This is the home of serious fucking journalism.
Herein, you can read plays, witness old photos, and browse several years' worth of archives. Readers may employ the slow-moving email contact to speak with the author, about whom more can be learned by clicking here.
The short version is this: I am 25 years old and I live very far away from you, where I teach English. I like girls, monkeys and Shakespeare. My hobby is talking shit. Finish.
These are my peeps who maintain web operations:
American Demigods,
Fancy That,
Man Cutting Globe,
Notext.org,
oswald.nu,
Pussy Ranch,
Same Day Different Rat,
Sen. Barack Obama,
Spaceinvader Orchestra,
WMUR.
These are web sources run by people I do not know well but to whom I feel I can safely recommend your gentle senses:
Boneyboy,
Cordelia's Kitchen,
Daily Kos,
Fametracker,
Funny Paper,
Neil Gaiman,
MarkCity,
MoveOn.org,
The Morning News,
Penn Avenue,
Paint a Vulgar Picture,
somedisco,
Spacekadet,
This American Life,
This Modern World,
WEFT 90.1 FM.
Finally, you may descend upon my Amazon wish list like the howling Bacchae.
Older entries of I woke up in a strange place are listed below. They discuss matters including Manute Bol, the Chinese space program, monkeys and very little else. You may read them at your leisure, in the order that follows or in that crazy freestyle of yours.
The present series, in which our protagonist up and moves halfway around the world to Japan:
June
May
April
February
January
December
November
October
September
August
July
June
In which our protagonist finds himself in the employ of a rabbi, working as a ghostwriter:
May
April
March
February
January
2002
December
In which our protagonist is really, really unemployed:
November
October
September
August
July
June
May
April
March
February
January
2001
December
November
October
September
August
July
010622 - 010619
In which our protagonist moves to the big city and finds himself employed at a global conglomerate, leading to a series of infantile but nonetheless satisfying acts of aggression:
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
2000
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
In which 'college' reaches its explosive conclusion:
1999
December
November
Fall
In which things go fairly well:
May
February
January
1998
December
November
October
June
May
April
March
February
In which our protagonist returns to college, reluctantly, other plans having been scuppered:
January
1997
December
November
October
September II
September I
And that's the end of it.
040613 ONE OF MY STUDENTS RECAPS THE NBA FINALS FOR YOU
I love basketball: playing it, watching it, talking about it. Mayumi is a student who used to come to my school regularly, and if there were no other students in the class, I would toss the book lesson and just teach her basketball terminology. She played basketball when she was in high school, and she was tall for her age, so her coach started her at power forward. Because this was before the current generation of 7-foot European finesse players who play in the low post and are equally capable of shooting from the perimeter, the coach yelled at her whenever she shot three-pointers, which is what she really wanted to do. And so, a promising basketball career was stifled; Dirk Nowitzki came too late for this poor woman.
Now Mayumi is too busy with work and her family to come to class, so we correspond by email every once in a while about the NBA playoffs. Being a devotee of Mike Bibby and the Sacramento Kings, she was heartbroken to see her team fall just short once again. We agreed that we were hoping for an Indiana vs Minnesota match-up in the Finals, which did not come about either. But we're both solidly behind the Detroit Pistons and their heroic efforts in the struggle against the creeping miasma of the Los Angeles Lakers. Because I thought it was excellent writing and because I wanted to know if readers could see my influence as a teacher in the writing of my students, here is Mayumi's recap of Game Three:
I watched Game 3 of the Finals yesterday. I was so excited about the Pistons. Pistons was back to defense that is quick, and their rebounds were stronger than Lakers. Shaq and Kobe couldn't get points as usual. I think Defense is the best Offense. And if it gets many rebounds it will be able to control of the game! Beet L.A. !! I'm sorry I'm difficult to explain...
I think that is damn fine analysis.
040612 Oh, early summer crazy, I am your victim again. How many summers must I feel your wrath? This is the fourth since I have been out of college. Let me be free of you! Let me become accustomed to working full-time during the season of warm weather! I make such poor, irrational decisions when you are coursing through my veins. 'Trouble' ceases to be my middle name and becomes my first. I had to spend most of last summer in a temple to ensure I didn't do anything I would regret. I have spoken to the Buddhist masters about the early summer crazy, and they have assured me that I am just going to have to deal with it. Fuck those guys! I wish to be free! On the plus side, apparently I became invulnerable to the weapons of mortal men midway through last month. It's possible that the Buddhist masters were just telling me that to get me out of their office. I'm not sure. Well, either way, it was nice of them to say.
Oh, that's enough. I'm all right. I had about the best week ever, so I have no reason to complain. The only serious problem I have right now, other than patience, is finding a place to shoot a summer monkey photo series, which will complete the year. The best unexplored frontier is way down south, in the mystical forests of Yakushima, but I don't think I'll have the resources to make it down there. I remember mention of monkeys over-running a city called Totsukawa that's not too far away, but I haven't been able to turn up any more information on that story. Awajishima is a possibility - it's an island not far from Kobe, and there is apparently a monkey park there. But I kind of prefer the 'monkeys in mystical forests' and 'monkeys over-running a city' angles. Don't worry, I won't let you down. I am very serious about these things.
Here is sadness, though: Lost In Translation has finally received limited release in Japan, but it is only playing in Tokyo and Kanagawa right now, with no assurances that it will ever come to Kyoto or Osaka. Obviously some powerful observations could be made whilst watching it with a Japanese audience. I have some notion that I ought to take up a collection to pay for the bullet train ticket up there with the pledge that I'll write up the results into the kind of serious fucking journalism for which I am known, but those bullet train tickets are really rather expensive. I've seen it, anyway, thanks to Mr. Internet. (People think he is only good at porn and weblogs, but he is also good at movies, bless him.) A few people emailed last fall to ask what I thought about the movie, being in Japan and all. "It is as it was," I reply. So there's that.
There is a new version of Coke in the vending machines here. It's called 'Coca-Cola C2'. Supposedly, they are test-marketing it in Japan before it is released in the United States. Of course, the packaging is of little help when attempting to discern the intent or angle behind this formula. It tastes like regular Coke with something-or-other missing. It might be the no-carb soda that idiots across America have been demanding, or perhaps it's sodium-free, or perhaps it's aimed at religious separatists who believe that things that have taste are temptations of the devil. Either way, it is not very good, and I suspect that somebody in the head office is going to be doing 'the honorable thing' because of this by the time the summer's over.
I made some falafel for dinner and it turned out reasonably well, so much so that I would like to eat it again. This box of falafel mix was a gift. I have some notion that more can be purchased at the international food store somewhere downtown, but I think it would be much more fun if boxes of falafel were simply mailed to me by people who read this webpage. If I know you as well as I think I know you, you will enjoy sauntering into the post office and, when asked what it is that you are mailing, declaring that you are mailing some falafel to Japan. Let me also include the caveat that the new Japanese girl in our house had never eaten falafel before, so I gave her a piece along with some of the cucumber dip that goes along with it, and she apparently enjoyed it so much that she did the dishes while I was upstairs eating. (She was downstairs watching "Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot!") I have some concern that this may mean we're married now, but I'm going to assume the best. So, please send the falafel to the following address:
M. HEIDEN
217 Iwataki-cho
Sanomiya-cho Dori
Shimogyo-ku
Kyoto-shi 600-8115
Japan
Please mark the box 'FALAFEL'. Thank you. Once you have done so, please turn off the lights in your room and stare at the following image for seventy-five consecutive minutes:
Shortly thereafter, you should become separated from your body and begin to visualize yourself as a sort of Sanrio Santa Claus, tumbling through the pink aether with Col. Sanders and the Kitty:
At that point you will be given the choice of learning the secret of your birth or the secret of your death. It may not be clear which character holds which secret. Choose well.