Oh, Augusta...

In front of the TV watching the American version of The Office, drinking a bottle of white wine alone, as all of my friends are in America, or Spain, or Scotland, or Cyprus. I am trying to distract myself from my woes by working (hard now, considering I have about 4oz. left of the Chardonnay I cracked open earlier), reading articles on phenomenology (we're talking Merleau-Ponty, baby), and eating a lot of choccy biccies. I'm also trying to focus on what I've got going on this month:

• Spending a week in Edinburgh with my friends Amy and Max, catching shows at the International and Fringe Festivals, and visiting my friend Mauro who is handling press for the International Fest.
• Heading to Brighton for a weekend, to assist in a fellow MA's research, concerning the ujiah breath, and its possible application in acting work--a topic that really excites me.
• Shooting a short film in and around the Royal Opera House as part of dreamthinkspeak's site specific theatre piece for the Ignite Festival. The film will play during the piece, and is set in the late 1950s, early 1960s. I am overwhelming excited about my fitting. There are no words. If I come out looking like Joan from Mad Men, I will be beyond happy. (The resemblance is really uncanny.)
  

So things are good. Sure. Of course.

(In other news: I love this picture of Stephen Merchant that was posted on the Rick Gervais website. That is all.)

NY Event Number Two: Riding between cars on the 1 train to see the abandoned 93rd St. station.

So this was awesome, and if I could (given that it suddenly became legal and less dangerous {though that'd probably ruin the fun of it}) I would ride between cars all the time. No pictures I'm afraid.

Heidi and I finally went out for a celebratory dinner in honor of our grad school acceptance at French Roast, about a month-to-the-day after our auditions/interviews. On the way home, drunk enough on Argentinian wine to have the courage and care to bother, we did as KCruger recommended and rode between cars on the 1 train between the 86th St. and 96th St. stations to see the abandoned 93rd St. one. It should also be noted that after we saw it, we got seats in the car we moved into, which is some kind of triumph.

It's such an ominous word: abandoned. <--and didn't that font choice make it more so? Makes one think of ghost towns, and what's left behind that no one talks about but silently acknowledges. The station was closed because it was too close to the 96th St. station, and I guess the city couldn't justify the cost of having two stations in such proximity to one another. The walls are covered with graffiti to the point it almost camouflages it--there's a LOT of graffiti along that train line, more than most I venture to say. Having ridden the 1 train constantly over the past two years, I never noticed the station before. It was nice to discover something brand new about my commute, and to be reminded that there are still things you might miss even if you know something really well. I look forward to more discoveries about the city like this, though I don't know if I have the balls to follow Emma's advice to dash across the tracks somewhere in Brooklyn. We'll see. It might take something harder than Argentina has to offer.