Morgan Freeman, Aliens and God

"Through the Wormhole" Wednesday at 9:00PM CST.

I am pumped for this.

I do not have cable.

What could be any better than this show?

http://beat.bodoglife.com/sports/morgan-freeman-to-tackle-space-travel-on-new-show-78831.html

I will find cable.

You wait and see.

Was there a Creator?

Is there time travel?

Is there life on other planets?

Seriously, though, I think this could be really interesting. Everyone loves Morgan Freeman, and I think it's a fairly bold move to go after some tough, complicated questions. Lucky for him, I can't imagine his hardcore religious fans will be tuning in for this, because we all know there's no space above the sky, just heaven.

Carefree

It's very odd to not have a single care in the world. What I mean to say is that as far as the world is concerned, I have nothing to care about. I know, that's really no clearer is it, and actually, I think it sounds like I'm a bitch. I'm not. Well, I am, but I'm not.

Obviously there are things in the world to care about, Bangkok, for instance, the senatorial race, the re-opening of the dog park in Grand Forks, but for all intents and purposes, none of these "speak" to me.

Due to this lack of chatter coming from various topics that normally speak quite loudly or stir a certain measurable amount of chatter within me, I've begun to look to the ridiculous for stimulation.

The deportation woman is a bust. I'm trying to maintain high hopes, but even I have begun to falter in my unwavering hope for a mystery. She needs to pay the damn $50 and buy the birth certificate in Boston with her mother's name and if it's her, case closed, if it's not her, she's SOL. There could maybe be room for discussion if it's not the right one, but unless that discussion involves me going to her mothers house in Michigan, ND for a one on one interview in which I find out just what kind of socialite she and her family were, the case is closed.

I'm reverting back to my more carefree days. My X-Files stuff has it's own bookcase again. I was almost going to add the alien water bottles to it. I watch Brothers and Sisters to give me a sense of drama. Things are grim.

Really I just mean I have no problems to solve. Look at how dramatic things get when left without a solvable problem. I occasionally solve other peoples problems, a professor had a janitor throw away a plant she'd received when her mother died, and I was ready to go out and buy her another one - sounding the alarms and rallying troops to put together some money. Luckily, the President's office will do that, plus she bought herself one, but problem solved none the less. Solving other peoples problems isn't as satisfying as it used to be, mostly because I've realized if I'm solving their problems, I'm usually hurting them in some ridiculous way, too.

So, now what?

How do people live without a single problem? I know I should consider myself luckily, but imagine for a second that you have nothing on your mind. Nothing. You're perfectly comfortable staring at the wall for an undetermined amount of time. You can play Bejeweled Blitz for more than an hour at a time - that's something like 45-50 rounds. Puzzles? We've been doing puzzles. Real puzzles, where hours just disappear. It's actually a little unnerving.

The real issue is that I'm positive drama comes from caring about people, and I'm worried that perhaps I've stopped caring. I get along quite well, for the most part, with everyone I'm around on a regular basis. This would appear to confirm what one person believes, this being that I go around creating problems where there aren't any, with people who have supported me, but he's wrong in the sense he was using it in. I do do that, but not with him. I was telling him he was making an ass of himself. He didn't have to do anything with it, it was just a fact. That's totally different.

I guess I'll continue to enjoy it for now, but if I start blogging about how beautiful the trees are, or how green the grass is, or how long my finger nails are getting (I'm a biter), please alert the authorities.

And, if you hear of any "realistic" (I use that word loosely) mysteries, let me know.

More Anthropology Adventures.

I was wondering how long it would be before a weird job related thing would happen, as all of my jobs like to spite me just a little bit, and the time is here.

I know many of you will say, "Please, Amy. You've received mafia letters, are conducting a genealogy of someone who might get deported, this is not the first weird work related thing to happen."

It's true, I would say in response, but this is the first thing that's been specifically directed at me. The other things I just sort of jumped in front of, if you know what I mean.

It all started a few weeks ago. I received a message in my Facebook inbox from someone I didn't recognize. It said, "You Rock!" I responded with, "Interesting, thank you. Have we met?" He claims he hit the wrong Amy, and that that's what he gets for being on the computer without contacts in. Yeah, right. I ignored the request.

It was not long after this that I realized, thanks to a janitorial plaque with pictures courtesy of UND, that the guy is one of our building's janitors. The next week I come into my office and find the single of Journey "Lights" sitting on my desk. I left it in the exact same spot I found it for more than a week and it never went away, but my garbage was always changed.

Last week I get in and I noticed a bootlegged copy of Stevie Ray Vaughn sitting on the student workers desk right outside my office. Definitely home made, from a concert in 1989 with Santana. I thought, well, at least he's not leaving them for me any more, and added Journey to the pile.

Then I get here today, and the Stevie Raye Vaughn CD has been moved from the student workers desk and is now on MY desk, but Journey remains where I put it.

What the fuck, dude.

Stevie Ray Vaughn is an excellent guitar player, but he's a douche, and I hardly ever listen to him. Journey, I listen to at the bar and make fun of all the really drunk people singing, "Just a small town girl..." by throwing entirely too witty for their sloshed minds to comprehend remarks at them.

I do not want the janitor to leave me anything, let alone really shitty music. Plus, am I supposed to keep these? Does he want them back? I don't even want to find out unless he plans on leaving an autographed Tom Waits record, or tickets to Simon and Garfunkel, or money.

I hope this doesn't become a problem, I would like to feel comfortable in my office and not like there might possibly be a camera taping me. I'm a jammer, and I want to jam out Bohemian Rhapsody in peace.

Not only that, but the only reason I even know it's the janitor leaving them is because I'm a freakin' sleuth. As far as he's concerned I don't know who's leaving them, and that's a billion time creepier.

Dear Janitor - I know your name, I'm just choosing not to use it here,

If you're reading this, please stop leaving me CD's. I'm flattered and appreciative, but more than that I'm creeped out. Even worse than that, the student workers are creeped out. So, please stop.

Thanks,

Amy

Mystery Science Theater 2010

Today I am beginning what will hopefully turn out to be a really awesome experience which will lead to me becoming a part-time private detective/alien hunter/seeker of the unknown.

A woman called me the other day requesting someone in the department to help her do some genealogical work. She's 65 and recently found out her father is not actually her father, which led to her discovery she is not a legal citizen of the US. Her mother brought her to the states when she was 1, so she's been here for 64 years, but she can't track down her mother's birth certificate. She's already uncovered many torrid affairs, business scandals, and her mother (who is 94, hates kids, and hoards animals) will no longer speak to her.

My guess so far? She was abducted by aliens.

Fear not. I am taking this 100% seriously. Do not let my fancy footwork fool you. I am in this for the long haul - whether that be to London, where her grandfather had a consulting firm, Boston, where he possibly founded the Boston U Business School, or the institution, where she or I may belong.

Wish me luck and tell a friend.

The Big 25

Only minor feelings of crisis. I think I've accepted many of the social constructs that come with being...well...no longer 24.

The first being, I am no longer in the "18-24" range, but have moved into the "twenty-something" phase of life.

It was a little difficult to grasp the idea of being two years shy of being my mother's age when she had me, only because as a child, I was always under the impression she was old when she had me, compared to my friends' parents, who were 22 or 23 when they had their first kjavascript:void(0)id.

At first I felt compelled to change things more drastically, but as a 25 year old now, they ain't how I roll, I mean I no longer behave in a drastic manner.

I move into an apartment with some friends on Monday. That will really change everything, more than this particular day ever will. I've gotten so used to just not using anything, it'll be nice to have all my things at my disposal again. Although, I was just about to list all the things I was going to start using, and I can't really think of anything beyond kitchen things. I guess the best thing, next to a full size freezer, will be that I will have somewhere else to sit besides the bed, which coincidentally, I won't actually have for awhile. I am so sick of laying/sitting on the bed all day I could puke. My damn elbow is probably permanently damaged from laying on it to watch TV at the end of the bed.

Anyway, one of the professors brought me in a chocolate brownie style cake - totally unexpected and really freakin' good cake. It was a nice surprise, they even got a card signed by most of the people and another prof gave me bacon flavored toothpicks, which is really weird, but really funny. I have to give them credit because I don't even know how they knew, and it sounds like they didn't until yesterday, haha. It's always a good day when you get cake at 9am. I got cards from my Grandma and Aunt in my work mailbox, Gma's had $20 so I will make it through the weekend without using my CC anymore, I'm going to lunch at Paradiso with a friend because you get a free meal on your birthday, and then when I get done with work I will most likely spend the night watching Brothers and Sisters.

I was about to write it should be a pretty good day all in all and then I got a text from someone I think I wish would just not text me. I don't know if that's what I wish exactly, I just wish we would talk and have the huge explosion fight we're bound to have and then just get over it so we can be move on and be friends again. I know I like to argue, but this is making me crazy. I've never had so much to say in all my life. I've never had so much I wanted someone else to say! I suppose I should get that part out of my head, but I don't care what she says, I just want her to say something. I suppose it won't be terrible if it doesn't happen, but there's nothing a big blowout tell-all can't solve, I'm sure of it.

Ok, so after that, it should be a pretty good day, this, the the twenty fifth occasion of the eleventh day of March.

Happy Birthday to me.

Holy Mary Mother of God

Most of the time I'm pretty content with my rationalizations about God and all that good stuff. I don't believe in hell, most "rules" in the Bible and other religious documents are subject to time and culture and social change and that's why there are many religions rather than just one.

I'm a little shaky on the whole Jesus thing...I kind of like to think God knew what was going on from the beginning. I don't think God steps in, but I really hope that every now and again an exception can be made for any one who asks. Which changes the Jesus thing.

I hope God's a she, or a ball of light, or a black hole with Morgan Freeman's voice because it's as close to a real hug as a voice can come. I don't believe God punishes people...ever, even if they don't believe. I don't believe being gay is wrong or sinful, because if God gave us anything it's the desire to look for love wherever it may reside.

I think God knows how difficult it is to have faith, and on some level has to appreciate those who have a hard time mustering enough faith all the time, and those who throw themselves head long into the religious abyss looking for some kind of reassurance. I think the soul is that little piece that will always wonder, but also instinctively knows right from wrong, even if it's hard to interpret. Truly good people never know they're good, evil people know it right from the beginning.

But every now and again, I feel this little niggling in the back of my mind. Sometimes it tells me it's all meaningless. There's no way to know, and there's no purpose in trying to explain it or accept it. Faith is just a form of escapism, trying to fend off our responsibilities to ourselves, to life and to other people. Even as we raise it up as a blessing.

Then other times, I really want it to be exactly how it says in any of the inspired religious texts. Pick one, it doesn't matter, I just want it to be true, and I just want to believe it. I wish there was one that was more inclusive, but beggars can't be choosers. I would love to have guidelines, no gray area, just black and white, right and wrong, yes and no, none of this maybe, sometimes, what if, garbage.

People like me never know anything. We just think and dream and wonder and hope and not pray, we never pray. We blame ourselves for everything, because who else is there? We run from success and failure because either alternative demands too much of a stance on any particular thing and the possibility of an undesirable outcome is almost too much to take. The thought of making things worse is horrifying, and the thought of making things better is a wonderful fantasy. A fantasy we fully recognize as just that. A thought, a dream, a wish, a hope, but not a prayer, never a prayer.

As Requested

I'm Back. From where? I don't know, but I'm back.

I have a new job. I'm officially moving back to Grand Forks. Technically, I'm already here, it's just my stuff that isn't, and really, who needs stuff. I have enough stuff to live perfectly comfortably in two places with just the transfer of a few outfits and my iPod. Now, of course, I would not be me if my whole car wasn't filled, so I often transport things that just never leave the car. A garbage bag of socks is one of those things. All of the jackets I own, granola bars, a two drawer dresser thing from Target, onion rings, a grocery bag of DVDs. I'm not gonna lie, a lot of the stuff has been in there since Iowa in Sept. I wish I could just shake the car out, like you do a rug.

Since I have a new job I was thinking of buying a car, but who am I kidding? I'm broke. This being said, I may get my parent's van, which would be...awesome. I can't decide if that's sarcastic or not. I wanted a station wagon, like a Subaru or something, but one less payment is fine by me, and in the summer I could technically live in it if need be. Hopefully it will not come to that, but I like the idea of knowing I have somewhere to sleep that does not rely on anyone else, just in case.

This was problem when I first arrived in GF. There were some weekends when the hotel was booked, so I slept in my car in the hotel parking lot when I had to work the overnights. It was usually only from 8-2 or three, then in the afternoon I'd a get a room again, but still. I may act like a gypsy but it ain't in my blood. I like having somewhere to go rather than going somewhere because it's the only place to go. My car and I have been to hell and back a couple of times together, so feel badly abandoning it, but I would feel much worse if all the tires fall off while I'm driving it, or the radiator just exploded. Both are quite likely to occur. Just the last time I went to the cities I had to pull over twice between here and Fargo to fiddle with the plugs and such so the speedometer would stay in place. I'd set the cruise for 75 and all of a sudden the arm thing would jump to 90, then back down to 60, which would then kick of the cruise. Very annoying. So there's me on the side of the Interstate (read freeway), no coat, I don't like to wear them on long drives so it was in the back seat, my Michael Jackson pants, hunched over the engine trying to see if anything's loose by just grabbing and wiggling stuff around.

Anyway, like I said, new job. It's nice actually, a very good job. Full state benefits, 25k a year, pretty laid back since I'm the one in charge, I kind of come and go as I please, without over stepping my bounds. Can't take advantage of the fact that no one knows what you're doing or someone will start noticing what you're doing. That's why the last lady got FIRED. I put that in caps because she claims she resigned, but it's a lie. She sucked. She was dumb. She was dirty. She was old (not in itself a problem, but she made it so). She was let go. I have my own office, I supervise student workers, I have keys to the building and all the doors, I have a voice mail with my name on it, my name is even up on directory that's in a glass case when you walk into the building. I just put AMY, haha. Soon I'll be like Madonna, and Cher, Beck, Beyonce, Bjork, Coolio, Bono and Elvis.

If only it wasn't in North Dakota. Puke. That's a deal breaker, and would have been if I could have found anything in the cities. I guess I did find CC debt collecting, and I almost did it, but I just sort of pretended it wasn't an option and let it pass me by. I did go to the interview and learned some interesting things: If you're ever behind in payments and you've got collectors calling (not the card itself) tell them you've already got a lawyer (give them a random lawyers name from the phone book) and are pursuing bankruptcy. That company will never call again - you might have another company call, but not the same one. Everything they say is a trick to scare you, "Has a law suit every been presented to you in the past?"

Let's see...still mourning Michael Jackson. Just changed my desktop to the lean in Smooth Criminal today. Another awesome thing about having an office...I can decorate it. It still has to be professional obviously, but I could get some nice framed photos of all my favorites. I bought a clock from Office Max that's made out of a recycled Warren Zevon record for $5! Course it doesn't work, which is why it was on clearance, but it looks awesome. Still thinking about what I'm going to substitute for the kids photos everyone always has at their desk. I don't have kids, so who's will I borrow? I thought about MJ's but that's creepy even for me. I think I'll just use the one's that come with the frame and when people ask, are those you're kids? I'll just say no, I don't know who's they are.

I have to go set up a film for one of the professors who isn't here, perhaps I'll think of more to write by the time I'm done.