I woke up in a strange place

By Marc Heiden, since 1997.
See also: a novel about a monkey.

November 22, 1997 I just read a report on Reuters that Michael Hutchence, lead singer of INXS, was found dead in a hotel room of either a drug overdose or hanging. not a crippling blow to the world of art, but what the hell? sometimes, people make no sense to me. "sometimes", nothing. people pretty much never make sense to me.

the second incarnation of my beard met with its inevitable demise last night. although it looked alright, the entire effect was just too much like Paul McCartney's beard in "Let It Be". there wasn't anything specific wrong with it, but it just wasn't happening. so it goes. my face, which had grown irritated at the beard's presence and demanded salves, does not miss it much. although I cannot help but feel like a pathetic hairless creature every time I look in the mirror. that will pass.

trying to slog through a sociology research project involving doing a bunch of interviews - the interviews are half done, but I hate having to do papers where certain aspects (i.e. people's attendance at the interviews) are beyond my control. I'm hoping to be done in time to leave champaign on tuesday morning directly following the debut of Radioactive Monsters Over London, my radio show on WEFT 90.1 FM. and for all you limeys out there, that's not just a title, it's a threat! no, I love britain. thank you for Blur and all that.

Seamus, kick-ass english 342 teacher at large, is having the class over for dinner at his house this weekend. how cool is that?

in the last bit of big news, I am now launching a surprise offensive in the never-ending legal battle over the Cradle (my car). I have contracted the services of a lawyer and am going to, well, increase the amount of money that I'm looking for. substantially. because I'm tired of this crap and if there's anything that I learned from watching "The Untouchables" a few hundred times as a child, it's that you have to "take the battle to him!" and kick the bad guy's ass. this is because bad guys generally refuse to kick their own asses. how rude.

tape delay, books, swing, veterans of the Hollywood Squares Wars.
that which is frozen in chunks, blisters on your feet (instead of in a scream at the end of "Helter Skelter").

November 17, 1997 this is pre-destined to be a somewhat half-assed update because I am to leave for Chicago in a few minutes - more treatments on my increasingly-problematic back are scheduled bright and early tomorrow morning. there are people who have neat new pages that are worth checking out, but you're just going to have to guess who they are because I don't have time to hack away at the links page. my life has been so darn busy ever since I was exposed to that industrial sewage and became the gigantic green scaled defender of the environment.

my final show as a substitute DJ on WEFT happened last night/this morning. "final show?", you ask? "what group of people did you insult this time what wound up getting you thrown off the air?" well, in a three-hour span Henry and I managed to offend middle-aged people, grieving pet owners, men, homeless people, women, and other DJs across the country, but rather than remove us from the air they granted us OUR OWN SHOW! monday nights/tuesday mornings from 2-6am, the FM frequency band is mine. I call it. 90.1 is the number you need to know. everything else...is all fodder for the MINDFUCK!

(there was this one point during the show last night where I wanted to say "mindfuck" and started to but managed to slur it at the last moment. hampering my expression. fascists!)

melting snow

November 13, 1997 what goes on: I disappeared for awhile earlier this week. it was getting hot in here, the fire was coming down from all sides, so I had to drive up to chicago for back treatment (my back does not possess the enduring strength of, say, Smoove B's). it was discovered that, amongst other things, my left shoulder is (for whatever reason) naturally lower than my right. finally, the answer to a question that I've had for my entire life: why do priests go into spastic fits when they see me and scream something about asymmetrical forms of demons?

for the record, I was told my authorities that I am most like Scary Spice. just so you know.

Potted Meat's first show for this semester kicked all ass that was available for kicking. we sold out the Channing-Murray foundation and (shh!) violated fire codes by fitting dozens more people in there anyways. we've begun rehearsing for our next show, december 13th, to be performed with the improv group Spicy Clamato. I have several parts in this show, including a lead bit as a quad preacher who goes hollywood, and I may even have a couple skits of my own in the show. if it sounds like too much fun to be imagined, it is. it is only a matter of time before some big green monster steps on us.

what else? I am utterly and completely uninspired tonight. my fingers are clumsy. they can barely get an entire word out without egregious typos. the indirect cause for this (beyond my sheer incompetence), however, is a very good thing - it snows gently and uninterrupted outside. the more snow there is to fill the gaps in champagn's crumbling facade, the better.

god loves all of god's children, but god loves god's children who have web pages and update them regularly the most.

the sleep button, snow with the lights off, 36 miles to go, remote access answering machines.
having nothing to say but lots of unstructured time in which to reflect upon it.

November 6, 1997 the wonderful promise of snow on monday morning has turned into the bland actuality of drizzling rain for the last few days. as it turns out, el nino is a predictable and crappy creative force in the weather world. the temperature leveled off, though, which means that the big bastard (the gigantic heater in my apartment) has been relaxing lately. it operates strangely - it will be silent for a long period of time until the temperature dips to a certain point, at which a sound like something falling outside kicks in and then after a couple seconds a low rumble (and, if the lights are off, a blue glow around the floor) starts and heat seeps in. it's actually quite nice when sleeping in on long cold mornings.

who says I never talk about anything but myself? I talk about inanimate objects and meteorological events too.

I register for my spring semester classes tomorrow. how depressing. the bright side is that I get to take a couple fun classes in my desperate attempt to avoid early graduation. speaking of registering, check out this website to find out (from official sources) Which Spice Girl You Are Most Like, courtesy of the divine Svetlana. my results to be revealed at a later date...

first Potted Meat show this saturday at 8 pm at the channing-murray foundation. to get ready for the show, I gave blood today. nice not to be hampered by those annoying vital fluids. finally, I will realize my dream of performing on the same stage as no empathy, rottweiler, loud lucy, tracy bonham, the clowns, and other people who now that I think about it have had little impact upon my life. oh, wait, dave johnson's band (back when they were the one up downstairs, well before acquiring extreme secretarial qualities, but also preceding said one's assault by the malevolent force known only as the crooner). so this is a cool thing once again. even though I'm still on neophyte status for this show and don't have any writing or major characters, I do have featured dance spot at the beginning. $3! portion of the proceeds go to charity! humor! whimsy! come see.

everything else you can find in your local grocer's freezer aisle.

A&E, big ass frosted brown donut-like things that don't have holes, unitarian churches, posting flyers for controversial events on campus.
closing the refreshment stand, small town car dealerships, kiosk politics, senile ramblings that one is to be tested on.

November 3, 1997 the script called for me to play the fool on the 30th and so it was played - I updated the page that day but completely forgot to upload it. hey, it was real to me. so it goes.

Halloween was alright. this campus isn't much for creativity - the main difference between it and any other day was that maybe a quarter of the bar hoppers were drinking in half-assed vampire outfits and angel dresses instead of khakis and skirts. having failed to find an Oscar the Grouch costume, I gave in to my art-twit side and constructed The Negation of the Self, a conceptual piece that had me dressed in a faceless mask, skintight black outfit and carrying a jar of eyeballs. as you can probably imagine, I left a swathe of enlightened drunks in my path.

what else? I'm doing the late night shift on WEFT again tonight on short notice, subbing for the soul show but with permission to "play whatever you want". requests? email me before 1 am or call at (217) 359-9338. first Potted Meat show of the year on this saturday (the 8th), featuring me in a limited capacity but a good time nonetheless. football game protest also this saturday, into the mouth of sloth itself at memorial stadium on the UIUC campus.

they repainted my kitchen cabinets today. whitewashed everything. will white supremacy ever leave me alone?!? although they did change the kitchen lightbulb, and I really appreciated that. but still! down with white!

"Beetlebum" (Blur), Just Right cereal, grocery shopping late at night, MP3s, the first snow of the year.
mistakenly writing a paper when I didn't have to (even if it wasn't overly difficult), puny humans who think they have any sway over Hulk's emotional state.

I woke up in a strange place is the work of Marc Heiden, born in 1978, author of two books (Chicago, Hiroshima) and some plays, and an occasional photographer.

Often discussed:

Antarctica, Beelzetron, Books, Chicago, College, Communism, Food, Internet, Japan, Manute Bol, Monkeys and Apes, North Korea, Oregon Trail, Outer Space, Panda Porn, Politics, RabbiTech, Shakespeare, Sports, Texas.


January 2012, December 2011, January 2011, September 2010, August 2010, June 2010, March 2010, October 2009, February 2009, January 2009, September 2008, August 2008, March 2008, February 2008, October 2007, July 2007, June 2007, January 2007, September 2006, July 2006, June 2006, January 2006, December 2005, September 2005, August 2005, July 2005, June 2005, May 2005, March 2005, February 2005, January 2005, December 2004, October 2004, July 2004, June 2004, May 2004, April 2004, February 2004, January 2004, December 2003, November 2003, October 2003, September 2003, August 2003, July 2003, June 2003, May 2003, April 2003, March 2003, February 2003, January 2003, December 2002, November 2002, October 2002, September 2002, August 2002, July 2002, June 2002, May 2002, April 2002, March 2002, February 2002, January 2002, December 2001, November 2001, October 2001, September 2001, August 2001, July 2001, December 1999, November 1999, October 1999, May 1999, February 1999, January 1999, December 1998, November 1998, October 1998, June 1998, May 1998, April 1998, March 1998, February 1998, December 1997, November 1997, October 1997, September 1997, and the uncategorised wilderness of the Beelzetron era: 010622 - 010619, 010615 - 010611, 010608 - 010604, 010601 - 010529, 010525 - 010521, 010518 - 010514, 010511 - 010507, 010504 - 010430, 010427 - 010423, 010420 - 010416, 010413 - 010409, 010406 - 010402, 010330 - 010326, 010323 - 010319, 010316 - 010312, 010309 - 010307, 019223 - 010219, 010216 - 010212, 010209 - 010205, 010202 - 010109, 010126 - 010122, 010119 - 010115, 010112 - 010108, 010105 - 010102, 001229 - 001224, 001222 - 001218, 001215 - 001211, 001208 - 001204, 001201 - 001124, 001124 - 001120, 001117 - 001113, 001110 - 001106, 001103 - 001030, 001027 - 001023, 001020 - 001016, 001013 - 001010, 001006 - 000927.

Written by Marc Heiden, 1997-2011.