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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.