restless souls unite!

watched werner herzog’s documentary about antarctica,encounters at the end of the world with ryan today. ryan didn’t care much for it (“god. i didn’t realize it would be about people. i just wanted to see a movie about penguins, goddamnit.”).

a secret: he likes to play the misanthrope when deep down inside he really isn’t.

like herzog, who delights in the restlessness (coughcoughcrazinesscough) of the human spirit (um. grizzly man, anyone?), i found the people fascinating. there’s a banker who quit his lucrative job to drive in the south pole, a linguist who abandoned a life in the academe to spends his days tending plants in a greenhouse, a 50something cellular biologist/ rabid science fiction fan who dives in icy waters and is simultaneously fascinated and repelled by that which he studies: the “horrible, violent world” below the ice. and the list goes on.

(“these psychos creep me out, maggie”, my dearest ryan opined more than once.)

you get the point. there are all these dreamy, philosophical nerds who are completely at peace in this vast & glacial & to me, at least–lonely– continent.

Q: what is it about these individuals that made them want to shed their former selves and live on this block of ice and subsist on canned meat and dried fruit? (seriously. one of the scientists was being interviewed in front of his cabinet & christ, the food selection depressed me. kinda reminded me of the astronauts & their freeze dried ice cream.)

i don’t know, man. there’s something fundamentally awesome and heroic about someone who can say aw fawk it. why not live in this strange,uncharted land that is plunged in darkness for 6 months in a year? why the hell not. and the even stranger thing is that they are geniunely HAPPY here. i admit it: i guess what i loved about encounters at the end of the world is that everyone here is a little bit off kilter. even the penguins.

i dare you to tell me that you don’t see a certain sad & bizarre poetry to this suicide mission. or that you didn’t see a part of yourself in this penguin. hay, mga dili maka himutang sa kalibutan! tara, let’s head for the mountains.

(be sure to bring more than dried fruit, though. i’m not the biggest fan of raisins.)

travel lightly, margaret. (a.k.a. the case of the mistaken email identity)

Checked my inbox today and found this:

Dear Margaret,

Thank you for booking with Iarnród Éireann.

YOUR RESERVATION NUMBER (PRN) IS 2781088

You have chosen to collect your tickets at Limerick station. Please ensure that you have your reservation number (PRN) with you. This email is not a ticket. Please ensure that you have enough time to collect your ticket. For booking office opening hours please click here.

Please do not respond to this email. For any reservations queries please contact reservations@irishrail.ie

For any other queries please email info@irishrail.ie or call 1850 366 222 between the hours of 08.30 – 18.00 (Monday – Friday) and 09.30 – 18.00 (Saturday and Sunday).

The details of your booking are;
Outward Journey: 22 Dec 2008
Departing: Limerick 12:35
Arriving: Dublin Heuston 15:00

Total Price: €15.00

PASSENGER(S) TRAVELLING:

Passenger Name: costello margaret
Limerick to Dublin Heuston B50 Standard

***Please take your seat 20 minutes in advance of departure.***

First thought: OH, NO! Poor Margaret!

Second thought: Iarnród Éireann! Where the fawk is that? Lothlorien?

Hmm, destination says Dublin Hueston. Ireland, I guess.

Wikipedia sez:

It’s the Dublin train station. Nice.

Poor Margaret indeed. Just who is she and where is she from and why is she going to Dublin? Ay, so many questions. Does she want to get away from it all and rent a little cottage where she can just watch the snow fall down from her window (a la Cameron Diaz in The Holiday)? Is she coming home to a dashing Irish gent (I’m thinking Colin Farrell circa his Phone Booth era) who is waiting for her? Or is she a stressed out, freckle-faced college kid who can’t wait to sleep in her own bed for the first time in months?

I told Jeline –who happened to be online–( “We’re reading magazines in bed while its raining outside” Oh Jeline. Precious as always.)

me: i wonder who she is

5:44 PM :-/ poor margaret

off to see the folks at xmas i guess

i can just imagine her saying, “off to see me mam and da”

5:45 PM Anjeline: and wondring where her reservation number’s gone off to! wwa

*wawa

me:

how will i give this to her!

I closed my eyes and said silently:

Google image search

(and the powers that be),

help me solve this mystery.

So, clickiticlack went my keyboard, and tadah!, there they were, the possible Margarets.

And they were totally unlike my own unimaginative conjectures:

Candidate # 1

“An experienced trial lawyer and licensed psychologist”, the page says.

“Margaret Costello’s itinerary has taken her to the Hague and Paris, and has delivered immigrants seeking legal counsel to her practice in Detroit.”, another article says.

Wow. Ang bongga naman ni Margaret the Litigator. Idol. I wonder what you would be doing in Dublin, though. Apparently she also has “Extensive experience in ski area defense on behalf of owners and operators of ski areas.”

Perhaps there’s a ski lodge that needs defending in Dublin?

Candidate # 2

“Margaret is our visiting RCVS and European specialist in ultrasound. She is one of the very top ultrasound veterinary surgeons in the country”. (Hmmmm. She’s from Europe. This might be her, kids.)

Uy. The link said Mags. They call you Mags, too? Wuzzup sister, apir! And you’re a vet, so you clearly have a soft spot for animals. And your scrubs are so crazy looking. They remind me of my childhood masterpieces in MAPE class (I used to get all the pastel colors in the box, melt them down and make my own Jackson Pollock inspired pieces out of crayon drippings.

Ha! Jackson Pollock my foot. Teacher Laura probably wanted to throttle me for melting all of her crayons.

{Waitaminute…They allowed first graders to melt crayons, so that means it was okay for us to play with fire? Hmmm, I don’t know. Seems kind of irresponsible, Teacher Laura. Tsk, tsk.})

I digress. Aww EuroMags with the crazy scrubs. We would hit it off, I’m sure.

Candidate # 3

(She’s the one in black, second from the left.)

If you are the traveling Margaret, then good for you. You look like you need a vacation, Lola Margie. And travel with your friend with the bright blue suit, okay? You know, that saucy dame wearing the white hat with the red flower. She seems fun. You should get drunk together. (and I ain’t talking about no cooking sherry–fill your flasks with the good stuff. )

Candidate # 4

Tipperary athletes: Cross Country 1966 L-R Margaret Costello Moycarkey 3rd, Ann Ryan Moycarkey 1st & Kathleen Bowe Coolcroo 2nd

Tipperary! That’s in Ireland for sure. (Whoa, hello sudden random memory: Dad singing “It’s a long way to Tipperary” while shaving.) Oh, and you’re a cross country runner, 1966 Amazona Margaret. How hardcore is that. You’re like, the daughter Margaret that Michael Costello never had (Yo dad, I wasn’t much of a runner, but i tried, i swear to god i did. Even during the bleakest midwest winter, when you hauled all of us for a “nice jog in the brisk weather” I trailed behind you, okay? For 15 minutes. Then I walked back home and proceeded to sleep for 5 more hours).

Candidate # 5

“Margaret Costello-Manchester. This is the public search listing for Margaret Costello”

Wow. I don’t know anything about you but I know I want to look like you when I’m old, Manchester Margaret! At may fezbook page ka. And hmmm, all your friends are in their late teens or early twenties so I’m guessing you’re a college professor.

But yeah, you’re radiant & sexay in a Helen Mirren kind of way-you look serene and happy and you’re undaunted by that tank top. And what’s that? Oh yeah, wow, I do believe that’s a leopard print tank top. Reowrrr.

Candidate #6

Kathy Leone and Margaret Costello

From NY social diary: Hermes in Palm Beach marked its 30-year anniversary on that little diamond of an island in the sun with a reception for 350 at its Worth Avenue store.The party was hosted by Robert Chavez, president and CEO of Hermes USA, and Sharlene Nichols, managing director of the Palm Beach branch. Also present was Xavier Guerrand-Hermes.

Palm Beach! Hermes! Talk about different worlds. Socialite Margaret, you’re pretty. Granted, I don’t think we would have much in common, but I gotta say you look good in a tube dress. And somehow I don’t think you want to spend your holiday in dreary Dublin. You look like a Saint-Tropez kind of girl.

Who knows, though.

Candidate #7

Margaret the Sleeping Beauty Fairy. Hmmm. You look like you were maybe 6 or 7  here, in 1984?

Oh and you were a smurf in 1985.

(2nd Row): Eleanor Duggan, Rosanna Clabby, Anna Fergus, Margaret Costello, Clare Barrett, Sandra Booth, Rhoda Myles, Grace O’Malley, Karen O’Malley, Sinéad Carr, Michelle Power.

Hmmm. Names sound suspiciously Irish.

Oh and there you are again, in Cinderella this time:

Galway. Shit, that’s also in Ireland. It’s you, isn’t it! What if you’re, like, this famous prima ballerina by now and you’re coming home to give a benefit performance for your town? I just know it, you’re going to be The Sugar Plum Fairy in The Nutcracker or something. Oh no. They’re probably all anxiously waiting for your glorious homecoming.

Sugarplum fairy prima ballerina Margaret! If this is you, I’m sending you my superpsychic vibes to google the words “ MARGARET COSTELLO LOST RESERVATION NUMBER WTF Iarnród Éireann! ” coz when you do that you’ll miraculously be guided to this site and then you’ll read this and you’ll be like, “Oh, bollocks! That’s my reservation number” and then you can log into your account and get your ticket and then you’ll be on your way home and you’ll dance beautifully at the concert and they’ll all be laughing and applauding and asking for an encore.

Although. Google maps does say that the distance from Dublin to Galway is 213 km – about 2 hours 46 mins. So why would you take a train from Limerick to Dublin when you could take the train from Limerick to Galway (which will, incidentally, take only 1 hour, 30 mins)?

Doesn’t make sense. Too bad, though. I liked that story.

The last Margaret google showed me:

Hmmm.

I wonder what kind of mother she was.

(ang bigaaaaaat.)

I suppose I’m no Nancy Drew. The fact of the matter is that my mystery remains unresolved. There’s nothing left to do other than to write Iarnród Éireann. Defeated somewhat, I slowly typed this note, clickkkk. itttt. teeee. claccck.:

Hello—I believe you meant to give this to another Margaret Costello. I am currently in the United Statesand although I would love to travel Dublin, I’m afraid I never purchased a ticket from your company. Please check your information and send this to the correct email address. It would be a pity if she (the other Margaret who’s out there somewhere, sans her reservation number) missed her train because of this.

Happy holidays.

That’s it for now, I guess. Let’s hope for the best for our Margaret and her upcoming journey to Dublin.

P.S. Um. I don’t want to get too excited but I may have solved the mystery. Hello, why didn’t I think of googling the words Margaret + Costello + Limerick earlier?  Cross your fingers for me, people. I’m writing her a message right now.

–

Update: 23 December 2008.

From: IE Info IrishRail
To: Maggie Costello [mailto:margaret.costello@gmail.com]
Sent: Tue, Dec 23, 2008 at 4:05 AM
Subject: RE: Irish Rail Seat Reservation Booking Information

Hi

If you want to book you can ring our reservation line on 01 7034070

Regards
–

Ha? Did you even read my letter? Regards ka diyan. As Sugarplumfairyprimaballerina Margaret would say, “Oh, bollocks.”

Different planets, one roof

(i.e. The Intersections of the Unlikely Trio on Massachusetts Avenue.)

A reminder of how I used to space out in Math class: I’m green–to match my P. Pan complex, of course– R. is Purple, and A. is Blue.

As illustrated by my lovely Venn Diagram above (click it, go), we have somehow managed to find a common ground despite our stark differences in character. More often than not, though, we find this intersection in our cinematic and culinary tastes. Just look at how our weekend was spent:

Last night: watching American Gangster and swilling Pale Ale. (A–Mr. Red-blooded American male–’s influence)

This morning: watching Finding Nemo and eating sugary cereal. (M–Ms. I dress like a 13-year-old, act like I’m 8–’s influence)

Right now: watching Dreamgirls and sipping mimosas.(R–Mr. tragedy is synonymous with fabulosity–’s influence)

…

So much for unity in diversity: A. just walked out. How can anyone walk out on Deena Jones and the Dreams? How can anyone not want to lipsync to the frenzied Effie as she tells you that she’s NOT GOING?

Whatever. At least there’s more dance space. And mimosas.

the blight man was born for

Enough has been said about the vivid ochres and magentas, or the crisp air or how it feels to be a child again, jumping on pile after pile of brittle leaves or muthafawkin pumpkin spice lattes. People seem to forget that fall is a season of dying.