i like big thighs and i cannot lies

gorditas, period. estilo, period. let the skinny gals deal "with."

big mamas, you give us men the real hugs we need.

bogotá, colombia, 2006

mr. mark believes you can hear the ocean between big bosoms.

so fresh, so clean

i was 8 when i stopped going to my local barber. he was vietnamese and always performed a straight up operation. in 1987, i went in and surprised him by asking for an ollie cut- a crewcut style from the 50's, dog. 5 minutes in and some hair chopped, he asked "so you like oliver north, do you?" maybe i should've asked for the noriega.

montreal, quebec, 2002

couffure pour hommes no longer sits on st. laurent. gettin' harder these days to point to the sign and say "make me look as orwellian as possible."

knowledge reigns supreme over nearly everybody

i aim to learn. use this thing called google a lot. but a lot of my information comes from kids. they pick things up and pass them on to you. kids are the real google, yo.

i knocked my arm months back while i was teaching. funny bone tinglin'...lost my concentration. dc youngin' says, "funny bone, right?"

"what about it?"

"give it a few seconds. that sensation happens because your bone is moving and it keeps it from breaking."

i will never trust information from the internet again.

kids are lil' scholars, yo.

washington, d.c., 2008

mr. mark stops 4th graders to ask how to stop hiccups.

papá large

offspring, pupil, or kidnappee, we all want someone who relies on us for wisdom (of sunlight). as the youngest and only male in the house, i was reeling for youthful admiration. occasionally, as an adult i've found it. however, when the moment is sealed, it is often me who looks like the pupil.

kids are life lesson givers, yo.

santiago de chile, 2006

mr. mark wants to be like mike, too. his dramatic work in dirty rotten scoundrels was mad underrated.

down with the king

i'm still not over this. we shared the same birthday too. he seemed like a sweet guy and shit.

death is a lumbering beast, yo.  he looks like a toupée.

village voice, 2002

mr. mark is available as a backup, dmc & run. just puttin' that out there.

'96 année érotique

foreign exchange students. not sure if i need to apologize for this, but they were the first i went after. actually, all the otha grrrls was first, until i realized that it's hard to turn someone down when you don't speak the language. when my muscle flexing didn't translate, i went to the cine. we was mad close to a french invasion in the 90's. and for real, would that have been a bad thing?
julie delpy was girl next door, when the girl next door was that foreign exchange student who still knew more about what to do in town, and was a constant source of imported gauloises.
emmauelle béart. angelina jolie? get the fuck outta here. yo, béart was doing it before you, grrrl. better lips and better pathos. jolie's the type of woman who sleeps with eye wraparounds, forcibly on her back, while she shoos brad away for disturbing the type of sleep prescribed by her inside source at W magazine for removing "unwanted streesful lines caused by bad spiritosis." béart squirms and screams in her sleep, waking up to have a cigarette, saying "fuck, that was goood."
finally, still jonesin' to see ms. deneuve get the props that she deserves stateside, especially after catching her do the lesbian bit in les voleurs in '96. keep agin' mama. still goin' strong givin' pride to older women, if only they'd give her the juice she deserves...

esquire, '96

mr. mark hopes charlotte gainsbourg responds to his fan mail at some point.

basic instructions before leaving earth

what kind of legacy do you want to leave? perhaps the meaning of life revolves around that pursuit. we all want to remembered for somethin'. here's your moment, jeff.

washington post, 2007

mr. mark still cries when he watches the last scene of ikiru.

u, black maybe, again, please?

could never tell you who hates who exactly. we all got our prejudices, put the pennies in the jar on that. maybe it's fascination. whenever i tried to kick it to that honey in high school, i'd get mad nervous and start flipping switches to see what she'd respond to. it'd end up with me talking about menstruation or somethin' i had no bizness disgusin' wit her.

same goes for the blackface awkwardness in south america. at least the blacker your face is, the finer you look in a 3 piece stitch, apparently.

cusco, perú, 2006

yo baby, mr. mark can tell you a lot about toxic shock syndrome.

u, black maybe, again?

used to work with an older black woman who was raw, sweet, and stronger than anyone i ever knew...ya feel me? told me about one time in the south, way back in the day, she walks into a diner and asks for a hamburger.

"we don't serve black people here," the server replied.

"i didn't ask for a black people. i asked for a hamburger."

mad respect, yo.

buenos aires, argentina, 2006

do you need a character to sell flour, anyway? it's a pretty essential ingredient.

u, black maybe

there are warnings on meat in latin america that caution "raw meat consumption may lead to blackface." yet, it still remains a delicacy. crazy world, yo.

maybe they only had a can of jolson 27 left.

cusco, perú, 2006

mr. mark would like to warn that raw meat consumption can also make brown stuff in other places.

ladies first

what's more revolutionary- a black president or a woman?  while we was askin' ourselves, the progress was happening below us.  michelle bachelet, first female prez in the americas...holla. chile, a land of machismo sensibility and conservative beliefs (divorce was ok'd a few years back).  when men were asked why they voted for her, "a woman's more trustworthy than a man."  add on to that, a single mother and former socialist...shit, that's progress, son.  or daughter.

i liked her 'cause she looked like my mom.

chile, 2005

mr. mark would not be opposed to being first gentleman.  

make 'em say hug

'cause every thug needs a no limit shoulder to cry on.

the source, 1999

crosstown beef is the basis of hip hop. let's move towards local greens in the millennium, y'all.

ladies love cool james

what lady out there doesn't like a cat who can dance? it's a tough world out there when that ain't impressive no more. my mom was always awed.

1994, my mom and i had our issues. she was a widow and taking care of a confused, hormonal, pissed off, fatherless 15 year old. so, what happens when the grief prevents you from talking, and your son isn't about to admit to stealing your victoria's secret catalogues? you don't talk. you take your son to see james brown. in the future, there will be this communicative device called a blog, which your son will use to write "thanks, mom."

mothers are natures way of birthing you. they also put bandaids on shit when you fall.

upper marlboro, maryland, 1994

mr. mark still has no idea why the catalogues disappeared, but misses the second skin satin collection.

damn it feels good to be a malfaiteur

love is patience. love is honor. and no other honor holds truer than accompanyin' your boyfriend on valentine's day to see the ill nana of french gangsta flicks. of course, if she hadn't gone then i would've just written "bitch."

ladies, you do a lot for us sometimes.

nyc, 2003

mr. mark would still like to be alain delon when he grows up. or an unfiltered cigarette.

make the music wit' yo' mouth

these boy bands come and go.  but i'm waiting for the real research to go into these things.  yo, with the right minds we can investigate social norms and shit.  in 50 years maybe we'll realize that women have a hard time in adult relationships because they fantasized so much about gay men in their youth.  

entertainment weekly, 1999

mr. mark never got a callback.  

the visualz

highways in this country really mess with your identity. if it isn't making you feel bad for not knowing your new testament, it's taunting you to stop and say hello to the friendly folks that live in cracker barrels, waffle houses, and sbarro's (which i figure is some kind of native american saying...which makes me feel worse for not having cultural sensitivity). my community don't have none of this...i'm really not feeling "alive with pleasure" as you say. however, this country affords everyone the right to their independence of spirit and with patience you can find your identity on the side of the road. mine smells like rae dawn chong.

signs and billboards are america's way of telling you where you're going. they also sell shit too.

jerome, arizona, 2008

mr. mark will trade mom's basement for an overnight in a waffle house one day.

i used to love h.i.m.

mr. ford was once han solo.  christopher walken was considered for the role.  you do not see christopher walken in mexican bars with midwestern tourists and central american travel agents.  he drinks his coronas in the dark.

mr. ford, you've ruined my nostalgia.  take your age with grace, dog.

ny post, 2004

mr. mark no longer believes that indy can crack a whip.  

doggie style

if society is reflected in how we treat our animals, then what does neutering say about the u.s.?

cusco, perú, 2006

mr. mark would never touch a dog's baggage.

you talk too much

what's the biggest cancer existing in our world today?  imma tell ya...it's called foot in mouth disease and it ruins relationships, job, and general communication levels the world over.  i'm a nervous wreck around the general public. and i've offended most when all i'm aimin' for is love, dog.    

i was working at a transitional homeless shelter years back.  i had to grab a family for an ap photo shoot about homeless families in the district.  ms. richards was in her late 40's with four wonderful daughters living wit' her in the building.  they were consecutive in age, 13-16, brand new and i was tryin' to 'member everyone's faces and names.  i was running through the building lookin' for the girls.  found one.  found two. couldn't locate the otha two, or maybe i did? i couldn't tell 'cause there were new kids all around mingling with one anotha.  i ran back to ms. richards and asked her if she'd seen 'em.  

"nah."

"dang, y'all look alike to me."

now, what meant to come out of my mouth was "your daughter's look exactly like their mother and since they're so close in age, they resemble quadruplets."

it wasn't takin'.  arms were crossed and she shot me that angled look joining her expression of "don't lie to me, boy."

it got worse.

"i mean, your young daughters are so beautiful, but pure.  i mean they've got personalities, not like they're pure.  they're virginal, i'm sure, but they've got attitude.  you know, nice with attitude.  a personality."

i now have to wear a sign, saying "i'm sorry black america."

but when you dig your grave, there's always someone who's dug one deeper.  this sign will always cure those wounds.  

uyuni, bolivia, 2006

mr. mark you thinks is beautiful too in a way that is not too demanding on your sexual preferences or qualifications of gender specifications.  

don daddy

missing fathers do their bit when they come around.  maybe a guilty conscience.  when my dad did it, he did it big.  at 13, he asked where in the world i'd like to- 

"jamaica, pop."

kept his word and we went.  i got away with that shit, yo.  pop bringing me to jamaica.  besides getting island diarrhea, buying a machete, 2am phone calls from island janes, and a young friend who liked to sing ritchie valens songs, i was all about picking up tracks to bring stateside.  not like i was a producer, i just liked my walkman more than clean underwear. walking into a store, "mark, what music would you-"

"all of this," as i pointed to a rack of tapes.

spoiled again with 6 tapes of unreleased stateside hype.  i was popular in my head for a long time after that.  every parent does their thing in tryin' to show love to their kid.  my dad had his moments.  i don't have any photos from this caribbean excursion, but i still have ninjaman.

i think he had a feeling about some other stuff, too.  dad died 9 months later.

jamaica, 1992

mr. mark still thinks he's popular.  ninjaman tells him so.  

come clean

i like that seinfeld cat.  my girl and i were gonna go see him.  took a read of this promotional piece in the local paper.  i got a little suspect when i spotted the bottom left photo.  i had a feeling they were gonna pull a kamp krusty on us.  

montreal, quebec, 2001

as a result, mr. mark is no longer with that girl.  she was a faker too.  

a lighter shade of brown

just outside of pittsburgh, pennsylvania rests a sleepy town named moon township and shit.  if you're lucky enough to visit the airport, robert morris college, or the denny's nearby, then you've found yourself entertained- western pa style.  as a young, out of town college student, i was one of seven people at robert morris who did not go home for the weekend.  fun was found at michael's hairloft, where the seven of us learned what a fake tan was.  it's a very safe alternative to most normal college pursuits like promiscuous sex, drug use, and alcoholism.  it also prevents the dangerous mold of socializing with peers.  instead, you can let them marvel at your glow.  if you're not from moon, it'd be hard to convince anyone to talk to you anyway.

moon township, pennsylvania, 1997

mr. mark got schooled at bobby mo' college for one year, young.  mr. mark no longer glow.  

3 tha hard way

best pic eva. 'nuff said.

children remind me of my childhood, son.

colegio anakena, santiago de chile, 2005

yo, mr. mark would like to add "adorable" to his description.

"all i need from you is your imagination"

how often do we meet our childhood idols? it's rare that it happens. by the time i was ten, i was over ralph macchio anyway (probably 'cause i looked older than him already). what you're left with as an adult is a sense of nostalgia that you don't want to spoil by revisiting. but, sometimes a visit with an icon can do the right trick. childhood memories remain but now i sport a bald spot matching my hero's. not even pure imagination could've imagined that, yo.

nat'l press club, 2007

mr. mark would like to give teri garr a hug and show bruce willis his receding hair line.

it's just begun

here's where it all started going wrong...

darnestown, md, 1990

mr. mark still looks in the mirror expecting to see a dark man.