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.

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?

"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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

original gangsta

having trouble with focus in your life? ask yourself...if you were to go to jail for a crime, what would it be? it might be the best way to figure out what you really care about. educational reformation in america? aids research in sub saharan africa? defending people you love? shit, maybe it's just vidal sassoon that you're all about, dog.

i probably would've died for hip hop back in tha day. but ever since ice cube started the family film circuit, somethin' tells me it's takin' care of itself. you ask me today and it's hard to answer. they don't mess around in jail. did you see that movie shawshank redemption? prisoners are mad sexual predators, yo.

darnestown, md, 1991

mr. mark would like to say he's passionate about the people he loves enough to die for them. shit, cocksucker, tits.

da writing's on da wall

if walls were more constructive, then they'd really talk. it's up to us to give them their voices. inebriation and urination often help with that. but next time, take some quick thought and add the guidance to that pub bathroom wall that we all need in those careless moments-

"don't cheat on your spouse."

"call a cab tonight."

"she has a penis."

quince orchard library, md, 2009

mr. mark puts the words up to "you shook me all night long" on pub walls since no one can seem to remember them.

rollin' with kids and play

what do you do with your saturdays now? we were all linked with the cereal and cartoon explosion up until a certain point. I quit around the time kid 'n play got into it and i found out that cap'n crunch wasn't a real cap'n (hint- cap'n is spelled capitano). hormonal time was malltime and lazy saturdays dancing in front of a video camera. the 20's were for sleeping off hangovers and then chasin' 'em again later that night. where are we at now? yard work? shopping at ikea? ny times crosswords and npr?

i'm thinkin' we all need to revisit our saturdays with cartoons and video camera dancin'. as adults, our weekends should sound like paul simon, but that doesn't mean you can't get down to animated interpretations of "still crazy after all these years." god, i love that song.

get out that camera and dance, son.

potomac, md, 1991 & 1995

mr. mark would like to know where he should plan on getting a new chaise next saturday.

hey lover

sometimes i feel like there was more of a formality to our relationships when we were younga. i like you, you like me, put a check in the box, make fun of me in front of my face, whateva. but now, we put all these signals and shit in front of everything.
"what does this mean?"
"wait 8 days before calling."
"he left the condom inside me."
well, some signs are easier than others. regardless, it'd be nice to go back to the earlier method where a simple "i like you" and check in a box set you on your path before "i love you" and profolactic scavenger hunts became a meaning for so many different things.

potomac, md, 1992

mr. mark would like you to check "yes" or "no" to liking this blog entry.

smooth operator

there was a time when we all thought we were untouchable and the camera's shutter click was a masturbatory signal that heaven had been captured.

and then we look back and realize we had the wrong wardrobe.

stupid kid. hook up some kenneth coles and bring your digi into the 3rd floor of club love, son.

potomac, md, 1991

mr. mark would actually like to find his san antonio spurs starter jacket again. he don' wanna catch no cold.

so you wanna be a gangster

gangsters live a life of pain and torment. before you get into that lifestyle, you should ask yourself what you're really looking for. 'cause if it's some love, there's always a squad for hug love. they're usually called moms and they drive mazda mpv's with tinted windows.

tinted mpv's? forgot about those. actually, moms live some gangster shit, yo.

potomac, md, 1994

mr. mark would warn you of "the cougar." almost a hit man like status amongst the hug love squad.

up north trip down memory lane

how many of your childhood idols have you seen on america's most wanted? i guess it's the street cred alternative to a "the more you know" psa.

rockville, md, 1992

mr. mark sends care packages to all his idols locked in the belly of the beast. they can trade the licorice for cigarettes if needed.

jus' like music

there's a pretty safe alternative to infidelity. for me, it's music. it answers many of the same needs of needin' to place your pee hole in or on a pee hole or poop hole. a new track makes gets you obsessed. you dream of it, you listen to it over and over, you have a love affair. while the initial thrill may run away, you'll always love that one track. and then, you can safely find another that you sweat and pine over without hurtin' anyone's feelings. music allows you to have a harem and i suggest this healthy alternative, brothers and sisters.

unless, you have a member of your harem who has deeply embarrassed you in the past. kind of like a fling on a drunken binge that you hope no one ever finds out about. because that one evening on the boardwalk brings back memories of rayon shirts, oversized girbaud jeans, and smooth jazz covers of shitty color me badd songs.

you know what? just don't drink and be on the prowl anywhere on the eastern shore. let's start with that, dog.

ocean city, md, 1992

mr. mark hopes to never wake up with acid washed anything in the bed.

ex girl to the next girl

hmmm...lookin' back on your past relationships, how much was she the mistake versus you? 'cause when it comes down to it, we all lookin' for somethin' with our s.o.'s, whether it be love, validation, or santa's magical gift bag. 15 wasn't really a scoring age for nookie but i got my fair share of swag from the poor ladies that were in my pimply path. my mind wrapped itself in it's own form of validation, namely, if they're not giving up the nookie, it better be some form of loot. in six months i had aquired a copy of star wars, a boombox, tube underwear (for some reason), and these prized autographs.
thinkin' back, i realize where the mistake really was. i mean, are you really gonna give nookie to an acne'd 15-year-old tgif watching fool who will probably horde this prized possesion past the age of 30?

skeletons lurk in that closet, yo. i still have some thumbtacked to the wall.

rockville, md, 1994

ladeez, mr. mark luvs you, but it's time to part with that jordan catalano pillow. a hangin' with mr. cooper blanket will be sacrificed for your maturation.

award tour

big up's...props...we all need recognition and shit. my biggest moment came one year ago where one of those claw grabbing machines at a denny's in harve de grace presented a challenge. you know the kind...you put in a quarter and move the claw to grab a stuffed animal or something made in china. the dark knight was in there and i had to prove it to myself. three quarters, some skillful maneuvering, and it was mine. i even saw the staff give a quiet nod. besides that and this award (rightfully earned), you'd say my life is sad. but, i ain't reachin' for pieces of paper, gold statues, or stichery from china to validate me. there's somethin' called a hug and a smile which i get pretty often. it makes my soul shine and shit. and no award can outgloss that, son.

hugs are life's way of validating you. they also get you closer to boobies.

potomac, md, 1988

mr. mark does sleep with the dark knight next to him and requires the glow of a night light.