da quatre cent coups

A year ago, the recession began hitting most of us. I was finding myself with more time and less work and I looked for a platform to get out some ideas, reflect, and experiment with everything that went into this blog. I grabbed a slew of old papers, pictures, and various items plugged in the scanner and started going off. I gave myself a six-month timeline initiated once the first post went up. As you can see, it took a little bit longer. What began as an experiment has led to a load of fun and idea-generating for me.

As this is a one-man operation and I've reached the crux of what I intended, it's time to say adieu. Or at least, I'll see you in awhile. I appreciate any shoutouts you give to people about the blog. Stay connected and continue following-eventually, there will be a return of sorts (and it'll be bigger, badder, and unexpected...or at least I'll have a killer scanner).

I want to thank all of you for watching, reading, and giving your feedback. I appreciate you taking a look at personal anecdotes, opinions, musings, and collections of conversations over time. Please get in touch about anything you liked, what could work better, and any ideas you'd like to share.

For the meantime, enjoy. Keep reading and watching and old entries you like (share 'em if you're so inclined). And for the audiophiles, give yourself some new playlists based on most of the entry headings. That's right, you've got a chock-full of classic hip hop, soul, and exotica to go through. Start with the first entry named after Jimmy Castor's uprock classic "It's Just Begun." And continue with Serge Gainsbourg's "69 année érotique," De La Soul's "Afro Connections at a Hi 5," and don't forget Ultramagnetic MC's classic "Poppa Large." (Don't be afraid to ask for artist info based on entry headings)

For now, thanks. I'll be back in the basement soon enough.

Mr. Mark

Washington DC, September 17, 2009

Episode 11- Honest

Hip Hop From Mom's Basment- Honest from Mr. Mark on Vimeo.

as jim morrison whispered to martin sheen at the beginning of apocalypse now...

"gotta learn to live with-"

did they know what they were doing? it's amazin' how infallible they seem to us when we're young. but as you live and deal with regrets and an amazin' ability to still fuck things up at a post-adolescent age, you realize that those two were just mortals. they made mistakes too. they had poor wardrobe choices. they tripped down stairs. they ran over you with a bike at the age of five and decided to get drunk on christmas eve and forget to put presents downstairs. and for all of you, there remains that one consistent bond- the scapegoat that is a sibling. just as your angelic habits would never allow you to do something, it was always your poor sibling who would pee in the closet 'cause they were too lazy to walk to the bathroom at night. and just as your parents were too immortal to ever wrong, it was your poor sibling who gave you salmonella with undercooked chicken for christmas.

as for the "only child's" and their parents, i hope you all had that imaginary friend. i really do.

nyc, 1975

mr. mark still blames siblings for not becoming a doctor.

reflections

it reverses as we get older, doesn't it? i don't know how many younga pictures of me i grabbed and threw in a drawer whenever i had a tenderoni over during my teen years. actually not too many since i didn't have many honeys come over during my teen years...but i practiced.

regard to the less, mom spent much of my childhood with a camera locked on me. must not have been too different from your youth. i don't know why the look of a child in a bathtub doesn't disturb parents...they just keep snappin' away. collections and collections of me. not that i ain't flattered, but when the sausage starts out as a slice of salami, you don't need a visual recollection of the journey.

nowadays, the parents are the kids. you take care of 'em and there you are with the camera clickin' away.

mom cookin' thanksgiving feast. -snap-
mom playin' with grandkids. -snap-
mom asleep in waiting room while elderly hubby is operated on. -snap-

wait. gettin' old's kinda sad and scary. maybe she don't want that recollected to her.

washington hospital center, 2008

mr. mark will never get old 'cause goonies don't die.

illmatic on the r

do me a favor. when you get home, go through your collections. i want you to look at all the media you have. review your clothing, letters, all your personal, material items. while doin' this, take out all thoughtful pieces that were given to you that you've kept. find a piece that meant a lot to you (that copy of tales of a fourth grade nothing, the homemade bookmark of russian profanity, and yes, that picture frame made out of macaroni). take it out, yo. if time has been good to you, you've collected a few items that may not be worth a damn but save some sentimental booyakasha's for that waftin' soul. people don't know how we feel about 'em the majority of the time, but if i was reminded that someone kept my ol' mix of lisa lisa classix in their mixx...i'd feel...wait, lump in my throat.

yeah. let's do that. take a picture, wear that shirt, play that mix and let that person know that whatever they did for you in their time has remained timeless for you.

brooklyn, ny 2005

mr. mark would like his copy of the gun in betty lou's handbag back. that wasn't a gift, yo.

leaders of the new school

any education past kindergarten should make us proud. our ancestors worked their tiny little fingers to the bone when they got the prime working age of five, shoveling our coal, tending the fields, and sewing buttons. and if you're shoppin' at walmart you're still supportin' that.

regardless, treat yourself right for gettin' some serious triple r's in your noggin past the days old workin' age of five.

you should pull my finger because it releases the alphabet, yo.

potomac, md, 1985

sdrawkcab eman sih daer nac kram .rm.

aaron hall says...

who'd be your guidance giva? we get scared about askin' for it, don't we? actually, we talk ourselves out of everythin' sumtimes. that fear grabs a hold and before you know it, you've convinced yourself that you're gonna stay in the banking game, you ain't gonna take that long-awaited trip to tonga, and you won't find a way to meet get a date with the ice queen at work. but surprises await are there to curb them fears.

my southern french ami, antoine, went to cannes years back. young filmmaker that he was inspired to receive guidance from anyone who would listen. met tim roth at the screening for the film he directed, the war zone. swallowed up that fear and asked mr. roth if he had time to talk with an aspiring artist. mr. roth took mon ami out to lunch the next day and provided guidance and a hollywood tab to an unforgettable lunch.

give yourself some huevos, people. time to make your life yours.

esquire, 1994

mr. mark will never talk himself out of buying that cardigan again. it was the lead singer and it was for charity.

regulators

there's an age that you reach where your some of your artistic tastes match your parents. and that ain't too bad. gotta admit that there are some mature pieces that you couldn't fully appreciate when you were fillin' in your peach fuzz with a sharpie. i gotta tip my hat for keepin' me informed about mr. blades...

however, there are artistic choices that you make as an adult that even your parents prove their weight in cool. a david cassidy collection? even my parents would've chased me outta hill valley.

san juan, puerto rico, 2009

mr. mark and steely dan. don't hurt him.

the start of your ending

mr. mark be on vacation. he needs it. more entries to come soon...but for a limited time only. the finale is approaching...

drink away the pain

are drugs and alcohol supposed to get us to our youthful place as adults? i wonder about that sometimes 'cause there are some cats i've seen on friday nights with piss stains on their pants, wanting to suck on a tt, have a sandbox style fight, and end up tellin' people that they love 'em or that they stink with a three-year-old cadence.

i dunno. i think cap't morgan is probably cap't hook in disguise.

baltimore, md, 1997

mr. mark wondered if red stripe would help him grow dreads.

Episode 10- Konkrete Soul

Hip Hop From Mom's Basement- Konkrete Soul from Mr. Mark on Vimeo.

ahhh, the voices...

Episode 9- Crossin' Lines

Hip Hop From Mom's Basement- Crossing Lines from Mr. Mark on Vimeo.

if my train goes off the track, pick it up, pick it up, pick it up?

black nostaljack

there was a time when memories were allowed to be that. apparently, the future won't allow nostalgia. not when you can view your favorite childhood movie as a director's cut at the drop of a dime (it was cloak and dagger and it sucks as an adult). not when you visit where you lost your virginity via google maps (it was the bench in front of wendy's and it's got a guy with a soul asylum t-shirt sittin' on it). and not when you can reconnect with someone on facebook who should've stayed a memory since it's depressin' to find your cherished pot buddy now holdin' down fort as the assistant manager at ruby tuesdays (and he's still rockin' the long hair minus a lot of folliclelage).

damn you technology. you make my memories smell like poo.

nyc, 2003

yet, mr. mark looks better than before. and he's just gettin' started. owwwwzah!

work

sometimes it's dangerous to dance in clubs because you risk bumpin' into the dj's tables and fuckin' up the music. people scoff, but that's like throwing your coffee on a pilot's central console, kicking a ladder while your roofer is clearin' your gutters, or cancellin' george hamilton's tannin' apointment...which might be the most damaging to the eye.

brooklyn, ny, 2003

mr. mark doesn't dance near dj's or sundown towns.

Episode 8- Rebel Without a T-Shirt

Hip Hop From Mom's Basement- Rebel Without a T-Shirt from Mr. Mark on Vimeo.

are you allowed to wear your own image?

on my block

if it's the moral issue concerning the legalization of drugs, how come we don't get up in arms over the saturated fat kingpins of the fast food circuit? i mean, the contents in most of our fast food establishments kill more people than the use of recreational drugs and creates a large degree of waste in our environment.

maybe i just wanna see the hamburgler, wendy, and that burger king slangin' on the block. i figure hamburgler carries a ruger around in his pants, while wendy gets her crew to chainsaw competition. the king guy...i don't know. i could just see him smilin' while he slices up miscreants like the dahmer that he is.

city paper, 1995

mr. mark eats at subway since jarred lost his big poppa status.

retrospective for life

one of the toughest things about bein' a parent has got to be your own sense of failure with your kids. your kids screw up, that gets forged into you screwing up. i don't blame too many people for not wantin' them. we're so messy as human beings, i can't imagine having to raise someone in my image. unless you're really cool. if you're tony hawk, toni morrison, or tony the tiger, that's an image that would be pristine to be under. and if you're tony the tiger's son, what's the legacy you create? frosted flaked drink?

now i'm just confusing everything. maybe some of us should remain abstinent.

gaithersburg, md, 2006

mr. mark would know every tactic that his kids would pull to sneak into the house.

reflections

how often are you told you look or are like this person that your friend knows? i don't know how to take it either. they could be talkin' about this guy from their high school that they used to call "duck boy" who would never change his socks. i don't think we'd want that. you have the right to investigate these things. if someone is willin' to make that claim, then they have to be willin' to show proof. if you're not satisfied with the results, then you can ask them to get their life together because they're projectin' their negative image onto you.

just don't say it in front of duck boy. he'll cry into his socks and that moisture is jus' gonna exarcerbate things.

boston, ma, 1998

mr. mark thinks you do look like an angel though.

mistadobalina

the character of a city is really about the characters within it, right? i wonder who's the local flavor for oslo? who gets people shakin' their heads in san salvador? who rocks the streets of addis ababa spoutin' duran duran lyrics for cash?

more importantly, what old coot lived in prehistoric times to become the town crazy when everyone around him was bashin' heads, rapin', and shittin' themselves?

oh yeah, he was standin' upright. duh.

washington post, 2008

mr. mark doesn't have enough lyrical memory to be mr. marky mark in your town.

i missed the bus

does anybody else start their calendar year in september? i can't really get past thinkin' september is the beginning of the year. years and years of that panic, anticipation, renewal, and hope that one fine lady in my home room class would take my virginity has led to me greeting the big s month with the same degree of newness. i don't know if i'll ever get past it. i still sit on the metro in those first few days of september, hoping that a lady from my new "home room" will take my virginity. i'd substitute the location for work, but since i'm self employed, i've already already banged the secretary and the boss. usually around 3pm on wednesdays after tisha campbell pops her head in on a rerun of martin.

washington, dc, 1996

mr. mark would love to have his new home room in rio. as in vanessa del. nasty.

my favorite things

what's the strangest thing a human can collect? i'll tell ya, it's otha human beings. that's why you don't see it so often. when it comes down to it, most humans be grabbing all the other resources, but spend their lifetime tryin' to get space between them and otha humans. and definitively, a slave owner and a serial killer aren't necessarily human collectors, since their desires aren't in keeping their collectibles well kept.

no, no. i'd say the closest you'd get are foster parents; the folks i'd really like to see on antiques roadshow. keep doin' yo thing.

taiwan, 1989

mr. mark has no idea why his dad thought stamp collecting would be a good idea when he had a perfectly good hobby of keeping bugs in jars. duh.

no endz, no skinz

damn. those battle scars from the pre-adulthood days of crushes and heartbreak stay with you forever. i can get over a bad date as a 30-year-old. but the time i put into ana j., the big bootied argentine...boy those memories haven't faded. she was too nice to me, because it gave me false hope for a day where we'd she let me touch her butt while we tango'd (i of course envisioned wooing her with a surprise tango routine...jaw would drop, her knees would shake, a muscle flex or two would rip my shirt). when she gave up the digits, she set me up for failure. again, envisioining long phone conversations where she'd ask me to recount the amount of times i'd seen the goonies, or how many pairs of glasses i'd been through in my 8 years since having them. instead, i was offered a constant ring tone and her wonderful mother who apparently never knew where her daughter was. i eventually made it over to her place one night to smoke pot and listen to blues traveller and argentine folk songs. and while i watched her play guitar, smilin' at her mistakes, i envisioned a time where i would be with a queen who would be playin' songs for me, askin' me about my life, and letting me pat her butt freely.

i didn't envision askin' her to be quiet for a little bit and takin' my hand back so i could grab the remote and turn up the last few minutes of no reservations. damn, why you be so annoyin'?

go back to your 16-year-old mind at times. it'll make you appreciate your booty grabs better.

rockville, md, 1995

mr. mark wonders why you have some chinese family still tellin' mr. mark "there no ana here" whenever he calls, ana?

crossroads

where's the place you can say you've seen heaven? i mean, you can't be all that cynical...there's gotta be a spot that just made sense to you. the andean crests of south america? the utopian environment of tibet? the hometown bbq's of your youth?

i've had about two dozen moments in my life that i can say i've felt real peace. i keep searchin' and there's so much that gives me a real passivity here on earth. i go back to a moment i witnessed a year ago. my stepfather was bein' teased by my family. he was surrounded by his wife, stepchildren, and grandkids. playin' with the grandkids a bit, they went runnin' around and started screamin'. my mom shot a sarcastic note to everyone, "probably can't wait to get some peace when you get up to heaven." we laughed and the moment passed. my stepfather smiled and quietly nodded. he spoke to himself while lookin' at his grandkids and i believe i was the only one that heard these words expressed so calmly, "no need. i'm already there."

enough to make a brother weep, right? i started thinkin' about my moments and sometimes find myself watchin' a three's company rerun, don knotts doin' his thing. and there i go. "no need. i'm already there."

mendoza, argentina, 2006

mr. mark didn't cry just there. it's mad dusty in here, yo. that's all.

"comin' to you live from somewhere..."

we goin' live! hip hop from mom's basement will be live on stage thurs., july 30, 2009 at
source
1835 14th street NW
9:00pm

it had to happen eventually

washington dc, 2006

Episode 7- Scorpion Fingernails

Hip Hop From Mom's Basement from Mr. Mark on Vimeo.

they get me everytime.

cession at da doghillee

if all dogs go to heaven, do we have to pick it up there too?

even in the former soviet bloc you can't get away from it, son.

prague, czech republic, 2009

mr. mark is thinkin' that everyone's poop gets picked up in heaven. even pavarotti's.

peaceful journey

i finally figured out that kids are a way of acceptin' death. i mean, it's the one way to ensure your legacy and feel like you left somethin' behind. and there's an ethereal quality in knowin' that.

i would, however, have my kids sign contracts to ensure that they don't fuck up my legacy. like, no branch davidian style theatrics, no franchises developed that sell burgers, yogurt, or tacos that have zany spanglish names, and absolutely no pictures of them in tevas or birkenstocks. unless i have jesus as a child. and as a latin, that may be a possibility.

brooklyn, ny, 2003

mr. mark would like to talk to bruni about what disco smelled like.

Episode 6- Bathroom Graffiti

Hip Hop From Mom's Basement- Bathroom Graffiti from Mr. Mark on Vimeo.

oh, the mystery that is woman...

"that's when civilians were made of metal"

self portraits. how do you see yourself? i think it's a good exercise to try every once in awhile. you'll find some real surprises with what you find ineffable in your character.

like the fact that you're a muthafuckin' vampire robot, son! damn...fresh like '87, suckas.

md, 1983

mr. mark is not affliliated with skynet, people. his shit's all about peace...occasionally breakin' into vending machines and bitin' kirsten dunst's neck.

paparazzi

there are some times in life when you just wish cameras hadn't been invented.

chapel hill, nc, 2009

mr. mark's nightmare periodical would be called "scarred" and it would have multiple pictures of early teen acne.

faces

we hear about opposites attracting. we hear about similarities attracting. what happens when partners physically look alike? i saw this one couple recently that looked like brother and sister. i would've figured they were until i saw their hands in eachothers back pockets grabbing a little muffin squeeze. different strokes, but if you're looking for intimacy that is a mirror reflection, isn't it cheaper buy yourself a shish taouk, say some vain words, and grab your knob at home? oh, mr. mark, who are you to comment on love? but, it just bothers me, yo. like in this creepy, angelina jolie way. did we all forget about that, by the way? she looked like she was nailin' her brother for awhile and then had her boobies all up in billy bob's mittens. we're forgettin' some weird things about her, peoples...

don't call me out on jealousy either. i'd freely admit if i had the likes for ms. aj. now, ms. katheryn winslet. that's one brit i'd throw a shot in even if it was in the family.

damn, yo. i've said too much again.

la paz, bolivia, 2006

mr. mark would never like to be invited to the house of yes.

you know my steez

i've said it before and i'll say it again, i wish that black "x" from a night out impressed the ladies as much as i thought it did 14 years ago.

washington, dc, 1995

mr. mark no longer has people come up to him for autographs. it just happens. and they just happen to be related to him.

case of the pta

woody allen and groucho marx always bringin' up "never wantin' to belong to a club that would have 'em for a member." i'm thinkin' i wouldn't wanna belong to any club that would have me as a teacher. you don't have to be in a classroom to pass on guidance and whatever wisdom you possess. these kids out there...they're sneaky, yo and they grab any nuggets of info they can out of you. five of 'em will come at you with questions to which you have no answer. what are they trying to do? would i really know what the size of a white dwarf is? i don't know how to stop an epileptic fit. will i marry your grandmother? not without a picture first, dog.

it's called entrapment and kids mess will fuck with you time and time again.

washington, dc, 2008

mr. mark is waiting for any former students to come out of the darkness one day with their autobiography "nonsense: how mr. mark lied to me."

be true to yaself

one of the saddest things i see is when older guys and gals occupy the social scene with looks that reflect what the opposite sex found attractive when they were 13. it's funny, but a lot of men neglect to realize that women aren't as interested in six packs, long hair, and a laissez-faire attitude towards the principals of the world when they've dated the lot and realized how much it actually makes them think you're ridin' the short bus. loads of men forget that most women are pretty fuckin' smart and will go for sumthin' that resembles real attraction (intelligence, wit, talent, just a damn good man). the only similar thing that women want from their 13 or 31-year-old man is confidence. and when you're rockin' that long hair, prepubescent legs (shaved), and the attitude of a ne'er do well...your confidence is locked for sho...in that you're 13 in the body of a 31-year-old.

be yourself, dog. you as a 13-year-old was charming. now you just look like a tool. get off that short bus, yo.

the source, 1992

mr. mark does have one rayon shirt left in the closet, hon.

lookin' for the perfect beat

i kind of miss sneaking out, don't you? things were given a lot more resonance when you had to earn your travels. going out doesn't seem so alluring now that i don't have to grease the sliding window to my bedroom so that it doesn't creak when it opens. i don't have to search for someone who has a small resemblance to me to use their id to get into something. and i no longer have to wear a scarf for days on end because of an unfortunate hickey that i "earned" from wendy g. under the bleachers of paradox in baltimore on a sweaty august eve (yup, try wearing a scarf in the swampiness of a midatlantic summer). no...friday nights now provide big crowds, douchebags who are ready to hump my girlfriend on the dancefloor while i take a leak, and a massive bar line where i have to squeeze in to order a $15 red bull and vodka.

i kinda think i earned my fridays with a computer i paid for, some tikka masala which i put my money down on, and rest, a snuggle session, and a shitty jerry lewis movie with a gal that i earned my keep with. it may be boring, but it's about as real as a sneakout mission and i get to showcase the hickey's however i want.

baltimore, md, 1996

mr. mark hits the town on weekdays when he can practice his moonwalk on empty dancefloors.

labels

lists. what's the hardest one you'd have to make? i'm thinkin' it's more of a 20th century invention. when you used to have a life span of 32 years, you didn't really concern yourself with figurin' out what the best in life could be. you shoveled coal when you were 8, married the last mcdougal sister when you were 17, and pushed out a few puppies before you even knew how to categorize what form of plague you'd be least excited of dying from.

nowadays, we can't stop ourselves from creatin' desert island musts, when really in the face of survival, you ain't gonna be concentratin' on which frank zappa album you'd best. our lives are pretty cushy, yo.

i do have to say that the long goodbye, for a few dollars more, and his girl friday are kinda prime picks after a long day of shovelin' minerals. good lookin' out, quentin.

unknown, 1994

mr. mark should be on your top five list.

love sick

ouch. that's the impression we get as we get olda and date. yum, yum is the sound that comes out of our mouth searchin' the magazines and media images feulin' our young minds into believin' that luv is around the corner with any suitor or suitress that we fancy. ain't gonna happen.

but you gotta earn those bruises on your own and that ain't sumthin' that i'd teach the young people about. you gotta realize what's important in your partners. you can get someone with a good heart to turn tricks for you in the bedroom. you can't get a good heart out of just anyone.

really, you just want someone who's gonna laugh at your jokes, smile at your foibles, and call you out in the most lovin' of ways when you get to that asshole moment. the sentence "baby i love you" is wonderful. however, when the statement "but, you're being an asshole and i'm leaving now" follows after you've been actin' a fool, that's real. and in reality, the two of you shouldn't have to tip toe in the relationship and if they can call you on your shit while givin' you strength, you gotta keep that, dog. and that ain't sumthin' you're gonna find in the pages of a magazine.

nonetheless, i'm still here for you theresa randle.

esquire, 1995

mr. mark no longer believes that angie harmon will scratch his back on a sick day.

throw your set in the air

my gang is literary, son. you step to us, you gonna get an a-m-y-t-a-n sign your way.

book clubs be adults way of claimin' yo set.

santiago de chile, 2006

mr. mark's crew will meet tomorrow to discuss gettin' all up in that salman rushdie book signing.

leaders of the new school

if i had my choice of early ed curriculum, i would come up with my coloring book of famous failures. we get told how wonderful people are and feel like we can't match up, yo. lincoln was an honest man and then became a president. benjamin franklin did a few experiments and then created a lightbulb. rob lowe just woke up pretty.
what's left out is the fact that people worked, failed, failed, and failed until they got somewhere. my man einstein spent decades on the theory of relativity. yet, my school books used to have him nailin' it out in one page. quick fix society, no wonder we're ready to give up at such an early age. teach failure as an investment strategy. don't invest in failure.

also, give kids free pumas to stop 'em from using those fuckin' wheelie shoes everywhere.

washington, dc, 2007

mr. mark would like to be your next calculator.

the cure for stagnation

what's your refrigerator door test? we all have our skepticism for our triumphs, but if you had to be your own parent and grab one great accomplishment to post on your door of life, what would it be?

that thrilling photograph you took of the perfect sunset? your two wonderful children? maybe just a highlight reel of unwittin' your neighborhood bully in 7th grade? the need for validation...it never leaves.

parents fuck with your skull, yo.

ocean city, md, 1998

mr. mark's workin' on gettin' more magnets first. uh-uh, ain't limitin' him to just one, son.

put your head out

amazing the fazes we go through in our teens- underground music...lying...vandalism...suicide attempts...

the source, 1992

mr. mark thinks parking garages are an adult way of rekindling that last option.

in my continental

the germans and hasselhoff. the french and jerry lewis. the japanese and everything. it's funny what others pick and choose for their pop culture imports. i love how the world can make you feel pride abroad for somethin' you for shame for stateside.

santiago de chile, 2005

mr. mark would like to thank morrocans for keeping dire straits alive.

the night scene

if there's a heaven, are there underground scenes up there? for some reason i picture angels to be the ultimate in gettin' the scoop. that's why they always on your shoulder whisperin' in your ear, dog.

washington post, 1997

mr. mark doesn't think you should trust any club called "angels" though.

i'm the magnificent

as a kid, it was somethin' with a kung fu grip in the backpack. as a teen, it was usually a wethered condom in the wallet. as a young adult, it was a license carrying your own home address on it. now...well, we still got them things we keep on our person to showcase who we are, whether it's true or not. keys with some euro auto emblem blazin', a few pics of your kids, that same condom. shoot, maybe that'll never stop. you end up walkin' with a cane by the time you're ready to go and we all know the kind of stroll that's called.

i carried this joint in my back pocket my senior year provin' how cool my weekends were. hopefully, nobody smelled the bluff.

washington, dc, 1997

mr. mark carries his cell phone on him. he just wishes it would ring.

just to get a rep

sometimes, the smaller the country, the harder the history looks. you got more to prove, yo. if you hit up these small countries on the pacific rim, western african nations, or anywhere that's fought for its independence in the last 200 years, you'll find some monuments celebratin' the fight and verve with grimaces and incrementally bigger testaments. in most cases, i give y'all some props. you get shadowed by the bigger forces out there. keep dustin' off your shoulder, playa.

on the other hand, no disrespect to the democratic peoples of north korea, but you gotta do somethin' about that midget you got in office, yo. talk about a complex. all them statues and paintings of the lil' guy all around your country. sucka's got it worse than a 45-year-old needle dick revvin' his corvette near a high school while blastin' peter cetera.

la paz, bolivia, 2006

mr. mark is the man who will fight for your honor.

show me a hero

if you were a superhero, what kind of superpower would you have? i don't know that i'd mess with too much responsibility. in reality, i'm thinkin' i wouldn't want to read people's minds. i'd be too bashful to be invisible, still blushing if i saw a panty line, let alone someone nekidd.

i think i'd take on the power to predict what to wear for weatherable days. or maybe that power to have a bagged lunch ready to go when i leave the house. or always having change whenever i have to park at a meter.

fighting the evils of inconvenience. that's what age gives to you, yo.

potomac, md, 1984

mr. mark would like to fly every once in awhile as long as he gets air miles for his travels.

polite meeting

i think it would be kinda nice if there were more billboards and wall art remindin' you to wash your hands and look both ways. i think cities need to act more like grandmothers. 'cause you'd never spit your gum out on your grandmother.

arica, chile, 2006

mr. mark doesn't like shellfish 'cause they give him bumps and make him look like lou gossett jr. in enemy mine.

8 steps to perfection

people talk about endin' bigotry, but it ain't like it's somethin' we can cure in one fell swoop. we all got our prejudices, and as an old teacher used to say about racism in the states "if there weren't black people, we would invent them." if we could just get over our insecurities, disavow our brutal sense of competition, and allow enough resources for everyone, then maybe, just maybe, we wouldn't scapegoat so many to make ourselves feel betta.

but then again, albinos are pretty fuckin' weird lookin'.

potomac, md, 1988

mr. mark is a "four eyes" and he stands proud as long as there isn't a high pollen count in the air.

Episode 5- Movies & Boobies

Hip Hop From Mom's Basement- Movies & Boobies from Mr. Mark on Vimeo.

you can't spell mammaries without mama.

orange pineapple juice

what is nostalgia? was the past really a better time or is it safer to bet on something that can't change? maybe we just need a few things that won't alter in our lives. so much does and it'd be nice to have somethin' be consistent. maybe that's why dick clark won't die. that's nice of him.

st. laurent, qc, 2006

mr. mark misses michael j. fox sitting still.

crewz pop

in tribal life, are there subcultures that scoff at the actions of the majority? is there a small group of outsiders in the amahuaca tribe sittin' on the sides, watchin' a tribal feast, and saying somethin' like "no wonder the world hates us?"

friendsville, md, 1997

mr. mark likes the idea of living in trees. that's all.

Episode 4- Paternity Testin'

Hip Hop From Mom's Basement- Paternity Testin' from Mr. Mark on Vimeo.

Mr. Mark do it better than Povich.

who got the props?

i'd have to agree but would change the wording. when you give props they should act as an ego boost. but you shouldn't go overboard. be careful because too much accoladin' causes blindness. i mean, look at al pacino these days. poor guy can't read the shit that's handed to him. and we get stuck with the results.

ridgely, md, 2007

mr. mark usually gives respect with a hug and a mirror. that way they know he loves 'em even when they got sleep in their eye.

castles made uv sand

what would it be- mountains or beach? the masculine side of me thinks tha mountains are top. right? i get to chop wood, grow a beard, and make fire when i'm all shivery from them winds. the feminine side of me thinks tha beach. i done get my vanity fulfilled with a cocoa butter tan, lose weight off of sweat and a sedated appetite (that heat works wonders), and hear a poetic thrill in listenin' to waves crash in.

the youthful side of me still thinks tha clouds are a possibility. at least that's what lando calrissian done taught me.

luquillo, puerto rico, 2000

mr. mark is a little confused after writin' down that name for the first time...was lando calrissian armenian?

no nose job

if your likeness had to used for a sign or mannequin, what little detail would give it away? i'm thinkin' that it's not likely that tears would be used for a municipality crossing sign. i'd prefer it if you don't use the arching eyebrows. maybe not the receding hairline. hmmm...i don't know about the knock knees either. when it comes to self-image, what are we proud to represent?

ahhh, the adam's apple, a quality tan, and a square jaw. start their and we'll work our way to the average endowment.

panama city, panama, 2009

mr. mark thinks his skeletal tissue is probably pretty outstanding as well.

who am i?

do we ever stop wanting to be someone else as we age? i would say that we get mad comfortable in our shells as we mature. you get to know yourself and understand your qualities. really, what makes you unique. and that's beautiful.

but then you find yourself lookin' at that older guy sittin' next to you at ben & jerry's with a much younger woman, thinkin' "that can't be his daughter." and it can't, dog, 'cause no father stares at his daughter lickin' an ice cream cone like that. and that just depresses me.

get a grip. treat that midlife crisis in your 20's, kid.

the source, 1992

mr. mark thinks cellulite is becoming, forgotten milfies.

who? me?

maybe comedy is the ultimate cultural exchange. laughter goes a long way in sharin' our experiences and findin' a path towards understandin'. even if that laughter is stemmin' from your observations of crowd and performer-

"you white folks are out of your fucking mind."

pittsburgh, pa, 1998

mr. mark only lets you pull his finger for a laugh. a pez candy will pop out.

who me?

what's the great cultural exchange? some say a trip to the third world will benefit both you and the occupants. i don't think you need to go that far. i think just as much can be said with a trip to a southern juke joint or a pilgrimmage to a black comedy club. i think white people need to get over their fear of findin' out the truth about how they do things-

"white people read a blog like this, 'wow, this is interesting. reading is just such a thrill.'" (push up fake glasses, wait for laughs)

it's called insight, y'all.

laurel, md, 1996

mr. mark's white half listens to burt bacharach records after writing his blog entries. his brown side hums to celia cruz.

is it because i'm black?

what's the craziest thing that's happened on road trips with your homies? when takin' them there seem to be two things that always occur- a recurring joke and a particularly ugly experience. my colombian parcero, mr. paez, and i have had quite a few but only one that was combined. went to go visit some friends in a hostel in cusco with some gringo buddies. walked up to the front and the guard says "you two in. those two, no," pointing to us.
"why not those two?" our blonde gringo friend asked.
"no peruvians allowed."
we laughed a "this racism is killing me" chuckle.
"first, these two ain't peruvian. second, you're peruvian."
"house rules."
unbelievable. i've encountered prejudice but never for somethin' that i ain't. maybe i should've grown a few inches. no sweat off my back, just realized that uncle tom's cabin exists everywhere and we found one in south america.

i also split my lip on mr. paez's skull when he got punched by a gypsy in chile. another long story. maybe they thought we were irish.

isla del sol, bolivia, 2006

mr. mark allows everyone into his establishment except for storm troopers.

Episode 3- Father, Figure

Hip Hop From Mom's Basment- Father, Figure from Mr. Mark on Vimeo.

gettin' old's a beach.

what more can i say?

when you talk to yourself, what do you say and who are you talking to? it gets late and i'm all alone, i start voicin' things to myself as a parent. it gets even later, i start talkin' to the technology that's keepin' me floatin' out of dream world. chidin' the participants of informercials for their choices. commentin' on the nursing home speed of my stovetop cookin' late night beans. and pleadin' with my computer to help me finish up somethin' that shoulda gotten started months back, young man.

wait a second, that's somethin' my mom would say. how did she do that?

mom's are like vampires, yo.

montreal, qc, 2000

mr. mark turned down late night term papers for late night bloggin'. the skillz that pay the billz, y'all.

the formula

if you could party with any celebrity, historical figure, or fictional character, who would it be? i feel like a lot of you would say holden caulfield, but he's such a drag. slick rick would be a hoot. wallace shawn made a whole play out of a dinner with andre. i'm thinkin' a civil rights wife, like a betty shabazz or coretta scott king. probably really good listeners, probably could get down to jr. walker & the all stars, and they've probably got your back the whole night. but really, i just wants a good listener.

and someone to share my steak fries with.

washington, dc, 1996

mr. mark would be tempted to share his evening with einstein if he can hold his liquor.