks snazzy and hip but if he came to my door, I wouldn't buy him as a detective for a second! He's trying too hard. If I went in to an audition as a detective, wearing a hat like that, the casting director would shout "Next!". Or maybe he'd just comment "Nice hat" and then giggle to himself.

But what do I know? I'm the guy who wore a bathrobe to look like an Angel. Hahaha...

Head Games

2009-03-27T12:16:00.000-07:00

During a recent audition, the casting director commented on my footwear. "Nice boots," he said. "Thank you," I replied. Then he chuckled to himself for a few seconds and then began the scene. What the hell is that about? Obviously a private joke. He can't have been sarcastic. I mean, my boots were brown, very normal looking boots. You might laugh if they were clown boots, bright pink or very pointy. Haha. Very funny. Let's all take a moment and guffaw. But they aren't. They're common brown leather boots. So why the comment? Did he genuinely like them? And if so, why the laughter?

During another audition, I noticed, mid-speech, that the casting director was looking at a resume. (His assistant was reading opposite me) It wasn't my resume, mind you - which would have been nice. If he's not going to look at me in my audition, I'd rather he was looking at my resume than looking down his assistant's blouse. But no. He was looking at someone else's resume. I know this, because the headshot stapled to the back of the resume was very clearly not mine.

Now, to be fair, he could have made a mistake. The casting assistant did take 2 men in to the waiting area at the same time. (See? Some of you are confused already) Both of us gave her our headshots. (Stay with me) Then he called "Gideon" and in I went. (I know, it's dizzyingly complex) There's only a 50/50 chance of him picking up the correct resume. But when each actor's resume is attached to each actor's headshot, the odds have to improve, right? And when my name (like every other actor in this town) is printed in bold typeface on the front of the headshot which, coincidentally, also has a large colour image of, um, ME, you would think he could pick up the right one. Especially since the other actor had a shaved head! You would also think that he would quickly realise his mistake and either swop resumes or put the one down. But no - he continued browsing through the other guy's credits until I finished the scene. Sweet. Perhaps I was so dull, he thought he'd see who was next...

My other favorite is where I arrived to audition for a major series about a quirky detective. I arrive 10 minutes early, to find the office locked. I knock and knock but no answer. So I wait. In the sun. Slowly sweating in my "hitman black" sweater. After 20 minutes, someone saunters up and unlocks the door, but says nothing to me, the obvious waiting-to-audition-actor, brandishing my stapled sides (script). So, after a moment, I go through the door and sit in the waiting room. After another 5 minutes, the guy comes through with a sign-in sheet and says "I'll be with you in a minute; I have to make some calls". I sign in and wait a further 5 minutes, before he calls me in.

In the room, he asks what role I'm reading for and then pages through his file to the scene. Then he looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to start. I look at him. He looks at me. I remind him that he starts the scene. Oh. He starts the scene and remains, head buried in the script. I wonder where his reader is and where the hidden camera is for this "on-tape for producers" audition.

Midway through the audition, the door bursts open, and in walks a guy carrying a tripod and camera, no doubt for the day's auditions. He has a brief chat with the casting person, who suggests he comes back in a few minutes. The guy leaves. Then the casting guy says "okay. let's just take it back a couple lines..." And we finish the scene. Did I get the gig? No. Will I ever get back in to read for them? Unlikely. Because the guy won't remember me, as he didn't watch a second of my audition. However, my name will be sufficiently familiar for him to know that he brought me in - I just didn't make an impression, so he won't call me back.

Now, one could make the argument that I have every right to utter the following responses to the aforementioned behavior:

Scenario 1. "Excuse me. I'm glad you like my boots, but what's so funny? Do you think it will help my performance if you laugh at me for no apparent reason immediately before starting the scene?"

Scenario 2. "Excuse me. That resume you're looking at? It's not mine. I'm Gideon Emery. The name on the one you're holding is Not Gideon. He's still in the waiting room. Would you rather see him first?"

Scenario 3. "Excuse me. You're obviously a little rushed this morning. How about I come back later when you're all set up?"

Unfortunately, as an actor, you can't. Because if you do demand the same basic respect you offer them (being polite and courteous), you won't be seeing them again. Ever. Naturally everyone is entitled to a bad day. And not all casting people behave like this. Most are consummate pros. But it can be a challenge when you spend hours preparing for a casting, missioning through traffic, struggling to find a parking spot, only to have the person clearly sign the fact that they couldn't be bothered.

Sometimes I couldn't be bothered to blog. But I do. I suck it up and blog, people.

Why?

Because blogging is all that separates us from the beasts...

Western Stage & Eastern Screen

2009-03-25T00:32:00.000-07:00

The 50 Hour Theatre Festival that I acted in a few weeks back was a blast. I got to tread the boards at Zombie Joe's Underground in a whirlwind get-your-script-and-learn-it-stage-it-perform-it-in-24hrs blitz. We had 3 performances and, all things considered, it wasn't too bad.

Here's a pic from our little piece, entitled Dr Lox. I played the good doctor, who seemed to be going through some kind of withdrawal. I say "seemed", because it was rather esoteric and my character (like the actor playing him) was quite unstable. The whole Zombie Joe's family are fabulous and my trusty fellow actors were Danielle Larson and Jeffrey Grin. Some fun wordplay, stylistic staging and physical performance. Good to scrape off the old theatre cobwebs!

In other news, a sci-fi thriller that I filmed a while back finally got a Japanese release. It looks pretty cool with the Japanese titles and has a great little trailer. You can check it out RIGHT HERE. Hopefully it will make its way stateside one day soon...

Fix Your Accent

2009-03-19T12:41:00.000-07:00

Only in LA would you find a sign offering accent services. Yes, if your accent isn't up to snuff, these guys will fix it for you. I love it. No "perfect your American accent" or "sound like a local in 2 weeks". Just a rude "fix your accent". It's not even aimed at actors, just the public at large. As if anyone stupid enough to read the sign must be in need of help. Your accent sucks and needs fixing. Nice.

Last time I checked, my accent was in good shape and needed no repairs. They should focus on the people I have to deal with every time I call the cable company/gas company/phone company, cos I can't understand half of what they're saying. And it really doesn't matter if the call center is in India or Indiana.

To be fair, being a British South African living in America has taken its toll on me. I say things like "paaass me the waa-duh". I'm neither English nor South African. And I'm hardly American, either. I'm just one big fake accent that becomes whatever it needs to be for the occasion: Russian mobster, home grown terrorist or snooty British talent show judge (I mean, do I really look anything like Simon Cowell?)

Maybe my accent does need fixing after all. I should call these guys. Question is, what exactly happens in a "fix" and how long does it take? Is it like fixing a sandwich or more like fixing your hair? How long does a fix last and is there a 90 day warranty? (I fixed my car and it still isn't fixed!) Is this a one-size-fixes-all kinda fix? And if I am going to pay to fix something that isn't broken in the first place, the least they can offer is a fix with all the fixings!

I like my stuffing and gravy...

I Can't Quite Put My Finger On It

2009-03-18T07:43:00.001-07:00

With no news of my own, I thought it only fair to share the story of a Finnish blogger (and computer programmer) who, after losing a finger in a motorbike accident, decided to turn himself into a cyborg.

Well not quite. Jerry Jalava has attached a prosthetic "finger drive" where the digit used to be and can now apparently plug himself quite literally into computers. Kinda cool and creepy at the same time.

I typically prefer the gym over robotic evolvement. But if I had to do a little tinkering, I would build an espresso machine, so I'm never without a fresh cup of coffee. Plus, I wouldn't have to stand in line at Starbucks. Nor would I have to tip the cashier or the "barista" for pressing "pour".

What the heck is that about, anyway? Tipping for a cup of take-out coffee. It's not like they bring it to your table! If I'm tipping for service, why don't I tip my auto mechanic? They really work hard and even have greasy hands to show for their troubles.

Oh wait.

I remember why I don't tip my mechanic...

Very Close Now

2009-03-16T09:16:00.000-07:00

You know how you have those feelings sometimes? Feelings that you're really close to getting something? Well, my landlord just informed me that I am "very close now" to getting parking in my building! The only catch is that I've been "very close" for the past 6 months. Before that, I was "number three on the list". He also said he saw me in both "the crocodile movie" and "the vampire".

Splendid. Maybe he'll be inspired to bump me up the list. Or not. Next month, he'll tell me "it was between you and another actor". This guy could have a career in casting. "We really liked you for the parking spot, but the plumber thought you were too creepy."

Thanks for the comments from those of you who watched my vamp stint. It was probably the most fun I've had on set to date. Coincidentally, my CSI:NY appearance aired earlier that day on Spike. Naturally, I discovered that after the fact. Probably just as well. A double dose of creepy Gid could cause irreparable damage.

Creepy or not, hopefully my next job is a little closer than my parking spot...

The Moonlight Shines Again

2009-03-10T22:00:00.002-07:00

After some mindless surfing on the net, I stumbled upon the fact that Moonlight is screening on the Sci-Fi channel. For those of you who didn't catch me the first time, or anyone crazy enough to go for a second helping, 'my episode' of Moonlight is on Sci-Fi this Friday @9pm.

I thought it was a great little show that really didn't have a chance to build its audience. If you like a little romance and aren't scared of a little blood, then you won't be disappointed. Oh yeah, and if you like vampires, you'll like it too. Please be sure to watch beyond the opening scene execution, unlike some of my friends the first time around. I might be coming back...

When the only news is the state of the economy and supervillain-du-jour Octomom's new "octo-lair" (as Fox "News" calls it), don't you deserve a little fantasy escape? And what better day than Friday the 13th...

Another Stage

2009-03-03T18:02:00.004-08:00

With the disappearance of both the high pitched whining and the spring cleaning somnabulant neighbors, I am free to focus entirely on my lack of work at the moment. And in this downtime, I thought I'd add some new pics to my website. Pics of plays I've performed in over the years.

Here's a link if you're interested. It was quite fun revisiting my old photo albums to pick out a few nostalgic shots. Not least because 2 of them feature the man who got my professional career into gear, the late great Bill Flynn. He introduced me to my first agent and I was fortunate to work with him on 3 occasions.

I miss Bill and the experience of being on stage. It was great to jump back in, albeit briefly, for the "50 Hour Drive-By" the other weekend. Stirred up my passion for performing. It's curious how rarely one gets to actually act in LA, since most time seems to be spent in the pursuit of work. Theatre instantly reminds one of what acting is about - the act of performing for other people. And there's nothing like the immediacy of a live play to bring it all home.

I'm hoping to get a picture from the recent festival, but in the meantime, here's a look at Gideon over the years. Try not to laugh...

Suppressing the Urge

2009-02-28T10:57:00.002-08:00

How does one suppress the urge to kill? Most of us take a deep breath. Try to think of something else for a moment. But what if you can't? What if the very thing that's driving that urge is a high pitched tone that starts and stops every 30 seconds? What if you can't do anything about that tone because it's so disturbingly high pitched that you cannot identify the source - and thus cannot shut it off?

What if your ears are extra sensitive through lack of sleep? What if you've been woken up every night between midnight and 5am for the past 5 nights, because your crazy neighbor decides to his "spring cleaning" at that hour?

What if your anger from the high pitched wine and lack of sleep is exacerbated by the quote from your mechanic who informs you that you need $1200 of repairs on your transmission? And what if you spent $500 on a new alternator only a week earlier?

Is it wrong to kill if the opportunity presents itself?

Is it?

What if....?

50 Hour Drive-By Theatre Festival

2009-02-12T11:10:00.002-08:00

It's been a while since I stepped on a stage and it's time to step things up. On stage. So to speak.

Bring on the 50 HOUR DRIVE-BY THEATRE FESTIVAL. A half dozen or so 10 minute plays are written, directed and performed in a speedy 2 days. It's crazy. It's foolish. It's downright dangerous! But I'm doing it, because there are other brave people out there, like Captain Sully, who landed his passenger-laden US Airways jet on the Hudson river. Why didn't he land on, well, land? Because he wanted a new experience, people. A new challenge. When asked by reporters why he settled on the Hudson river, the Captain proudly replied "Because it's there!"

Okay, he didn't say that, but you get the picture. Nothing like throwing yourself in the deep end. A lottery system determines which writers get paired with which actors and directors. It's all so gosh darn random - just like life. We actors get the script on the Friday night and rehearse non-stop until opening night the very next day! And while I have no clue as to the story or role, I can promise it will entertain. How could it not? Plus there's a super talented team of peeps on board.

Shows are at Zombie Joe's Underground Theatre in North Hollywood; Saturday 2/21 @ 8:30pm, Sunday 2/22 @ 2pm and Monday 2/23 @ 8:30pm. Oh yeah, and there's also live music. All for the bargain basement price of 15 smackeroos.

Prodigal Twins Unite At Long Last!

2009-01-30T12:06:00.002-08:00

I cannot express fully my delight and dismay at discovering that there's a film in production starring both Toby Maguire and Jake Gyllenhaal. Finally. For years I've been confusing the two. I mean, is there any difference between them? Are they even separate humans? Like Latoya and Michael (though the human part is debatable) - have the two ever been seen together? Lord knows I haven't seen them together at the same time. But then I've never seen them apart, either. And that's just as scary...

Nevertheless, Tobey and his separated-at-birth twin Jake are to star in a new film called Brothers. Oh. Okay. That's not so interesting now. I mean they already look like siblings. Surely the real acting challenge would be to play totally unrelated characters or, even better, mother and son. Now THAT would be interesting.

In other gripping news, I booked that "creepy presense" role for 90210. Look out for another Emery creep crawling across your screens soon. I was also briefly put on hold for a "scary-looking, downright unpleasant convict" on Cold Case, but "they went another way". Ah well.

If anyone knows which way they went, please point me in the right direction. Maybe there's time to catch up. I can be scary and, now that the rent is due, I'm downright unpleasant!

The Eleventh Hour Approaches

2009-01-22T10:10:00.002-08:00

Look out for tonight's episode of Eleventh Hour and you'll catch me doing my creepy best. Well not exactly, but close enough. The episode is called Miracle and, while I won't be giving away any spoilers, IMDB had this to say about the British version:

"The seemingly miraculous cure of a boy's tumor from drinking spring water sends Hood on a mission to debunk the claim".

So there you go. I can't say who I play, but I can tell you with absolute certainty that I am neither the boy, nor the spring water.

Eleventh Hour stars Rufus Sewell as sci-buff Jacob Hood and Marley Shelton as Rachel Young, the agent assigned to protect him on his intriguing cases. When the cops and feds can't figure it out, they call on Hood, the last man between us and total innihilation.

Alright, I made up that last bit, but you get the idea. It's a fun show that is somewhat part X-Files, part House. Eleventh Hour airs 10pm Pacific on CBS. You can also catch shows online at CBS.COM.

I'll Have the Baby Back Ribs with a Side of Beethoven

2009-01-10T09:12:00.004-08:00

We're well into the new year and I figured I should post a blog. At least something. Haven't thought of anything remotely interesting to write about, but to be fair, that hasn't stopped me before. And dammit, it won't stop me now!

New Year's was pretty low-key. I managed to see it in, despite my better wishes. My aim was to get blotto, but, seeing as I was driving, blotto was put on hold. Better. My snowboarder-wannabe ribs are bruised but not broken. But I have a new ailment to add to the list - tinnitus. After parking my car in a garage yesterday, a truck drove by and set off another car's alarm. It went off about 10 feet away at such a shrill pitch, that by the time I got home my one ear was ringing. As if I'd been to a concert. Just the left ear, mind you. As if I'd spent the entire concert less concerned with the band, and more interested in the person sitting to my right. Or perhaps I had to delicately sit on my right bum cheek, as the left was too bruised from a recent snowboarding trip. (Not that I'd know anything about that)

Anyway, my rib continues to make its presense felt. My back reminds me each morning that I need a new mattress and I may be going deaf in one ear. But otherwise, all is good. I'm thinking of writing a concerto. Unfortunately, the only note I can hear is a persistent, incessant E. No jokes- I tested this on my pitch pipe - it is a definate E! I was chatting to my mega-talented musician friend, KARMA, and she told me that a great deal of music is written in the key of E, so that's good, I suppose.

Auditions have started up. I went in for Lost yesterday and have one for 90210 on Monday. Just in case you thought a new year brings new opportunities, I will put your mind to rest. The 90210 character is described as having "a creepy presense". Phew. For a moment there, I bet you thought I'd cracked a normal role.

Must run off now. Gonna be a busy day. Haven't been creepy for a few weeks. Need to brush up. Plus, I have sheet music to buy and a wig to powder...

I Love Plumbers

2008-12-29T14:53:00.002-08:00

With Christmas out the way, we can focus on New Year's Eve. Thankfully my pipes are clean again. And no, that is not a metaphor. In the spirit of grubbinness, I offer you the following little video which I only discovered a little while ago. It's a car commercial I shot in Slovenia a few years ago, in which I play some dark and dirty character. Never really fancied myself as a goth, but the director evidently did. Good for a chuckle. As was my first attempt at snowboarding last week. But that's another post...

Merry Merry

2008-12-25T10:13:00.002-08:00

After spending the day out and about on Christmas Eve, thanks in part to the water being turned off, I returned home after a splendid late lunch of Shepherd's pie and baked beans (with HP sauce of course), followed by rhubarb pie with custard. As I entered the apartment, I was hit by a stink. A rotting kind of stink. Following my nose (an easy thing to do) I discovered that my bathroom was flooded and my bath was full of dark brown water. Since I had left the taps turned off, the foul smelling fluid had come up from the pipes below. Delish!

After an hour trying to empty the bath and unblock it, I realised it was futile. The blockage is severe and using any water in the basin only bubbles up to fill the bath as well. But I didn't call a plumber on Christmas Eve, nor will I today, when they'll no doubt charge a (more) exhorbitant sum, which the absent manager will undoubtedly refuse to pay.

NOTE: Had to stop writing this entry to start bailing water again, as my upstairs neighbor was having a shower and my bath started filling up! No doubt I will have to do the same when the neghbor 2 floors up has HIS shower.

The moral of today's story, is be thankful you're not near me. Cos I stink. Have a wonderful day, whatever you do. And may the New year bring love, laughter, passion and reward!

Whoa - gotta go. My bath is filling up again - I kid you not. Now I need to decide whether or not to risk going out to Christmas lunch and have my place flooded. Grrr. At least the water's warm...

Why We Suck

2008-12-02T20:52:00.002-08:00

After my ongoing theme of doppelgangers, how better to round things up than with a face-to-face with Denis Leary (aka Doppelganger #1). I saw that the man had a signing for his new book, Why We Suck, not far from me. The only challenge was getting there. I had to take my Dad to the airport after a splendid little stay with me - and could hardly let family take a taxi in order for me to spend 30 seconds with someone who looks a little like me. That's just weird. Oh yeah - and heartless.

So I took Dad to the airport, saw him through check-in and waved him off towards an invigorating cavity search (or whatever LAX security has in store these days) and only then raced off to the signing. Luck was on my side, traffic was thin and I arrived with time to buy a copy and rush upstairs to stand in line. Phew.

I had visions of Denis seeing me and going "Jesus, it's like staring into a mirror! I simply MUST put you in an episode of Rescue Me as my long lost, shorter, younger brother! Please tell me you're an actor - you ARE an actor, right? Wait, who's your agent...?"

In reality, it was more like "And this is to you?" He gestures to the book. I confirm it is, indeed, for me. I manage to cough up, in a thin whispery voice (what the hell?!) that not a day goes by I don't get told I look like him. "Ah," he says. (clearly he doesn't see the resemblance) "Well there's a picture in the book of me and Willem Dafoe". I laugh. The nice lady takes my picture and I leave, grinning like a child.

Good to meet the man. Seems like a nice guy. I am sure the book is not. Nice. With a cover blurb that runs "A feel good guide to staying fat, loud, lazy and stupid" you know he's not gonna pull any punches. It looks like a good bitch about people who bitch about things and blame others when they really need to stfu and change themselves. Just my cup of tea!

So what if I don't have a recurring role on the new season of Rescue Me. I got my face-to-face and that's what counts. I do feel a little bad that I had no time to explain that I was a little clammy cos I'd rushed like a loon from the airport, the warddrobe synchronicity was purely coincidence and I don't normally wear blue eyeshadow and eyeliner - that was from today's audition for the part of a washed-up Eighties rocker.

So what.

I'm sure, deep down, Denis knew I was a fellow thesp, deeply immersed in the craft, too committed to waste time with superficial things like mid-day cleansing, when there was an actor to support.

Nah.

Denis Leary thinks I'm just another creepy sweaty guy who wears makeup and stands too close.

Ugh.

Help Save Gideon

2008-11-24T09:24:00.002-08:00

I saw a heartwarming story on the news last night about a German Shepherd dog that was hit by a car. His name is Gideon and he has 6 months of painful recovery ahead of him. If you can spare a few bucks for the cause, please visit Coastal German Shepherd Rescue.

In addition to Gideon, they have dozens of dogs looking for adoption. Each dog has a bio and photos. Some even have video to show you their personality. You can't help but fall in love.

I would adopt a dog myself, except I live in a tiny apartment and that's really not fair for a big dog. But having gown up with a German Shepherd, I can say they are loyal friends who, given love and attention, will protect you to the end.

Slumdog Millionaire

2008-11-23T08:51:00.002-08:00

I wrapped my final day on Eleventh Hour at a glorious 10:30am and decided to treat myself to a movie. After all, I had worked that day; I just had the entire day left to slack off, guilt free. So I wandered in to an early showing of Danny Boyle's new film, Slumdog Millionaire. And walked out charged with energy.

It's not often a film moves me. I think most movies these days are either effects heavy shells of a story, or course, teenage boy humor. Slumdog is one of the most hauntingly beautiful films I've ever seen. It's centered around a boy, Jamal, who gets onto the Hindi version of "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?" and, remarkably, seems to know every question he's asked. More remarkable, is that Jamal is not any boy, but a humble, uneducated street kid, a so-called slumdog. Instantly, he is accused of cheating.

The film is told in fashback. We bounce back from the quiz show to Jamal's early childhood and discover how specific events shaped him and his knowledge. It's a simple device, but it works. I was drawn in instantly by the sheer honesty of the performances from a cast of young kids who are too young to have much, if any, acting experience. I am reminded of why I do what I do, when I see films like this. I'm also ashamed when I watch a 5 year old kid deliver a performace that is better than anything I could put out.

Slumdog is more than a poor-kid-makes-good tale. It's an extraordinary story of enduring love and the rights of passage. How the smallest choices affect our lives. It's an unflinching portrayal of extreme poverty and at the same time disarmingly funny. Beautifully shot, with a thumping soundtrack and characters you can't take your eyes off. So what if I was being played at times - I was happy to go along for the ride. And you will be too.

Go see it.

Driven Round the Bend

2008-11-16T18:59:00.002-08:00

I was on my way to Simi Valley (who isn't, these days), when my car started making very strange noises. Grinding noises. Metal on metal noises. It sounded like the vehicle was in pain. Excruciating pain. I limped along, as the car lost power and barely made it my destination.

After a rewarding trip to the garage, I was told I needed a new transmission mount. I believed the mechanic, as he showed me the black gunky rubber thing (the mount) was looking particularly gunky and degraded. There was barely anything left. Leaving trusty mechanic Simon to the task, I ventured off on my bike for a long coffee, only to be informed I also needed new engine mounts. Seeing as I had been told as much before, I bit the bullet and gave him the go-ahead.

I know car repairs aren't cheap, but I was a little excited by Simon's initial quote of $100. Sadly, it was not to be and the grand total soared dangerously close to the value of my entire vehicle - which isn't very much but still stings. As I drove away, thinking the car felt much the same, I felt as if I had paid good money for a beating.

Perhaps I should have anticipated that when I took my car to S&M...

And perhaps this car story, like the car itself, is getting old.

Beards and Beds - Part III

2008-11-13T21:03:00.002-08:00

In what I hope to be the conclusion to a rather dull series of posts, I offer you this snap of me from recent flick, Bone Deep. (Note the nasty looking tats) Yes there is a beard. No, the bed is not in the picture. Actually, things have improved and I seem to be sleeping better on the "Hollywood". However, that may be due to a tiring day on set and not the sudden improvement of aforementioned sleep apparatus.

That is all I have to share. Commenting on my lack of scintillating subject matter merely gives the illusion of juicy content and an extra paragraph can only improve upon a mere 3 line blog entry.

Or not. See how easily I added a third paragraph - almost without you noticing. Alright, that's really it. I may have bumped my head yesterday. I'm not making sense to myself, which means anyone else may quite possibly be reduced to a gibbering monosyllabic mantra by the time they're done reading this---------

Beards and Beds - Part II

2008-11-09T17:52:00.002-08:00

After finally getting clearance from the movie, I was given the go-ahead to shave off my beard, which I promptly did. Hooray. Then discovered the director of a recent TV audition wanted me to keep it. Too late, she cried. I was promptly instructed to grow it back, but 3 weeks' growth cannot be compressed into a few days. Nevertheless, I scored the gig, a guest role on Eleventh Hour starring Rufus Sewell. Caught a couple episodes and it's a great new series. Kinda like the X-Files meets House, but without the supernatural element. Rufus plays a scientific advisor to the FBI and is minded by a female agent, played by Marley Shelton. The two of them do feel rather Mulder and Scully and each show's medical case demands brilliant out-the-box thinking to solve.

On the bed side of things (I sleep on the left), I ordered my new mattress, aptly named Hollywood. I kid you not. Like its namesake, it performed well opening weekend and then fell off the charts. I dunno what happened. After a couple nights of long forgotten rest, I awoke to the same, and now increasing, back pain. Great. That'll teach me for buying a budget bed. Bollocks. Now I'm gonna have to cough up for my 3rd mattress this year, plus more chiro. That's seriously messed up.

I was hoping the beard and bed might be related. IE: shaving the beard = improved sleep. But no dice. Two things that cheered me up, however (aside from the TV gig) - I got to voice a role in the new Terminator game and autumn has finally arrived in LA. Which means cooler temps and a warm sun hanging low in the sky. Which always makes me feel good. We actually feel a change of season after nearly 9 months of blissfully hot (read: unbearably boring) summer. I know, I'm blessed to be living in California, but I wasn't built for desert climes. It's those English genes, you see. Nothing nicer than a brisk walk in the brisk air.

Well, maybe a brisk walk in the brisk air with a beautiful woman.

Oh yeah - and a single malt.

Yes We Can!

2008-11-05T19:21:00.002-08:00

What a momentous day for America and the world. I stood in a packed bar last night and watched with bated breath, hardly daring to believe that Obama might take it. In my heart of hearts I hoped, but didn't want to utter my confidence in him, lest it jinx his chances. Remarkably, and perhaps predictably, he won, making history.

I couldn't help but feel a little pride. I'm not eligible to vote yet, but I experienced the same hope, anxiety and ultimate elation as those supporters in the bar with me. Fellow South Africans, Brendan and Lee-Anne were there and the significance wasn't lost on us: we witnessed the rise of South Africa's first black president and now, 14 years later, were thousands of miles away, watching the acceptance speech of the USA's first African American president elect.

Obama's words brought tears to my eyes. It was the stuff of legend, as powerful as the great orators of the past - King, Kennedy, Churchill. I thought, for the first time, how those great American flags that dotted the 100,000 strong crowd in Chicago, could once again be a symbol of promise, hope and pride. Something to believe in.

People often ask me, as a foreigner, how I find it here. Right now, I must admit that it's a wonderful, exciting country to live in. Sure, it has it's problems and numerous challenges. The next few years could be the hardest any of us have lived through. But who better to unite a country and lead us towards a brighter future.

To new beginnings and daring to dream...

Beards and Beds

2008-10-23T08:10:00.002-07:00

I have only one of each. But that's clearly one too many.

After waking up with a stiff back for months, I finally decided I should visit the chiropractor. I did consider a trip in June, but the thought of spending hundreds of $$$ put paid to that idea. More accurately, it was put to bed. My bed. My fancy 8-month old pillow-top bed. I had a suspicion that it was too soft and now it's confirmed. For the best part of a year I've been buggering up my back. Fabulous. I have to buy a new mattress. I suppose I could have replaced the mattress myself, avoided the chiro and saved myself 50%.

On a lighter note (that damn mattress takes 2 to tango), I am still with beard. I realize "with beard" is not quite the same as "with child", but it has a couple of similarities. Firstly, everyone can see it and secondly, everyone feels compelled to say something.

"Ooh, you need a shave" (yup)
"What's that for?" (my face? christmas? your mom?)
"Beards are stupid" (yes, i suppose they are)

The hair is for the movie I just wrapped, of course and I'm waiting for clearance. In the meantime, I'm trying to keep it looking neat, but it's still a little scraggly. I'm just not a hairy kinda guy. I'm also compelled to toy with the damn thing. I catch myself stroking it like a little puppy. Once in a while I even feed it. (Though not intentionally) A friend said I looked like a mountain man when he saw me. Thing is, I don't have any mountain man gear. No flannel shirt. No dungarees. No axe.

My beard isn't even a decent disguise. Only yesterday, a woman said I looked like Denis Leary. I've never seen Denis with a beard, but I guess if he had one, he'd look like me. On the upside, she did day I was better looking. Take that, Mr Leary.

Well, I'd better be off. Have an audition to prep - crazy guy who thinks he's turning into a monster. And after that, it's a choice between Neil from Leeds Mattress and "you're killing me, Larry". I might go for Neil. Larry seems like a violent guy. I could probably take him, but what with the cumbersome beard and bad back...

The Terrible Twins

2008-10-15T20:32:00.002-07:00

They were smart and snappy.

They rode a shiny bike.

They rode it together.

They rode it with pride.

Were they twins?

Who can say?

Were they terrible?

We'll never know.

All we can say is that they were black and white and sitting 'real close'.

Keep Smiling Just Don't Let Me Catch You

2008-10-14T16:45:00.002-07:00

I like order. Without order, there is chaos. I firmly believe that. It doesn't mean I enjoy setting rules and forcing others to abide by them. (Though I can't abide those that don't) I simply feel - no, KNOW, that my life runs smoother when I have an ordered system in place. Call me anal. You won't be the first.

So I had a good chuckle last week, when faced with this sign: Stop. (Just don't stop.) Ridiculous. You'd think someone would realize the absurdity of a sign telling you to do something that is clearly in direct conflict with another. It's like those wonderful (no) parking signs around LA, which prohibit parking during certain times without a permit. Then there's another sign which limits your stay during the times you don't need a permit. And yet another another sign which prevents you from parking at ANY time.

Now I understand that the Traffic Department can change it's mind. What I can't understand is why Joe Maintenance Man leaves all the previous signs up, when he posts the new one that makes them all redundant!

Speaking of rule compliance, why is it that the police (and traffic police) don't have to abide by the very rules they enforce? This week I watched a patrol car narrowly avoid running over a cyclist, because the officer was pulling forward and attempting to make a right turn from the left lane AND while the light was red. No siren, no flashing lights. Just one nearly dead cyclist.

Regularly I see cop cars parked at expired meters outside coffee shops, while parking police park in the red or (my pet peeve), turn randomly without signalling. I want to print my own traffic tickets and issue them to cops. That'll teach them. Naturally, I'll be on my bike in order to make a swift and sneaky getaway.

Unless I get run down by a cop, of course.

Dogs And Cats Living Together

2008-10-09T11:12:00.002-07:00

I've been wondering how the credit crunch is going to affect things on the ground. I'm not retiring anytime soon and I'd be lying if I said I had big investments to worry about. So, what changes can I expect in my life?

Well, if the State Treasurer is to be believed, a great many. Apparently, in addition to being $1b in debt for the first quarter of this fiscal year, California will run out of cash on the 29th. That's right. In less than 3 weeks, the State will lose the ability to pay its bills. As I understand it, that means all State-run agencies will cease to function, either immediately or within weeks. No public transport (like there is any), no trash removal, no cops, no nurses, no water, no electricity, no traffic lights, no elevators. As Bill Murray put it in Ghostbusters: "dogs and cats living together".

On the upside, there won't be any parking cops, either. That means I can park anywhere and ignore the meter. Woohoo! Who cares if I can't bathe and have to climb 8 flights to see my agent? I can park in the loading zone all day and no-one can stop me.

Sure, there'll be gunfights in the street, robberies on horseback, Rodeo Drive will burn and I'll be knee deep in sewage. But I'll be happy. Like Cool Hand Luke, I'll be smiling...

The Real Doppelganger

2008-10-02T12:51:00.002-07:00

After a couple of close calls, I'm happy to report I booked a role on the new Matt Dillon feature, Bone Deep and was glad to see they managed to book Reuben Langdon as my stunt double. Reuben doubled me on 24 and it's clear (clearly scary?) we could have been separated at birth.

Aside from being a stuntman and video game developer, Reuben's a talented actor/martial artist/voice artist in his own right. In fact, I'm trying desperately not to mess up, as they could easily have Reuben replace me altogether!

So long story short, I am working and I have another double to add to my growing collection. Which means that (ahem) "project in development" is now about 4 brothers, not 3. Must sign off now, as I need to call Willem and Denis before the end of the day.

New York's 3hrs ahead, you know...

Down With an Abscess

2008-09-26T10:17:00.002-07:00

That's what the very tanned backpacker said to her friend as I passed by. I assume she meant a fellow traveller, laid low from incessant walking and sporadic bathing. I was only feet away, when she followed up with "that looks like Denis Leary!"

It's not the first time I've heard that. And no - I don't mean the abscess bit. Yes, I bear a resemblance to actor Denis Leary. That's the one I get more often than not. Once in a while I get a "Willem Dafoe" and so, it would appear, does Denis Leary. I recently caught an episode of Rescue Me, in which Denis' character is offended to be told he looks like Willem Dafoe. Hahaha.

Maybe there's a project for all 3 of us. Where we're long lost siblings or different versions of the same man in different dimensions. Or genetically engineered clones. Or maybe not.

When I first arrived in LA, I ordered a coffee. Here follows the exchange:

Barista Guy (after a long beat): Are you him?

Gideon (after an equally long beat): I'm sorry. What?

Barista Guy: Are you HIM?

(Gideon smiles and shakes his head, getting uncomfortable)

Barista Guy: Are you.... Brian Adams?

Yup, that's what he said. I was a little taken aback. Don't get me wrong, Bryan's a talented guy. But he's pushing fifty. I'm not. Just yet. Lemme enjoy my thirties a little bit! It's as bad as my half brother, Matthew, who wished me a happy 46th birthday this year. And he wasn't kidding. Geez! Thanks for stealing a decade, pal. And that's family!

But if anyone knows Denis or Willem, feel free to tell them their doppelganger's waiting in the wings.

All Aboard as Train gets a Premiere!

2008-09-23T08:59:00.002-07:00

Horror movie Train finally pulls into the station - the Graumann's Mann Chinese station, that is. Next month on October 16th, the blood will be spilled at ScreamfestLA, which, as you might correctly guess, is not a festival of romantic comedies.

In Train, a college wrestling team travelling abroad unwittingly boards the wrong train. A train that will take them any destination but safely home. I play the role of Willy, who within minutes, wishes he'd stayed on the platform. I have to admit that I was quite appalled by some of the gore while we were shooting. Yes, I knew I was making a horror and I had read the script. But the extent and graphic nature of the violence seemed unprecedented. If Hostel stepped over the line, then Train plows right through it.

It's a premiere, but no invite-only giftbag garbage. Just popcorn and Pepsi. (Sadly Mann's doesn't do Coke) So, if you like a little flesh and blood for dinner, be sure to book tickets soon, as they're bound to go quickly. Then head on over to Graumann's at 9pm on Thursday 16 October.

I'll be the one crouching in the back with the baseball cap pulled low...

(By the way, if you really want to milk the train experience, you could always catch the subway to Hollywood and Highland - and Graumann's mere steps away)

You Looked Better on MySpace

2008-09-20T11:30:00.002-07:00

And who doesn't, right?

Well, me for one. I am one of only 26 humans who is not on MySpace. Neither am I on Facebook anymore, after tiring of downloading a new application every time someone sent me a message - only to discover that it's a blanket message, that I've been "bitten by a zombie" or been given a picture of a gift?!

Much happier here in blogland, where I can drop a line to everyone (and no-one) if and when the impulse strikes. Today, I was cruising through some photos and spotted this gem - clearly a Banksy or Banksy rip-off. Either way, thoroughly amusing. I took the snap last year somewhere in LA. Don't recall the location.

If only taggers were more creative, instead of scrawling gibberish that only they can understand. I'm sure they consider their skills somewhat artistic. I wish they could raise the bar a little. One of the more recent "street exhibits" I saw, was a murky white scrawl across the windows of Doughboys on Highland. Day after day, I would drive past and day after day, the writing remained. It appeared to have been drawn in glue and was clearly (sorry) indelible. A few weeks later, Doughboys closed down.

Were the taggers responsible? Were they demanding ransom in exchange for their top secret tag-removal solvent? Who knows? But within days, another, almost identical place had opened up. Same tables. Same chairs. Same food? Hopefully not.

As some of you may recall, the breakfast Doughboys served me... How shall I put it? Oh, why not? It sucked eggs.

Maybe taggers aren't all bad...

Greetings from Jersey

2008-09-15T07:49:00.002-07:00

I spent the actual moment of my birthday - the stroke of midnight on the 12th - on the New York subway, travelling from the airport to my hotel. Only long enough to dump the bag and walk with buddy Ron towards Ground Zero, where 2 enormous beams of light cut paths into the night sky. An eery memorial to what were once the twin towers.

Ron and I were in town for the release of Greetings from the Shore, a film we both were in. Later that day in driving rain, we struggled out of the city to New Jersey and hopped between movie theatres to do poster signings. In the photo, from left to right is Ron Geren, Lars Arentz-Hansen, me and star Kim Shaw. Only Kim is on the poster and I would occasionally have to admit not being the guy on the left, while Lars had some young kids say that he'd lost a bit of weight since the poster shoot (thinking he was the guy on the right!) Sorry, but Paul Sorvino was not at the table that night.

It was good to see the old crowd again. Indeed, we hadn't all been together since the filming, and it was good to catch up with director Greg Chwerchak and writer/producer Gabrielle Berberich.

"Greetings" is showing in the East coast for the rest of the week. Check it out if you get the chance. It's a great little coming-of-age indie and the lead, Kim Shaw, in her first movie role, is definitely one to look out for.

I Love Winter

2008-09-04T14:21:00.002-07:00

As Paris Hilton might say, "Summer is so hot!"

It's been unbearably, some might say unconstitutionally hot this year. And I'm over it. It was fun for perhaps a week, but that's it. I was bred for colder climes and my DNA simply cannot stand long and steamy days. Don't get me wrong - steamy can be good. Just not the solitary steamy kind of day, which saps one's energy before one's even left the house.

The heat aside, I've had a few interesting auditions. What do you wear as an Angel? You can't very well wear jeans. Nor can you wear a simple white shirt, as what pants do you put on? Black pants will make you look like a waiter and anything else just looks casual. And casual just isn't angelic.

What did I wear? A bathrobe. Yes, folks, a plush white bathrobe and flipflops. Pretty darn sneaky I thought. Until I stepped out of the car and worked up a rich and rewarding sweatiness. Nothing like a rosy cheeked glow for your audition. The casting director even decided to take a photo of "the first time anyone's come to see me in a bathrobe". Wonderful. Scratch that one.

Otherwise, I've read for a bank robber (role), a janitor and a house of horror host. I'm hoping one of these things will pan out. If not, I'll be off to New Jersey next week for Greetings From the Shore, the award-winning coming-of-age indie which opens on the East coast. I play one of a group of foreign busboys who provide the menace and, ultimately, romance for this postcard to summer holidays. Check out more details HERE

Thanks for the Calls!

2008-08-25T18:45:00.002-07:00

Thanks to those of you who called in or just hung out during the interview the other evening. It was great getting to chat to some of you and I ended up laughing a great deal more than I have in a while. So thanks for that! Sorry to those of you who either couldn't or wouldn't get through. Still good to know you were there in spirit.

Not much to report from this end, except the usual bizarre variety of auditions - namely a Russian gangster, an Aussie experiment subject, an Icelandic businessman and an Angel. I'm thinking of playing the Angel in my own accent. (If I can remember what that is)

There have been requests for more photos, so here is a snap of me goofing around on set for upcoming horror movie Train. Yes, even with blood streaming down my face, I'm ready for the another round.

Or at least another take...

It's a Live Interview!

2008-08-20T09:12:00.002-07:00

I know some of you ask me questions, which remain largely rhetorical.

Well that's all about to change.

Today you (both of you) can ask away, as I have a live interview on Moonlight Buzzwire, an internet radio station devoted entirely to the show Moonlight. They asked me to call in and talk about my experiences on the show and, well, whatever else I have to talk about. I did one for their sister station Moonlight Radio and was actually good fun.

The show starts at 8pm Pacific time (EDIT) and runs anywhere from 1-2 hrs. Plenty of time for you to find out that my favorite color is black. Or red. And while I drink a boatload of coffee, I do enjoy the occasional cup of Earl Grey. (Woops) We might even play a Giddy song or too. You never know.

The call-in number is (347) 996-3386.

Please don't leave me alone again...

Back from the Dead on Monday

2008-08-16T17:28:00.002-07:00

Dear old Vlad the Impaler returns from the grave to terrorize small-town USA in this week's episode of The Middleman. Each week, the entrepid team of Wendy Watson and Middleman battle "alien evils for the world's most ludicrously secret organization". As you might have guessed, the Middleman's tongue is firmly in-cheek, which makes for splendidly silly capers and delightfully daft villains.

This week's episode, The Vampiric Puppet Lamentation, has the team after a pair of possessed puppets. If you've always wanted to see me in puppet form (and, to be fair, who hasn't?), be sure to tune in this Monday night at 10pm on the Family channel. Alternatively, you can watch episodes online at ABC FAMILY. Just click SHOWS and go from there.

In other news, I was flattered to discover a fan video online, with clips of numerous projects I've worked on in the States, set to some edgy German industrial music. If you wanna catch Dhampir Vampire's handiwork, check it out HERE.

It's pretty darn cool, even if I say so myself.

2008-08-06T20:58:00.002-07:00

So I was taking a stroll the other day and noticed a new sign near my apartment building. Ah, that's handy. Now I know where to lurk if I'm looking for drugs!

One must assume however, that the sign is intended as a deterrant. But, seeing as the druggie hotspot is a mere 20 yards from a police station, I find it highly unlikely that it's gonna do anything. Except generate new business. If the local cops can't get it together to arrest the criminals outside their front door, I'm sure that a sign will do the trick.

I shouldn't really expect more of my local cops. There's been a severed electric cable dangling over the sidewalk not 50 yards from their office and that took 2 weeks for them to notice. Not to repair, mind you, or tuck out of the way of the general public. Nope, all they managed was to wrap a length of yellow tape around it. Super. That'll stop us from getting fried.

In the meantime, I hear the guys are holding a collection for the druggies' new TV ad. Come on now, pony up...

The Undead are Cool

2008-08-04T17:04:00.002-07:00

Really, they are. Especially when they're possessing hand crafted wooden dolls. Yup, I did my ADR session for ABC's The Middleman this morning and have to say I'm pretty excited to see this show. It may be on the family channel, but we played with some scary voices for my little character, appropriately named "Little Vladdy".

There's nothing like having the freedom to 'go there' with a character. Like Balthier, this guy can be charming and confident. Unlike Balthier, he has a rather strong murderous bent. Too much fun.

The Middleman airs Mondays at 10pm on ABC Family. My episode's in a fortnight, August 18th and titled, rather splendidly, The Vampiric Puppet Lamentation.

I'm not sure if it's we or the vampires who should lament, but I certainly feel a tinge of sadness at my ordinary teeth.

Incisor envy can be ugly...

Monsters and Mondays

2008-08-03T10:42:00.002-07:00

I've always been fascinated by 'other worldly' things. When I was a kid I had a treasured book on the occult that I would leaf through until it was bedtime, at which time I would have to hide the book, as its cover was a bloody-eyed skull. Years ago, I pressed PAUSE on the VCR during the film Witchboard - not for the Tawny Kitaen naked-in-the-shower scene, but for a great shot of the ouija board. So I could draw my own (they didn't sell them in Africa).

I made my own talismans on velum and carried them in a small handmade (by me) leather pouch. And when my mother flushed my dead and dying seamonkeys down the loo, I secretly hoped they would morph into giant, disfigured sewer-dwelling hybrids. (Like the Prius: cheap at the pump, but hideous to look at)

So it was with relish that I learned in a news report of the Montauk Monster. A hideous, hairless dog-like thing with a beak that washed ashore some days ago. They didn't say where Montauk was. Apparently Montauk is as American as Mickey Mouse. Well I've lived here for over 4 years and have never heard of Montauk. It sounds like a TV show; Montauk with Larry King. Sorry. It does. Just a hint to you Fox news writers - if you don't identify the region Montauk is in and your only soundbite is from an Australian surfer, some people (ie: me) might draw the conclusion that Montauk is in AUSTRALIA.

Further investigation proved that Montauk is, in fact, in Long Island, New York. Wonderful. I'll be sure to visit. The annoying thing about this story (apart from Montauk, the mere sound of which is becoming irritating) is twofold - firstly, only one eyewitness could be tracked down. Plenty of "experts" but only one eyewitness. What happened to the other surfers? Were they eaten? And secondly, why is there only one measly shot of the creature? Geez, there are more photos of Big Foot! It's obviously fake. If I saw a strange creature in front of me, I'd keep pressing the button until the camera was full. And that's if the thing was charging after me. This thing was lying very still because IT WAS DEAD!!! And there's only one photo of it?

More realistic by far was when a crazed warthog attacked me and I had to fend it off with a steak knife (not the best tool for the job). I had to stab and slash its stomach and head repeatedly, before I managed to free my left hand. Sure it was a dream, but it was more scary and convincing than (gag) the Montauk Monster. More scary still is the fact the weekend is nearly over and something even more terrifying awaits.

Monday...

Rock n Roll

2008-07-29T23:09:00.002-07:00

"Are you okay?" asked Josh on the telephone. "Uh...yeah..?" I replied, oblivious to the fact I had just lived through my first earthquake. I swiftly turned on the TV to learn that a 5.4 quake had rocked (or more accurately, gently shook) Los Angeles about an hour earlier. I felt disappointed I had missed out. Then I thought back...

At 11H45 I was in my car, driving back home from a meeting and stopped at a traffic light. I had just picked up my car, which hadn't been driven for a couple weeks, so was happy it started after a few attempts. As the car idled, I felt as if I had been rear-ended and quickly looked up in the rear view mirror, but the car behind was a good few feet away. My car felt like it did a roll from left to right, almost as if someone had given it a firm push with their hands. I figured it must have been a strong gust of wind. The light went green and I moved on and forgot about it until Josh's call.

Well, glad it wasn't serious and that, as reports indicate, there were no casualties and little damage. Had I been on my bike, however, I would probably have wobbled, fallen over and embarrassed myself (more than usual). It does bring home the fact that I do live in an earthquake zone and should probably get myself an emergency kit should a real quake hit.

The real upside (for me, at least) is that, minutes later, I got an audition, followed by another 2 castings. Nothing like a quake to shake up an otherwise quiet week!

My Dentist thinks I'm Rugged

2008-07-24T09:57:00.002-07:00

So life can't be all bad.

I managed to chip a front tooth a few days ago. Not in a barroom brawl. Not in a spectacular wipeout on my bike. But biting a nail. (I do not bite my thumb at you, Sir, but I do bite my thumb)

Pathetic.

Anyway, being that my body is my product, I swiftly arranged a session to assess damage and effect repair. The dentist informed me that 'replacing' the chip would require further tooth removal to provide space for the foundation and was thus ill-advised. A simpler procedure is to sand down the jagged edge - with an exceptionally small sandpaper disc attached to a very large sounding motor. Quite a tool. In artistic hands, one could whittle delicate wooden ornaments for friends and family. In my own hands, I could probably remove a cranium.

My own.

Fortunately, the good dentist had good skill and I am left with a smoothed-off tooth that looks little different from how it was before my digit nibbling fiasco. After the 15 second 'operation', I felt compelled to express why I wanted my teeth to look decent, reminding him that I'm an actor. To which my dentist replied: "Ah, but you've got character. You look rugged!"

I allowed myself a little smile. Yes, indeed. I have got character.

And more than that.

I am rugged!

Happy 90th, Madiba!

2008-07-19T10:54:00.002-07:00

One of the most extraordinary figures in living memory, former South African president Nelson Mandela turned 90 today. He was instrumental in ending apartheid and the country's peaceful transition to a democracy and received the Nobel Peace Prize in 1993. Few can fail to be humbled by the legacy of a man who could spend 27 years in prison and emerge without bitterness or anger, but the desire to unite a country and create the so-called "rainbow nation".

Since he left active politics, Mandela's successor Mbeki has failed to instill the same confidence. His silence on the issue of Zimbabwe and notorious failure to acknowledge the link between HIV and Aids, has set the country back a few steps. Potential investors can hardly be encouraged by the possibility of government sanctioned violent land grabs and a health minister advocating a diet of beetroot to cure Aids.

But while things may have slipped a little, there is no doubt that Mandela's wisdom and insight helped move South Africa into a positive new age. A move that had reverberations across the globe. Since leaving the political arena, he has remained active in his Aids charity, work towards ending poverty and his Nelson Mandela Foundation. He has touched the lives of millions through his example and ensuring a better land in which its children may grow up. And, at the ripe old age of 90, the great man's intellect, humour and charm are as keen as ever.

At the 6th Annual Nelson Mandela Address, he joked in his typical deadpan fashion:

"We have, for years, remarked about people coming to such events primarily to see what an old man looks like. To see a 90 year old in real life must surely be an irresistable temptation."

Irresistable indeed. But for a thousand more reasons.

Not the Captain

2008-07-15T15:30:00.002-07:00

So I spent a day shooting my scene for The Middleman. (The rest of the role being the voice-over for my puppet alter ego) I must report that, while everyone was nice, I felt like a shmuck. Why? Well, firstly, because I looked like the guy from the Captain Morgan ad. Like 15th Century explorer Jan van Riebeeck. Like a performer on the Walk of Fame. And secondly, because I think my puppet version was better on the day. It was consistent, took direction well, hit it's mark every time and never got tired.

I, on the other hand, was just wooden.

And I nearly ate my moustache.

Twice.

Oh, wait. I was also creepy.

Wooden and creepy.

Hold on... I think I got it

2008-07-12T20:05:00.002-07:00

I was put on hold again for the 3rd time in 2 months and can report I did in fact book this gig. Hooray. Working on a new show called The Middleman in a largely off-camera role. I am playing, wait for it, a puppet. But not any puppet, mind you. An demonically possessed ventriloquist's dummy.

Thankfully I won't be made up to look like a puppet, nor will I be wearing a puppet suit. I will merely be providing the puppet's creepy voice. That is, until the puppet goes POOF and turns into the very creepy person possessing it - me. So, I can scratch off another creepy role. This time I even have a creepy moustache and creepy hair. (Though, on someone else, I'm sure the moustache would look just fine)

At my warddrobe and make-up test the other day, I discovered that my look had to match the wooden dummy's.

Hopefully my performance won't...

Have you ever been arrested?

2008-07-08T16:29:00.002-07:00

This afternoon, I was driving between auditions and was searching for a parking spot near Beverly Drive. The street itself was packed as usual, with all the meters except the odd "15min only" space available. (Insufficent for a commerical audition, which can take anything up to an hour or more) So I drove on and around the block and decided to cross over Beverly on Pico. I crossed over the lights in the inside lane, then spotted a shopping center. Ah, parking!

I indicated my intention to turn right, but as I slowed near the entrance, saw that it was only for Pavilions and, rather than risk getting towed, drove past the entrance, so as not to block it. I then stopped and indicated left to join the traffic again. (I was now caught behind a parked car) When the lane was free, I pulled out and almost immediately a cop car flashed me and pulled me over. Here follows the exchange:

COP: License and registration please.

GID: (handing them over) What's the problem, officer?

COP: You did a U-turn.

GID: Uh...no I didn't.

COP: You pulled into the parking lot and then performed a U-turn. That's illegal.

GID: But I didn't do a U-turn.

COP: If you travel in an Easterly direction and then turn and travel West, that's a U-turn.

GID: (dumbfounded) But I was never travelling East. I was travelling West the whole time. I crossed over the lights in the inside lane and indicated to turn into the parking. When I saw it was for Pavilions only, I decided not to park there and simply continued past the entrance, so as not to block it. Then I indicated to rejoin the traffic. I waited until it was clear and then pulled out.

COP: (unamused) But you turned into the parking. I saw you had to back up.

GID: (thinking he's in the Twilight zone) I'm sorry but I never turned into the parking. I never engaged the reverse gear. I was in a straight line the whole time.

COP: Maybe I'm seeing things, but I saw you make a U-turn. If you turn into a parking and then turn around and come out again, that's a U-turn.

GID: I understand what you're saying, but I didn't turn into the parking. I was in the same lane the whole time.

COP: Where are you going?

GID: I'm going to a casting on Beverly.

COP: A what?

GID: An audition. At 332 South Beverly.

COP: Where are you coming from?

GID: From another audition in Culver City. Uh.. (checking his diary)..8660 Hayden Place.

COP: Have you ever been arrested?

GID: (blinking in disbelief) No...

COP: (after a beat) Alright... I'm gonna let you go this time. Just back up. Go to your audition.

And the cop walks away. Surreal? Absolutely! This dude was seeing things. Either that, or a similar car actually did pull into the parking shortly before I pulled past and he thought it was the same car. But wow - nothing like a brush with LAPD to make you feel like a smoke. Geez.

I drove to the letter of the law and he makes it sound like he's doing me a favor by not giving me a citation! (Hey- maybe they feel sorry for no-name actors, seeing as the LAPD have their own star on the walk of fame - see pic) Thank heavens he didn't. I know that an illegal U-turn costs you in the region of $500 for the offense, followed by mandatory traffic school (at a fee), plus another $100 to the traffic department for the luxury of attending.

So, a lucky escape, I suppose. But I can't help feeling a little like some creepy guy in a bar touched my privates and then said "I won't press charges...this time."

And, as you all know by now, I'm the one who likes to be creepy.

Don't be a Bozo, Bozo

2008-07-04T14:15:00.002-07:00

That's what my Mum used to say to me, when I said or did something daft. My ex also called Bozo on more than one occasion. Bozo, of course, was a famous clown. Truly world famous, as I had heard of him in South Africa, a long way away from the land of his birth, the USA.

Reading my LA Times, I discovered that Bozo was born in 1946 as a character for Capitol Records, voiced by Vance "Pinto" Colvig, the voice of Goofy. Later the clown appeared in person to promote the records and one Larry Harmon booked the gig. In time, he bought the rights to the character and spent the next 50 years spreading the word of Bozo, up until his death Thursday at the age of 83.

Harmon apparently trained over 200 Bozos for TV, including weatherman Johnny Mountain (who I've always considered a bit of a Bozo). His production company created animated cartoons with Bozo, Popeye, Mr Magoo and Dick Tracy. He also acquired the rights to Laurel and Hardy, but will be remembered most for, well, for being a Bozo. The heart and soul of what was once, according to a Harris poll, the world's most famous clown.

Hats off to you, Larry. Long live the Bozo!

George Lucas Paid My Rent

2008-06-27T14:32:00.002-07:00

It's not every day one gets to say that. I received a check in the mail yesterday for some recent voice work for a Star Wars series and it was almost exactly the amount of my rent. Seeing as I will be using it for the rent, I figured I can say that George Lucas will, in fact, pay my rent for July. Pretty cool.

On a side note, I haven't heard anything from my latest creep casting (with me being the creep - not the casting person). I figure I have creepy down to a fine art now, so I don't think I was lacking in that department. In fact, I fear I may be a little too creepy. This character is supposed to be a normal, regular guy until the reveal later in the show that he's a predator. It's possible I may have been too creepy. The wrong kind of creepy (is there a right kind?). Creepy-from-the-moment-I-walked-in-the-room kind of creepy.

Of course, my creep factor (or CF, as I like to call it) may be off the charts. If Barack Obama has a CF of 1 (very low), Steve Buscemi is probably a 9. I'm an 11. And it's not just in the casting office. On my best days, I don't think I get any lower than a 6 on the CF - and that's still pretty darn creepy for your local Starbucks. I may be stuck playing creeps for life. My CF is too high for most cable shows, and definitely eliminates me from anything on daytime TV. I'm not safe off-camera, either. My last voice booking was playing a creep!

Well, I better run. Thanks, George, for paying the rent. I gotta run out to the hardware store now. I need an extension cord for my voice booth and a couple tools to try fix my faulty CF.

It's stuck in the ON position...

No Sausage for the Creep

2008-06-25T16:03:00.002-07:00

Well I just heard that I didn't get my sausage. I have been released from my hold and am free to roam about the cabin. Bit of a let down, but then again - the role was described as a "spiritual person", not a seedy lowlife. Tomorrow, however, I have a casting for a "wiry creep in his 30s".

I don't wanna upset any fellow actors here, but don't bother showing up guys. This one's mine.

Step aside, Buscemi. Watch your back, Bacon.

There's a new creep in town...

Please Hold

2008-06-24T18:05:00.002-07:00

After doing this acting thing professionally (and exclusively) for nearly 15 years, I have become very good at forgetting about auditions as I leave the room. It is the only way to retain some shred of sanity in a career where one fails to book the job more often than not. Besides, there are so many other factors that determine whether or not one is successful - such as one's height, weight, hair and previous credits and how those might affect the producers, director, casting assistant or other cast. One can't take it personally, because it isn't personal. So there's no point losing sleep over it. I aim to go in, enjoy myself, be friendly, leave and forget.

This is all fine and good, until one gets a callback. Then you start to invest a little. You can't really help yourself. It's validation that you have the goods and gives you greater confidence in the room. Of course, that can mess you up. Maybe the very reason they brought you back was for your carefree delivery. Start caring and you might blow it. Well, I've learned not to care about callbacks, too, because there are still other actors on that list. All I can do is be the best "me" and hope that me is what they're looking for. And then forget about it. (Because you never ever hear that "you were good, but...". You simply either get the call to say you booked the job, or you never hear anything)

So I can forget about auditions and I can forget about callbacks. But I can't forget about "on holds". That's why I'm writing about them right now! I am currently on hold for a TV guest role. What does that mean? Well, I'm in the running. It's somewhere between "callback" and "cast". Probably, there are 1 or 2 others they're considering. Or maybe it's just me. They just haven't decided yet, because they have other priorities. But, in the meantime, we are "on hold" for a period when, strictly speaking, we cannot take any other work.

I don't enjoy being on hold. When I get the call, I do allow myself a little "yeah!", and then feel a little depressed. Because it's not real. It's like being told you might win the lottery next week. It's down to a couple people - you're one of them - and you probably won't know until after the draw date. Now try not to think about the lottery.

Difficult, right?

So, I am on hold from tomorrow until July 7th. I'd like to rejoice in having work, but it doesn't exist yet and I still don't know. I was on hold for a 3 week period last month for a movie. Then, the day before the shoot was due to start, they released me from my hold. Great. I can't even get angry that I cleared my schedule for no reason as, well, it was already clear, okay? Hey, it's been a tough year for the industry.

The real hold, of course, is psychological. It's got a hold of my brain. I want to get excited but I'm not allowed to, yet. I am the poor dog, whose owner is waving a sausage over its nose, juuuust out of reach. I might get the sausage. I might not. It's out of my hands.

All I can do is sit, salivating, hoping that my owner has a heart...

Lip Smacker Loses Mouth in Coffee Shop Brawl

2008-06-23T16:04:00.002-07:00

In an effort to escape the incessant heat in California, I have fled to the air conditioned sanctuary of my local Starbucks. Unfortunately, most of the clientele must be deaf, as the music blasts at such levels, it's hard to think. Even with my own music blaring through headphones, I can still hear it. What's worse, is it drives poeple to talk over the racket, causing an even greater racket. And it's driving me mad. The loudest of all, ironically, are the staff themselves, who spend more time gossipping than making coffee. That's no doubt why my hot Americano arrived iced.

With a little effort (and progressive loss of hearing), I managed to tune out the caucophony and get writing. But not for long. For in a rare moment of quiet a new sound pierced the caffeinated air - a clicking. Well, more of a smacking. The sound one makes after eating a particularly good piece of pie. I thought I had imagined it, until it came again. And again. I turned around, expecting a small child, but was greeted instead by a 20-something guy in track pants, vest and sweat band. He was reading, but not silently. No, clearly the book was a rare San Bushmen publication, for he continued the smacks, now accompanied by clicks.

I turned and gave a stare. You know the one: that "what the heck, dude, you're not Xhosa!" look. There was silence for a short while, then the smacking picked up again, this time peppering conversation. A phone conversation about his credit level. Real English words this time, interspersed with his own phonetic punctuation (apologies to Victor Borge). Soon there were pops, too. Smacks, clicks and pops. It would be charming if it weren't so bloody irritating. Like a dripping tap. After a while, it doesn't matter if there's silence; you're brain is anxiously waiting for the next painful drip.

I ordered another coffee- "hot please!" - and tried to calm down. When I turned around, the guy had gone. Ah, sweet relief. But too soon! There was a pop-pop-pop to signify his return and then a whistling solo that would have made Roger Whittaker proud. Or not. And as the soaring strains of "Halleluja" wailed around my brain with the whistler-popper-smacker providing tone-deaf harmonies, I shed a tear for the whales, a few short miles away, that would soon beach themselves in protest.

I'll be starting a petition to outlaw clicking, smacking and popping in public. If we don't take action now, people, the movement could grow out of control. Before you know it, poppers and smackers will be driving cars, in the White House, or worse - raising kids!

Vote now, before it's too late!

The Boy and the Creep

2008-06-20T20:59:00.002-07:00

I was in a coffee shop yesterday and was privy to the following conversation between a creepy fat guy (Creepy Guy) and a skinny young man (Boy). I felt compelled to type it down as fast as I could. Here's just a taste.

I will preface it by saying 2 things only:

1) every word is true.
2) I am not the creep.

-----
CREEPY GUY: Okay. What do you prefer? Drama or comedy?

BOY: Drama.

CREEPY GUY: Okay, good, good. Now what genres do you like?

BOY: Uh...

CREEPY GUY: You know, like action, adventure. What are your top three genres. Take a moment and think about it.
[The Boy takes a moment]

BOY: I like action...

CREEPY GUY: Okay! And horror? You like horror?

BOY: Yeah...

CREEPY GUY: Because a lot of guys start out in horror movies. If we can get you in one of those, you know?

[Creepy scribbles something on his pad, then looks up again]

CREEPY GUY: Do you see yourself as the leading man or more as the supporting character? The sidekick?

BOY: The leading man. I did this FOX promo, where I was the leading man, so I know I can play it. I mean I was like an extra, but they said I could do something more. I was featured playing guitar.

CREEPY GUY: Good, good. Now are you SAG or not?

BOY: No, I’m not. But with the commercial, maybe...

CREEPY GUY: Well let’s check that out. Cos I repped this girl and she got bumped up to a featured role and she got SAG, so you never know. Line producer, second AD, they’re the ones you wanna know. I’m not saying be an asshole. Just be charming. You know Jason? He’s the one with the short hair?

BOY: Oh yeah...

CREEPY GUY: He played a featured role on Samantha Who. He was, uh, he was the groom’s brother. He had to join Central Casting. Once he did that, they called him to be on this WB show. I’ll tell you, you have that fire...

BOY: Hahaha...

CREEPY GUY: No really. Like Jason? He has this game face. But you got the fire. Are you taking acting lessons? You should buy this book, by Jeremiah Covey. It’s called “The Art of Screen Acting”. And you’ve heard of Stanislavski, obviously. He wrote a book, but it’s not that good. Mark Haber wrote a book. Jason went to an audition and they really responded to him. Just from what he learned in that book. This woman I know, she was working in a diner with pineapple earrings and she woke up one day and said “what the hell am I doing here?” And she went to Groundlings and now she’s one of THE biggest voice artists, period. You know Principle Skinner on the Simpsons?

BOY: Yeah...

CREEPY GUY: Well she was the woman, you know the woman. His Mom? Well the woman who goes “Skinner!” That’s her. Every cartoon you hear? That’s her.

BOY:Wow.
=====

Only in Hollywood...

The Casting Breakdown

2008-06-19T14:11:00.002-07:00

And it really has broken down lately. Nothing like a writers strike followed by an impending SAG strike to kill the year. It's been really quiet so far, though I am grateful to have booked some TV work and a few voices. As you already know, I go in a lot for "creepy", "edgy", "charactery" and most recently "weasely" (I wasn't gutted when I didn't get a call back for that last one - there was some more deserving weasels in the waiting room).

Really, I am happy to have a type if that gets me in the room. Yesterday I went in for an episodic as an equine therapist, with not a "creep" in site! No, the character doesn't psycho-analyze horses, he just uses them to help rehabilitate people. Although that might make for a funny skit - listening intently with pad and pen as a horse lies on a couch sharing it's childhood secrets.

But I digress. Apart from going out for my monthly commercial casting, my agent routinely sends me commercial breakdowns to respond to "only if (I) fit the role". Nowadays, the trend is not to cast actors, but the "real thing". You can no longer play a fireman. You must actually be a real, certified fireman. (Didn't they know I was just an actor when they signed me?)

I thought I would share some of them, as they make me chuckle and might amuse you too. At the very least they'll make you glad you have a real job.

So here they are (no kidding):
1) Email regarding: MERCEDES For the role of: REAL PIT CREW
2) PEOPLE WITH DIABETES. MUST TEST AT LEAST ONCE DAILY.
3) Email regarding: NIKE For the role of: UFC referee
4) Email regarding: CHRYSLER For the role of: REAL WELDERS - must familiar with the machinary mu (I've heard of "welding", but not "mu". Mu? Mu who?)
5) ACTUAL GOSPEL CHOIR SINGERS PLEASE
6) ADVANCED IN SKILL LEVEL in BMXing, ATVing, off-road dirt biking, motorcross

And my personal favorite:
Email regarding: HUGGIES UK For the role of: WOMAN
(Need I say more?)

Well I'm glad my commercial agent's on the ball. If I was any one of these, you could be sure they would know about it - that's what that "SPECIAL SKILLS" bit is for at the bottom of the resume! If I could fashion steel wool into a St Christopher medallion with my tongue, you can be sure that's where I'd list it. And although my chest is coming along thanks to my weight training, I'm pretty sure I don't have breasts. So sorry, Huggies, I won't be playing "New Mom" any time soon.

I know they mean well and hey - it's possible Jared forgot to list the fact he's an award winning swimmer in butterfly and freestyle (I've had that one, too) - but if he can't get his sh*t together, you shouldn't be repping him! Stuff Jared. How about putting me up for "regular guy", "Dad" or "shopkeeper"?

At least send me out for "creepy"...

My Golden Moment

2008-06-14T17:11:00.002-07:00

After 3 years of sporadic blogging, I've finally reached my 100th post. Hip hip. Typically bland post, I'm afraid, but if I wait for something exciting, I could be waiting months. I will spare you the week and will limit my post to one day - today.

At 8am, I set off to the gym on my bike, feeling fresh and fit on a Saturday morning. As I sped along the Walk of Fame, I hit a pothole and my tail light came bouncing off. I heard it clutter on the sidewalk and immediately brought my bike into a neat brake and turn. However, Hollywood's golden stars were particularly gleaming today, as my tires slipped and the bike slid away, leaving me spread-eagled and face down, as a fairly large crowd of tourists looked on. I leapt to my feet and recovered my light, but had clearly lost all cool points for the month of June (if, in fact, I had any to begin with).

2 hours later, I headed off to a small movie theater on Sunset to watch a screening of a movie I acted in nearly 4 years ago in a foreign country. Finally, this little film would see the light of day and I was looking forward to settling down in an air conditioned room with popcorn and an icy Coke.

I'm not allowed to talk about the film, which is fitting, as I haven't anything to say about the screening, either. When I arrived at the theater, I was informed that the film had not been delivered, and so the one-off screening of this never-quite-finished-film-no-one's-heard-of was a total non-event. So I cannot even report whether or not the movie I can't talk about is any good!

At least I can say I had my moment on the Walk of Fame. I crouched over a star while, for a few seconds, a crowd of onlookers paid rapt attention. Some of them may even have taken photos!

What more could a Hollywood actor ask for?

Kitchenboy Moves On

2008-06-07T10:59:00.002-07:00

My friend Braam Kruger has passed on. An extraordinary chef, his food drew people to appreciate another great talent; his art. I was introduced to Braam through Nicole, my girlfriend at the time, who was one of his so-called "friend girls". It was a phrase that denoted just that - not a girlfriend, but a friend who happens to be a girl. In spite of this, it was very clear that Braam relished his 'harem' of friendgirls, who, all gorgeous, would be around him at home or out and about. Men were often annoyed by their female companion's attention towards him - what was the appeal? Such was the man's impact.

The first indication you had that this was no mere mortal, was in his appearance. When I met Braam, he was in his late forties, but with his thick beard and greying hair, appeared older. But it was very clear the man did not feel a day over 20. His fashion I would best describe as "Bohemian sixties beachwear pop", encompassing billowy kaftans, smoking jackets, lycra pants and leather slip-ons that tapered to a curly point. He was always the loudest in the room - both vocally and visually. Always with a too incredible story from his recent past, both arrogant and exceedingly charming. The consummate host, whose dinners would go on to the following morning and from which you'd need days to recover.

Braam left an indelible impression on all he met. Whether they were appalled by his brashness, his avant garde appearance or captivated by his aura and converted to a loyal fan. But through my many many visits with him, I felt I never truly knew the man behind the facade. The real Braam, the struggling artist full of massive talent but somehow not fully recognised by his peers? He admitted to me once, in not so many words, that his Kitchenboy persona (his food label) was just a marketing tool, to draw attention to the product(s) he had to sell - his exceptional sauces, his weekly columns in the paper, his commissioned paintings. But it became his life.

I think towards the end, having survived a stroke, Braam realized that the heavy drinking, smoking, partying persona had taken its toll, not only on his health but on his relationships. We grew out of Braam. He was a magical, magnificent phase that we entered, were blown away by and then left, or we were to be trapped in a world that doesn't offer a promising future. His great loves Fairy and Junglegirl both moved on with their lives and, having found love again in Amalanka, it was too late to put on the brakes. He cut back, but it was too late and not enough.

It was tough to see Braam again over Christmas, during a brief visit back to Joburg. We met at a restaurant but, instead of it being a long overdue catchup, he'd invited us to a meal review. And so we had to sprinkle our conversation between the endless back and forth of waiters with 100 dishes, Braam's incessant photos of each platter and compulsion to regail us with the origin, preparation and critique of each dish. This was the Braam for people he'd just met, not the Braam for friends.

I think his doing a review meant it was on safe ground. He didn't have to talk about life and loss, he didn't have to hold up a mirror to something he wasn't comfortable facing - his steady decline. It was a glimpse of the old Braam, shouting over to waiters to tell the chef this and that and delighting in his judgement that he could do better. And maybe it was his way of saying "remember me? I'm still here!" But as he rose, shakily, to his feet to go to the restroom, I saw just how weak he'd become. Braam and Kitchenboy were too intertwined to separate. Killing off Kitchenboy meant killing off Braam, yet they couldn't survive together for long.

I am blessed for having met Braam. He taught me a lot about myself. He made me the most incredible meals I've yet to taste - and one or two stinkers, too. He gave me a great many laughs and as many hangovers the next day. I will miss his voice, his crazy outfits, his painted nails, the jellybeans in the foyer, New Year's in Chinatown with Happy Man prawns, his fabulous nude paintings, his extraordinary home, the Kitschmobile, his loping gate and his wonderful warmth. No-one could accuse the man of not living life to the full. And that is true inspiration.

Hats off to you, Kitchenboy. Thanks for the memories.

Cars, Cards and Illiterate Heavies

2008-06-06T19:32:00.002-07:00

I really want to move on to a new storyline, but have to share the punchline to my last post. When I collected my car from Fred's cousin, I noticed the check engine light was still on. "Ah yes, we tried to do that," murmured Fred's cousin, shaking his head sadly. I wanted to shake his head for him - violently. My service light needed a service and apparently neither Fred, nor his cousin could reset the damn thing - not for love or 1200 bucks.

Instead of bludgeoning Fred's cousin with a tire iron (for some reason I felt less anger towards Fred), I managed to let the blood drain from my face into my finger tips - that way I could sign the invoice and stagger off to vent in the comfort of my not-quite-fixed yet car.

Cycling would seem a better option and I enjoyed my ride to gym the other day. That is, until I was nearly crushed by a Lincoln town car, with registration 8G59464. The car swerved to the curb without signalling, and without checking its wing mirror. If it had, the driver would have noticed me, on my bike, pedalling away. Thankfully I managed to screech to a halt, nearly falling over in the process. The occupants clearly knew they had hit me, as there was a distinct sound as my handlebars made contact with the side of the car. Also the passenger couldn't fail to miss me, wobbling alongside the rear door, as we both navigated towards the sidewalk.

Evidently, limo drivers are a callous lot - or perhaps this particular chauffeur had been drinking, as he emerged with his passenger, grinning as if he'd won the lottery. The passenger appeared ecstatic! Almost as if "nearly killing a cyclist" ranks somewhere below "spotting Brad and Angelina" and slightly above "that guy from CHiPs".

No rush to help, no apology, not even a cursory wave of the hand to say "hey, I'm sorry, but I was born this way". I don't know who I was more disturbed by - the evil driver or the guy running the tourist stall, who refused to lend me a pen to write down the town car's details, even though he had no customers and a bucket of pens within arm's reach!

When I got to gym, I worked out with a new intensity. Last week, Fred's cousin helped me to 220lb on the bench press, a new personal best. Limo guy got me using the whole stack on the tricep press. Thanks, limo guy. I did notice however, that most free weights, as usual, were in the wrong places. 45lb plates hanging on spots clearly demarcated for the 101b plates. The same with the dumbbells. But only the heavy ones appear out of place. Anything under 30lb is where it should be. It's sad, but clearly the stronger one gets, the weaker one's grammar. Until all one can manage is a grunt. Wait a minute, I've think I've heard one or two of those guys...

Later on and safely back in my car, I shot off to a voice audition and, to be fair, my engine light went off by itself. I felt a wave of calm run over me. I collected some new business cards on the way, which the ever friendly Mario made using my headshot. But rather than crop the image to fit the card's dimensions, he saw fit to stretch the image vertically, thus making me look even more gaunt than I already am. But I resisted the urge to make him swallow them in front of me and drove off again into the future.

All might just be well with my world again. Almost. As I slowed at the traffic lights, I heard a dreadful cry. Others heard it too, as I noticed heads turning. Curiously, they were turning in my direction. Oh dear. Had I run over a cat? Crippled a child?

No.

The sound was coming from my brakes. An excrutiating 15 minutes of squealing later, I was nearly at my audition. I glanced to my right and saw a man gazing out into the traffic from the gas station. He looked peaceful, almost meditative. He also looked like Fred. Which is fitting, seeing as he was, in fact, Fred. I gave him a steely glare and pulled away, but it's doubtful if he caught the look through my tinted windows.

So now I need to do my brakes. And fairly soon. Well not me, of course, but someone. And, as God is my witness, that someone will not be Fred and especially not Fred's cousin. Of that I am certain. Fred's cousin will never again come within fifty feet of my vehicle.

Unless he happens to work his way rapidly from the grille to the under carriage...

Cars, Birds and Fred's Cousin

2008-06-02T16:25:00.002-07:00

The past 10 days have been interesting and, starved for content, I thought I'd share them with you. First I was on hold for a movie for a supporting role. Great! Three weeks of work in June. Then I was called back to read for one of the leads - fabulous. And on Friday I was told via my agent that I "won't be going any further". (The casting director didn't specify if that meant 'in your career' or if her comments were restricted to this particular job.) Hopefully the latter.

Fresh from my let down, I set out on my bicycle, only to have something thrown at me by a woman on a balcony. I specify gender simply because I like to believe that women are beyond such filthy antics. While I don't think it was intentional, it was nevertheless upsetting, especially when I ran my hand through my hair and discovered the "item" had not only clung to my head, but was in liquid form. Some anonymous woman spat on me.

Yesterday I returned to my bicycle to discover that a bird (quite possibly assisted by a number of brethren) had relieved itself on my helmet. Not an unsightly cue ball splotch on the outside that would be visible to passers by. Oh no. This feathered wretch had deposited its business inside my helmet, so only I would know the nastiness cradling my bothered brain.

For the past 4 days, my left eye has been twitching involuntarily. The later in the day, the more it twitches. At first, it was fairly mild and would come and go. However, the past 24hrs have been particularly twitchy. I feel a little (more) conspicuous in public. It's bad enough I look like the creepy guy - the twitchy eye seals the deal! I'd put it down to a couple of late nights and too much TV, but it may have something to do with Fred's cousin.

Today I returned to my friendly auto mechanic Fred to deal with an overheating problem, a mere 2 weeks after a service that set me back $650. The day after that service, the engine light came on (permanently) , the car started overheating and I discovered the door handle they had replaced was missing its rubber seal and subsequently an area of scratched paintwork was exposed. Fred's cousin had done the work, so perhaps I should have anticipated a different level of service.

Fred's cousin happily informed me that he can fix the overheating problem. I just need a new thermostat, new hoses and oh yes - a new radiator. Grand total? $600. Oh- and he threw away the rubber seal, so will try to cover the door handle with touch up paint. (Insert twitch)

I must confess that I was a little abrupt with Fred's cousin, possibly insinuating that he and Fred were trying to fleece me and I couldn't afford it and what the heck, Fred's cousin, I just paid you guys 650 bucks, you're killing me here! But I quickly (and nauseatingly) came to the realization that while I didn't (and for the record, still don't) want to cough up the dough for the repairs, I can't really drive a car that overheats after 5 minutes. It can't possibly get better by itself, no matter how gently I massage it's flagging ego.

Where does all this leave me? Well, $1250 in the hole and 8 hours spent farting around Burbank while Fred's cousin tinkers under my hood and dreams of ways to spend my hard earned cash. (Or more accurately my 'credit' - thank you Visa, you're a true friend)

On the upside, that movie I shot in Prague nearly 4 years ago, which I can't talk about, finally sees the light of day - or more accurately the light of one theater on June 14. For one grand showing. Oh- and I had the delight (no sarcasm here) of working on George Lucas' Clone Wars series, which I also can't talk about. Oh- and Fred's cousin just called to say my car is ready.

Ready for what?

Ready for a sound beating!

Who's been a bad Volvo?

**twitch twitch**

When Breakfasts Go Bad

2008-05-23T17:13:00.002-07:00

Settling down to breakfast at Doughboys on Highland, I was thrown by the wide array of options. Great to have a choice, but it seems harder and harder to find somewhere serving a simple eggs and toast option - without the biscuits, pancetta, latkes, ham and pancakes. When I asked if they had such an option, our friendly waiter asked if I was English. I felt a little offended, as if only a foreigner would dare ask for something so unimaginative. I admitted I was and he suggested ordering a side of eggs and toast.

Genius.

So that's what I did - wheat toast and eggs over easy.

And here's what arrived:

Yummy, right? Not only was the toast burnt, but had been cut on an odd angle, as if by a blind person. Now don't get me wrong, the blind deserve employment as much as the next person. They just shouldn't be cutting toast. The broken piece was also prepared in the kitchen - as if to facilitate my first dry and crusty mouthful.

I should mention the toast was dry. No butter in sight - either on or off the plate. The ooze you see is the yolk, which quickly encircled the charcoal islands.

Could it look less appetizing? Yes. Could I have sent it back? Certainly. But, when it takes 30min for food this crap to arrive, I know that round 2 will take equally long and be almost as bad, by which stage I'm no longer hungry. So I ate it. Well, a little...

I know that if I ran a restaurant, I would ensure (either personally or through trained personnel) that food at least LOOKS well prepared before leaving my kitchen. Perhaps Doughboys was running a Cajun special our waiter didn't know about. My buddy James sent his eggs back because they were raw inside - that delicious translucent congealed goo state before becoming a solid. The waiter's retort: "well that's how we do our eggs". It's a good excuse for what any sane person would call incompetency. I can imagine Bush responding to critics of his policy in Iraq (or anywhere else, really), with a snigger and "well that's how I do the presidency".

The moral of the story (and you know I'll find one), is if you want something simple, (whether it's breakfast or a foreign invasion) prepare it at home. Otherwise, prepare to be disappointed. Or order Doughboys' "famous" SOS (sh*t on a shingle).

At least you'll know what to expect...

Wiggy Gets Some Sun

2008-05-21T12:06:00.002-07:00

I see many things on my strolls around Hollywood. Most are grubby, some charming, others captivatingly odd. A few days ago, I came across this - a small furry creature. It was soaking up the morning sun, quite content to lie in the middle of the street. Not a safe place of rest, but who am I to tell others what to do with their lives? That's for those smiley folks offering free stress tests 2 blocks away.

I gave the creature a wide berth, so as not to scare it off. (I know the rabbits where I live are very shy and can be startled by the slightest noise) But as I circled the animal, I became suspicious. Why was it so still? I didn't notice any movement, not even the rise and fall of breathing. So maybe it wasn't a creature after all. Maybe it was...a wig. Which is not to say it wasn't a creature. For I have observed wigs (on film sets) being carried in little cages designed for small pets. And Lord knows they're treated as fondly. So who's to say they aren't alive?

Perhaps this little one was tossed from a moving vehicle. Or maybe it got tired of repeated abuse and simply left of it's own accord? Either way, by the time I came upon the poor thing, it was quite lifeless. I couldn't help and went on my way.

Returning home an hour or so later however, I noticed the creature was gone. Where? Was it scooped up by cleaners? Eaten by rodents? Or, as I like to think, it found a better, kinder, warmer scalp to nestle on.

Great Isn't What it Used to Be

2008-05-14T16:42:00.002-07:00

It really isn't. Take the Great American Auto Center. It's not their fault they're not THE definitive auto center. However, it is - how shall I put this - uh, reaching, to claim ownership of such a lofty title. And post it outside for all to see the blatant incongruity of sign and service. But maybe it gets people to pause for just long enough to remember their worn out brakes and consider getting them done there.

It got me thinking, though. How many times have you passed a fast food stand claiming to make "the world's best burger" or some or other "world famous" dish? Chances are, you live within a short drive of the place and hadn't even heard of them until that moment. It's a blatant lie to claim that people hundreds of thousands of miles away are settling down at their local restaurant in Johannesburg or Karachi or Maidenhead, lamenting "this hotdog really isn't as good as Pinks!"

To make matters worse, big claims just beg for big retorts. I wrote and performed a show called The Great Glendini. One witty reviewer entitled his crit "The Great Glendini isn't that Great". I guess I was asking for it. To be fair, the character in the play was a failure, who missed out on fame and was now a bitter man. I think the reviewer was alluding to that fact, as his review was rather positive. But the headline certainly wasn't going to lure any theatre patrons looking for a night out.

We're all liers at heart, of course. We may not realise it, but we lie every day. Every time a coworker asks how you're doing and you say "great", you're lying. You are. Be honest now. You're not doing great at all, are you? You're neck deep in a mortgage, car payments and you're putting off major dental work your insurance won't cover. But you say "great" because that's your stock response, it doesn't invite further inquiry and you don't have to offload 35 years of baggage that all started when Samantha stole your matchbox car and you wept quietly in the treehouse while the other toddlers played hide and seek. But I digress...

The point, if indeed there is a point, is that we should come clean. Tell the truth, even the little truths like how we really are feeling. Otherwise what's the point of asking these questions in the first place? Because it's ettiquette? Well stuff ettiquette if no-one wants to hear the answer. Then don't ask the question. I'm telling all, people. Ask me how I am, and I'm gonna call it like I feel it. If I'm feeling like crap, I'll tell you. Because you have a right to know. And I have a write to tell you if you ask.

Also, I'm downgrading my standards of what's great. It used to be that a childhood trip to NASA (which I never experienced) would qualify as great. Nowadays, I'm making ice cream great. Getting in my car and realising I have a full tank of gas is great. Heck, waking up in the morning is great. And in another 2 weeks I'll need to come up with the rent.

Great.

2008-04-30T15:49:00.002-07:00

Just a quick post to say you can catch me on CSI:NY tonight at 10pm on CBS. The episode,"Admissions", has the team investigating the murder of a guidance counsellor during the school prom.

Keen eyed Gary Sinise and Eddie Cahill discover a number of suspects, including a dodgy character you wouldn't want looking after your retirement fund. That fellow could be me. Or not. You'll have to tune in to find out...

It just occurred to me that you need to be quite fit to be a detective. Fitter than most cops I imagine. Why? Well look at how they're crouching - that's a deep squat, people. As an occasional body builder, I can tell you that you're gonna feel that in your quads. I would. Clearly Gary and Melina have been doing this for some time, otherwise they'd be grimacing. As I do. Whether I'm squatting or not.

CSI folks need stamina. We're talking strong thighs, lower back and above average vision to actually spot the tiny clues before you bend and squat. Unless you have an assistant. In which case you can tell your assistant to pick up the miniscule carpet fibers the murderer left behind. Yes, that sounds like a plan.

WANTED: Personal assistant to squat on command. Duties include scraping suspicious residues from unsavory surfaces, following up leads, working closely with cadavers and running DNA tests.

Hmmm. Doesn't sound like much fun at all. I think I'll stick to playing the detective or, in this case, the creep. Hey, if I get tired, I can always play the cadaver...

Coachella 08

2008-04-28T10:54:00.002-07:00

In a rare moment of spontaneity I accepted the invite from Derek and friends Kavan and Tommy, to head through fields of windmills to the desert's musical celebration of excess called Coachella.

In 100 deg dry heat, we saw some incredible bands, including MIA, Prince, The Verve and my personal favourite, Portishead - still captivating more than a decade after their release of Glory Box. As we headed away with Prince's guitar still straining in the background, Kavan commented that people looked like zombies, staggering off in various states of trippy innebriation.

May I wish my fellow zombies a swift and gentle recovery...

Penguins and Sinise

2008-04-13T10:21:00.002-07:00

What can be more satisfying than sharing your chocolate milk with a true friend? Even if that friend is of the stuffed and feathered variety.

I saw this (nameless) gentleman recently, snacking away while his pet penguin (also nameless) looked on. It begged more than a few questions. Was he going to feed the penguin or cruelly scoff everything himself? Does he ever bathe the bird? (It did look decidedly grubby) And, perhaps most importantly, are penguins permitted on table tops?

Whether it was too timid of its owner, in shock at the environment, or (more likely) dead, I will never know, but the penguin remained quite still and silent. More remarkable when one considers the bird had a chick to nourish. I returned to my tap-tapping on my laptop, only to look up later and find both bird(s) and keeper were gone. Perhaps they left in search of more tasty treats, fled security, or were merely a figment of my warped brain. Oh wait - the photo...

On a less intruiging note, I landed a guest starring role on CSI: New York which, coincidentally, films in LA. Less coicidentally, I played a creepy bad guy. The casting breakdown listed my role as "leathery skin and dangerous looking". A few more of these roles and I must surely be up for a Bond villain - or at the very least, "creepy bad guy" on CSI: Miami. Leads Gary Sinise and Eddie Cahill were a pleasure to work with.

Well that's my week. Now all I need is a bottle of Nesquik, a beard and a penguin...

Goodbye, Ashley Callie

2008-02-18T08:50:00.002-08:00

Award winning South African actress and restauranteur Ashley Callie passed away Friday, a week after being in a head-on collision. She was young, talented and beautiful, and had become a household name for her role as Leone Haines in long running soap "Isidingo".

The year above Ashley at drama school, I remember having the most enormous crush but, in typical Emery fashion, failed to do anything about it. We acted together in "Cloud 9". I remember vividly a scene where I was to make her cry, but always came short because I didn't want to upset the person behind the role.

The last time I saw Ashley in person, she was at her restaurant in Melville. It must've been 3 years ago, during a visit home. She popped out of the kitchen and I saw her and gave her a hug, saying we must catch up. But she was off before I could finish, racing back to the kitchen on another full night. Next time I saw her was on TV in Isidingo during our trip back this past Christmas. She looked so perfect in her role. Damn good choice, I thought.

A couple of weeks ago, I dropped off my showreel to a place here in LA and, as I was waiting, glanced at the bookcase to my left. My eyes fell on one book. A play. "Cloud 9" by Carol Churchill. I flipped through to 'that scene', the first time I'd read it since 1991. Over a decade ago, but still just as fresh. I left with a smile.

Thank you for being you, Ashley. I'm sorry I didn't make the time to see you. You will live on in our hearts and our memories.

Click here to visit the Ashley Callie Tribute Site

Strike is Over but No-One's Talking

2008-02-11T16:07:00.002-08:00

I was overjoyed to see that a tentative agreement has been reached in the writers' strike and the machine can start up again within the next day or so. It's somewhat ironic that just as Hollywood can go back to work, they (or a large percentage of the industry) won't be able to talk. No, it's not a dreaded airborne 'lergy that's rendered thousands voiceless. Instead it's their cellphones that are down for the count.

Most of Hollywood has switched on to the Blackberry phenomenon, renowned for being the communication device of choice among producers, directors, writers, agents, actors, assistants and - well, anyone who aspires to be any of the aforementioned. Sadly, BB bit the dust today in the US. Not a few, not just in one area, but every single Blackberry device in North America has been reduced to a $500 phone book. Nice.

According to FOXNEWS:

An outage has disconnected BlackBerry smart phones across North America.
AT&T Inc. says the disruption Monday is affecting all wireless carriers.
AT&T first learned about the problem at about 3:30 p.m. EST.

There's no word on the cause or when the problem might be fixed.

BlackBerry maker Research in Motion did not immediately return a phone call.

First there wasn't anything new to talk about for 3 months and now they have got something to say, nobody's listening 'cos they can't get through! I pity the poor assistants and unpaid interns across this town, who were no doubt dumped on from a dizzy height and will continue being abused until the BB service comes back online. Be brave, my friends, be brave.

Luckily I have a "normal" phone, which means I'm not affected by this problem. It also means I'm not a producer, director, agent or assistant and - unless the writers can call each other on their Crackberries and vote to end the strike, I won't be able to call myself an actor much longer, either. So get to it, Blackberry.

Can you hear me now?

RIP Roy Sheider

2008-02-10T23:13:00.002-08:00

Iconic actor Roy Scheider lost his long battle with cancer and passed away today in Little Rock, Arkansas. He was 75. Roy was nominated for 2 Oscars; for the French Connection in '72 and All That Jazz in '79. But he was best known for his role as the police chief in 1975's Jaws - the first movie to make $100m at the box office. Who doesn't recall seeing that film for the first time and even now, some 33 years on, there must be precious few movie goers who haven't seen it.

I had the fortune of working with Roy, albeit briefly, on a little movie some years ago. I was only in one scene, but that was with him and I was taken by his charm and warmth. In fact, the warddrobe department put me in one of the suits set aside for the man himself. (A useless bit of trivia which may have more to do with the film's budget than the fact we both had a 30" waist - not bad for a guy of 69!)

Roy wasn't your typical leading man. He had a bit of a weathered look about him that, together with his skill and intensity, ensured his characters were never surface studies. Even towards the end of his career, in spite of his frail physicality, he remained as weighty as ever. He could still pierce you with a look.

Thank you, Mr Scheider. You remain an inspiration.

A Big Thank You

2008-01-18T12:29:00.002-08:00

Just a quick one to say thanks to all those who responded to my blog - it wasn't intended to stir anything up. Merely my candid observation of a fan machine at work (nothing I've encountered before). Rest assured, I've been doing this long enough not to take anything personally. I am quite happy being an average looking character actor - as that's afforded me a much wider range of roles than I might otherwise have had.

My blog is merely a mildly lucid ramble about whatever sparks my interest - be it traffic on the 405 or, in this case, the GH forums. It is great to see people feel so strongly about their TV. Whether they love it or hate, they're watching and opinionated. And it's healthy to have an opinion.

Thanks especially to those who rallied to my defense - you didn't need to, but I am touched. And it's good to know you're out there. May you all have a splendid weekend!

Sincerely,
Faux Jax

Temperatures Run High on General Hospital

2008-01-15T11:37:00.002-08:00

It was not without trepidation that I stepped onto a soap set to fill in for an actor on ABC's General Hospital. Very much a baptism by fire as these guys work fast - really fast. Like one take fast. That's fast - in case I'm being vague. Nevertheless I had a blast temping for the role of Jax. I was curious to see what the fans thought (and by fans I mean GH fans, not my own - lol). So after a quick Google, found I had been roasted. It seems the GH viewers are very protective of their Jax - as one might expect, seeing as he's been on the show for years and years.

If any of you GH fans stop by here, be assured I did my best on short notice to fill in for one of your favorites. Yes I'd love to be taller and better looking, but hey - you'd probably like that for yourselves, too. And a special message to Chandler - no, my cheeks are not surgically altered. They are God-given. As is my ugly face (thank you Shanda, I will treasure that comment). If I was to alter anything, it would be my calves. I have small calves and hours in the gym have done little to help. There. That's me.

Oh, and let me say that the whole team at GH was fabulous, warm and inviting. A great bunch and a pleasure to work with. Though, if the forums are anything to go by, it doesn't look like I'll be making a come back anytime soon. Unless of course it's to play AJ, brought back from the dead (good suggestion, Stacy!)

Will Gets His Star

2007-12-17T17:07:00.002-08:00

So the other day I was driving through the grubby wasteland that is Hollywood and came across a crowd of camera waving fans. Fans of what, I wondered. Was it a premiere? No, in fact it was a Star ceremony on the Walk of Fame. The recipient - Will Smith.

Will had yet to arrive, so I pulled into a rare parking spot and stood amongst the excited throng, waiting across the street from Graumann's Chinese Theatre, to catch a glimpse of a true A-list star. After 30 minutes of jostling (and curses thrown at drivers who chose to stop and block our view), Will Smith arrived looking remarkably like Will Smith. He gave a sweet little speech about his meeting with Mandela and how the former President of South Africa shared an experience from his 27 years in captivity.

The prisoners saw one movie a year, and it so happened that they screened "In the Heat of the Night" that particular year. Mandela noticed an edit where something had been cut out by the censors, and asked through his channels what that might be. He discovered it was the scene where Sydney Poitier slapped Rod Steiger. At that moment, he said, he discovered the true power of film for change. If a Black man could be shown to strike a White man in an American film, then film was a powerful force.

Whether or not that made Will feel better about making $20m a picture, I do not know. I do know that Will always delivers. And even Elvis (albeit an Elvis impersonator on Hollywood Blvd), was captivated by the man of the hour. I managed to take this snap of him without him asking me for the customary 5 bucks. So we all went home happy, I guess. Some of us are just on a different list. The "no-one's really heard of me yet but they might one day" list. And that's promising.

"Yet" is a powerful thing, too.

You can throw the word at the end of any task or goal you've yet to complete or accomplish, and turn the whole thing around. Make it a positive.

Eg: I haven't started my diet..yet.

Or: I haven't done the dishes...yet.

You haven't done them yet, but the implication is that you will, sometime in the not-too-distant future. You WILL get to them. You WILL get it done.

So may I bid you a fond and festive farewell and wish that all your "yets" become yesses in the not-too-distant future!

Happy Holidays!

Lights On

2007-11-16T18:02:00.002-08:00

Well we're there finally. My episode of Moonlight airs tonight at 9pm Pacific on CBS. Here's this week's storyline:

When a cult target a young woman based on their belief that she was responsible for their leader's death, Mick offers to help her.

I get to play the cult's leader, Donovan Shepherd, whose death may be a little less final than everyone would like to believe. (And whose most terrifying weapon is his hair) I couldn't resist but give a little snap of just how creepy this guy is. Definitely a departure from my Mr Nice Guy.

I don't think I'll be booking any baby sitter roles after this one...

I Saw the Moonlight

2007-10-12T11:53:00.002-07:00

Great news. I get to play two of my longtime character dreams in one role. Can't go into detail (as usual), except to say I'm a guest star on new TV show Moonlighting, which follows vampire investigator (or investigating vampire) Mick as he solves crimes and battles evil. The show was Number 1 in it's Friday night slot last week, so a good episodic to get on!

I also read for a feature called The Human Contract, written and directed by Jada Pinkett Smith. Got to meet Jada, too, which was a treat. She was really warm and engaging and yes - she is gorgeous.

Moonlight airs Friday nights on CBS. Look out for a very different, follicly enhanced Gideon five weeks from now.

You won't be inviting this character over to babysit the kids...

Greetings from Temecula

2007-09-12T10:29:00.002-07:00

Indie coming-of-age feature Greetings From the Shore opens the Temecula film festival today and I'm off to check it out. It's my first film festival (I know - you'd think I go to these all the time), so I'm keen to see what's what. I played a supporting role of a Russian sailor who's a migrant laborer on the Jersey shore.

Leads Kim Shaw and David Fumero are great as the unlikely couple who hook up one summer. It was a great opportunity working in the picture postcard town of Lavalette and to play with the gang, which included good buds Lars Arentz-Hansen and Ron Geren - and our intrepid leader, Greg Chwerchak.

For more info, you can visit the Temecula Film Fest website.
There's also a great review of the film HERE.

Apparently we get ferried to the red carpet in vintage cars! I can see the puzzled expressions on people's faces now, as I cruise by in my open-top MG: "Who the %&$# is that?!"

Hehehe.

Not a bad way to spend your birthday...

Hair

2007-08-29T21:55:00.002-07:00

Not the musical. Real hair. Folicles. I'm talking about that dead tissue that collects and gathers round the neck. Mine is clearly growing out of control, thanks in part to recent movie role that required me not to touch it. 8 weeks after that request I have a mop that no-one would touch - not even me. The Malawian government even has a phrase for it: "Hair falling in bulk to the collar". It's illegal!

I blame Armenia. Or at least one of it's flock; my hairdresser Marta, who decided to "retire" and not tell me. Quite why a woman in her 30s feels the need to retire from hair dressing is beyond me. Maybe she grew tired of looking at scalps all day. Maybe there's a breaking point at around 10,000 heads. Or maybe it's just me.

In any event (and this really IS an event) I have no stylist. I'm not shy to say it, but I like my stylist. She cuts my hair well. Very well. Better in fact than any of her predecessors. She's also the only person to touch my hair since I moved to the States 4 years ago. And now she's gone. And I do not want to jump on just anyone's stool. I've done that before and it's not a happy place - I am always the guinea pig for some new style that has yet to (and will probably never) catch on. It doesn't matter if I say "Just a little off the front please". I'll get a short back 'n sides. It's inevitable.

So in the meantime, I have a mullet in training. And at the risk of this sounding awfully similar to a, well, similar post I made a couple years ago, I am in sore need of a snip. It's not easy, people. If they get carried away, I need to get new headshots. And headshots in LA don't come cheap. So it's really a critical business decision. (He said hastily, to avoid casting assertions on his own sexuality)

That said, business is good. I've booked a couple of video game voices since being back home. No acting work - only 2 castings. No callbacks. Maybe that's cos the voices are off-camera.

Hmmmm...

I might have a point there...

Back to Work

2007-08-20T09:23:00.002-07:00

..or looking for work. Yes, I'm back in LA at last. Haven't missed not driving for 5 weeks - it's convenient having a driver. Very convenient. Reduced stress. You can drink without the fear of being pulled over. Funnily, most taxi drivers in Bulgaria drive with a little plastic cup - of espresso. Love it. They'll come to a traffic light and have a little sip. I could be a taxi driver too, if the coffee's good. I would need a sound proof partition for my passengers, though - I can't stand back seat drivers. Nor do I enjoy laughter. From anyone. I always think they're laughing at me. Which makes me rather angry. And potentially violent. And if I kill or maim a client, I may lose my taxi license and there goes my dream gig right there.

Also my neck's a little stiff today. Not sure if I could handle all the craning around to look at Jeff and Janet as they dig for their change in oversized leather bags. While they giggle and snort. I hate snorting. I snort too, on occasion. That's not good. I've grown less and less fond of Jeff the more I think about him. Janet's a little better. But not much.

Speaking of soundproofing, here's a snap of my home studio. Because I clearly have nothing of any import to impart. I like my mic. I like it more than Jeff.

He sounds almost life-like!

2007-08-07T08:24:00.002-07:00

So I'm finally on the home stretch of the Train shoot. Only a few days left. Tomorrow I film my death scene. Buckets of blood, I tell you. In the meantime, a telephonic interview I did for South African website TVSA just posted online, to coincide with the SA screening of the 24 episode I'm in. It's a playable or downloadable podcast, which means you can just click on the pic of me and enjoy 10 minutes of my warbling on about life in LA and how I got the gig opposite Jack Bauer. Strictly for the committed fans I imagine, but nevertheless here's the link to the TVSA interview.

I sound more South African in this soundbite than I ever did back home. Strange that, but I think that's what LA-LA land does to a foreigner - makes him/her desperately try to assert some sense of identity. Funny.

That's all from Sofia. More news soon...

Just another bloody day at the office

2007-07-24T13:23:00.002-07:00

Shooting is coming along nicely here in Sofia, despite a heatwave that has seen temperatures soar up to the mid 40sC (>110F). It's made a few members of the crew a little light headed and giggly. Which is probably preferable to violent outbursts with heavy metal piping.

This is me near my trailer. No, not the crate in the background, although it does look somewhat similar. My bloody look is just the start of what happens. There are some truly horrific moments in the film which, being a horror, there should be. Equally scary is some of the food we have encountered. The perennially popular "shopska salad" seems like a safe bet, until it arrives; a mountain of grated white cheese smothering (one hopes) a few tired lettuce leaves.

Doing my best to embrace the culture, I have also partaken of a popular local drink of sour milk/yoghurt with a delicate sprinkling of dill. It's definitely an acquired taste served, as it is, at room temperature (read: warm). The people are great, but one would do well to learn some Bulgarian, as few locals speak English. I've learned enough to order a cheese and tomato sandwich, coffee, ice for my soda (which doesn't come unless requested), and the obligatory bill please, thank you, good day and good night.

And with that I shall bid you leka nosht!

Goodbye to a Legend

2007-07-15T10:56:00.002-07:00

Renowned South African actor, Bill Flynn, passed away suddenly wednesday, after suffering what appears to be a heart attack. He was only 58. Bill was instrumental in my getting started in the business. My first professional production was the annual panto, and Bill was playing the Dame. He was excruciatingly funny and brought the house down every night. I played a few characters and had a little stand-up bit during a set change. Bill was kind enough to introduce me to his agent after a performance and I was on my way.

I had the pleasure of working with him on two more occasions - in Paul Slab's rugby farce "Heel Against the Head" and as Bernard opposite his Willy Loman in "Death of a Salesman". In Heel, Bill could be a terror; whispering something that only I could hear, trying to corpse me. He got me the first time (and a few more) - you were putty in his hands. It took every fiber of my being not to get caught again. I was so furious I was determined to get him back and, for the rest of the run, devised all manner of plans to break him onstage in revenge.

I finally settled on a comment on a business card that my character handed him. I was so excited for my corpse I could barely contain myself. When the moment came to hand him the thing, Bill merely looked at it, dryly (and only audible to me, of course) read my "clever" comment back to me - and I cracked up. He corpsed me with my own damn corpse! Brilliant.

His Willy Loman, on the other hand, showed how he could blow a dramatic role out the park. The production won pretty much every award going. There's a scene where Willy sees how far Bernard has come, in stark contrast to his own son. When Bill turned to go, he looked upstage at me with such sadness and loss I nearly cried every night. I felt so privileged - no-one ever saw that look but me.

Bill was one of the warmest people I've ever met. A comic genius, a dramatic powerhouse, a talented singer (even though he tended always towards the spoof) and an inspiration to other actors, generous on stage and off. I will miss his voice, his ever-expanding monologues, his business, his passion, his love, his Dr Spock death grip (damn he was strong) and his multitude of characters. Nearly 200 plays, dozens of films and TV credits, numerous best actor awards, thousands of voice-overs and millions of memories for all of us.

Thank you, my friend. Thank you for everything. I love you. I am standing with you and Paul at the Baxter now. We've finished the show, taken off our make-up, you've had a drag of my cigarette. We've said good-bye to the last of the people at the bar and climbed the long staircase after the show. We stop at the top, just before the exit and gaze upward at the orange domes. We shift slightly, to position ourselves perfectly in the middle, to maximize the acoustics. Perfect. Then, with as much conviction as possible (ie: milking it), we deliver that movie trailer guy's voice...

"It has been buried for thousands of years. A mystery, a secret, a key to our past, and maybe... our future"

Gonna miss you.

The Train is at the Station

2007-07-06T09:50:00.002-07:00

I find myself in Sofia, Bulgaria, about to shoot a movie called Train. It's a horror set in Bulgaria (funny that), that centers around a college wrestling team who inadvertently board the wrong train. A train to hell. Or something like that. I play the coach's assistant, who knows nothing about wrestling. Quite fitting really, as I know absolutely nothing about wrestling, too.

It's a beautiful country to fly over, and as charming and gritty as Prague or Slovenia. Can't say much more, as I've only been here a couple hours. But will report more when it happens.

Oh yeah - that's the view from my bedroom. Not half bad...

And He made Man (-ish)

2007-05-17T12:51:00.002-07:00

As a part of my ongoing mission to bring you the latest grammar maladies, I present to you the following casting breakdown, posted earlier today:

Mr Earth USA Candidates

Lead / Male / All Ethnicities / 18 - 35 /
Were looking for a male candidate who are intrested in having the title of MR. EARTH USA 2007. He will symbolyses the masculinity of man at any angle of ethnicity, and to show the flexibility of man towards different issues in life.

The Candidates chosen to become the next Mr. Earth - USA Pageant 2007 should have the characteristic of attaining their own individualism, intelligence, talent and leadership. By this, he’ll create a once in a lifetime experience; his life will be forever change and will make a difference in touching the life of others.

I don't know about you, but Mr Earth isn't bad. I'd put it somewhere between Mr America and Mr Universe. Also, I think I've attained my own intelligence and I've been looking for a forever change.

Cool. Interested? Check.

Next step: to symbolyses the masculinity of man...got the equipment...check.

Now the hard part. To do that at any angle of ethnicity!

Hmmm... Tricky one, kids. Tricky.

I guess one could be masculine from most angles but, in all fairness, even the most butch guy can look a little girly when he's sleeping in fetal position, walking a very small fluffy dog, or delicately picking at a Caesar salad. Wait a second - he's gotta be masculine at any angle of ethnicity! Whether black, white, asian or mixed race, sporting dreads, crewcut, afro or bald - he must be masculine from any angle and, presumably, all of the above SIMULTANEOUSLY!

Think of the layering, the make-up, the dizzying choreography...

It's a tall order. No wonder they're offering a first prize of $1000 for the ultimate multi-ethnic macho man. Oh- and the "possibility" of a 6 month modeling contract. I'm in! I'm gonna have a Chinese face, mixed race legs, white arms and a black torso (all the way down). Waaaaait - what's this?

Audition Note
Please bring a beach wear for proper screening of candidates

Oh man, I just KNEW there'd be a catch. I don't have a beach wear. And why do I have to screen candidates? Is this for the position of judge? Why can't I wear an office wear? Maybe this isn't the competition for me. I could do with the $1000, but let's get real here. I'll never win.

I can spell.

The costmer is always right?

2007-05-11T10:09:00.002-07:00

Its sad when you have to say goodye to a loved one. I love my car, but not so much after my local mechanic, Sam, quoted me $890 for repairs. I said I didn't have 890 bucks to spend - what was most urgent? "well, it's all urgent". Wonderful, I said. What's the MOST urgent? I can pay you for the most urgent part of that yummy lumpsum, or go somewhere else. I'm sure you can find one thing to fix. Sam gave it some thought, and managed to russle up $188 for 2 radiator hoses, antifreeze and labor.

Nice.

I just knew he could rise to the challenge.

Best of all, I now have a concise report of what repairs are outstanding:

"ECT sensore is foulty. Engine mount are came af part advise. The costmer."

I kid you not. Now, I don't know what to be more concerned about - Sam's grammar or his scare tactics. The engine mounts "are came af part"? Pretty scary stuff. Also, that's past tense, isn't it? This already happened, so my engine must be lying on a stretch of tarmac on Ventura Blvd somewhere. Meanwhile, my car is still driving. Not bad. No engine = no emissions, right? I may have the first inadvertant hybrid. Shoot, I'm beyond hybrid. I don't need ANY gas to power a car with no engine. Think of the money I'm going to save. Cool! I'm feeling pretty darn peachy now.

On a side note, last week AT&T offered Emery Gidoen the oportunity to switch to their new improved telephone service. Sounds great. If I come across Mr Gidoen, I'll certainly pass the info along...

The Battle Begins

2007-05-09T18:57:00.002-07:00

Well, our little 4min mini-episode of Battlestar Gallactica is up online, as the featured video on scifi.com's
Battlestar Gallactica page.

Or you can access the movie directly here. Please drop in and take a look and if you like it, post a comment. We had a blast shooting it and, with some luck, may get to see it on the TV one day...

I would post an image here, except Blogger seems to be having issues with uploaded photos. I tried repeatedly to upload a jpeg and comes up with an error message saying "only jpeg" format. Huh? I'll upload when I can.

Thanks for reading and thanks for watching!

EDIT: Lindsey - thanks for letting me know about the problem link!

Gid.

Revelation

2007-05-05T10:20:00.002-07:00

Thanks for the comments on my last post! Great to know you're out there!

It's been a little quiet, so I thought I'd be productive. I stumbled across a challenge on scifi.com, to come up with your own mini episode of Battlestar Gallactica. Basically you have a max of 4 min to showcase your creative effort, which can be enhanced with actual sound and video clips from the show. When you're done, upload it and, if approved, they post it online. Best part is, producer David Eick will choose one entry to be aired during an episode of the show!

So I turned off the computer and wrote a piece. Buddy Phil Miller lit and shot it for me, and talented actors James Babson and Ana Alexander jumped on board. We filmed in an oil change bay, essentially, which could have been deep inside Gallactica, for all anyone knows. I think it turned out pretty well. Lemme know what you think. The premise is deliberately absurd, but the goal was to treat it seriously. I can't post the vid here or anywhere else for that matter, as the rules stipulate that all entries exclusively belong to scifi. However, I can give you the link to where it will (hopefully) appear.

This will take you to the sci-fi Battlestar Gallactica page. The videos appear as thumbnails. Look out for our one called REVELATION. If you like it, please post a comment on the site. You could help us get on the air!

Thanks again and have a great weekend! Gid.