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.