I woke up in a strange place

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

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March 12, 1998

somewhat major news in the Trial of the Millenium - the arbitration date between me and Maurice Hall (the man who sheds bumpers like dandruff) has been set for April 30th. the case is now well over a year old. that it took five months after the end of the discovery period to get the date for the preliminary session set is a somewhat underwhelming testament to the glory of the American judicial system. still, at least this is progress. if all continues to move at this rate, assuming that nothing is settled during the arbitration (and if they've dragged this insane mess out this long, I doubt that they're ready to give in now), I'd imagine that the trial will be in August. meanwhile, my poor car keeps giving me these hurt puppy looks. it's had enough. blergh. if I see one more article about some dick winning hundreds of thousands of dollars for mental damages from some executive who insulted his tie, and I still can't get the four thousand dollars I want for almost being killed by this idiot's bumper falling off in the middle of the road, there's gonna be trouble. big trouble. (for new readers, the full story of what I'm going on about here is in the daily update archives. click the blue head. whee.)

speaking of things falling from nowhere (smooth, marc! smooth!), it snowed again, in a big way. or, more accurately, it iced. all over the place. traction is a myth and my car's in deep slumber until the world thaws. man. midway through march. that el nino's a bad mother-- shut yo mouth! just talkin' 'bout el nino! we can dig it! it's a complicated weather pattern, see, and no one understands it but a bunch of meteorology freaks. anyway, yeah, so it's bat-shit cold and I'm more or less stranded without provisions - I'm almost out of food and my car's dead and since I keep getting the sneaking suspicion that there's something not quite right about having to pay ten dollars for milk at the convenience store, I'm stuck with some frightening meal choices. the sliced cheese and bread finally disappeared today. there's about a quarter cup of milk, some instant mashed potatoes, water chestnuts (!), cheez-wiz, and what appears to be an unlimited supply of ramen (that, at least, I'm never caught without. although frankly it's not quite the taste sensation that it used to be).

this page would like to now issue a public apology to its readers for the Chuck humor in the last edition. as long-time readers know, Chuck jokes are about as daring as Bob Dole Is Old jokes. we who are lost like this are dedicated to so much more. so we're sorry. if people are getting the wrong impression from such activities, that deep down I'm not a Chuckfan, they are making a mistake. Chuck is a longtime fiend. in fact, there are few greater fiends to me and to this page than Chuck. so I hope that clears up any lingering confusion. but I'm still thinking about getting some cats. and Chuck still better stay out of my damn cookies. if I ever get any more.

I was up all last night aimlessly thinking about writing a social theory paper. didn't get much done (ended up screwing around until it was time to go to my first class, coming home afterwards and kicking the thing out in the hour between classes). I have another midterm right away that I've yet to take. much as I like the people teaching the class, the subject material of this survey course through the first quarter of literature produced in America can bite my butt. how's that for an eloquent rebuttal? no interest. no love. hey, bulldog!

slug's adventures, part one:
for those of you not acquainted with him, slug is my dear next door neighbor. he is quite tall, not thin, wears glasses and has brown hair, thus filling the quota for people fitting that description who live near me. I've never really talked to him aside from the time I couldn't get the smoke alarm to stop ringing and I asked him for help. anyway, the development is: I think slug has a lady friend. I've been seeing more and more candle-lit dinners going on through the shades when I walk by his window, and I even heard a female voice in there once. go, slug! the slugster had a party in there on saturday night and may or may not be responsible for the power going out in the building on sunday morning, thus erasing my phone message opus "Sinners In the Hands of an Angry Answering Machine". consarn it. but yay slug anyway.

and now, the sound of a giraffe asking for a milkshake.

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.


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Written by Marc Heiden, 1997-2011.