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.

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!

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.

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.

Episode 6- Bathroom Graffiti

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

oh, the mystery that is woman...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

rap is outta control

every underground movement gets corporate sponsorship at some point. years and years ago, a small group of guerillas worked the appalachian mountains tryin' to gain momentum for their suffrage ideals. their tactics were mad sincere, comin' into towns with baked goods, holdin' town hall meetings, tryin' to get rights for all in the early days of this land. their m.o. also consisted of them livin' and organizin' in trees (literally). authorities would find hollowed out redwoods and oaks that fit small families. early corporate america caught wind of this sensation and approached the growing group with money and fame. sadly, the suffrage movement didn't last, but the kebler elves did. sad to see hip hop taste just as sweet these days.

true story. howard zinn told me that. well, he goes by howie zinfandel and cuts hair out of his garage.

chapel hill, north carolina, 2009

mr. mark would like to give props to the lovely ms. fearer for use of her digi and her handlin' of zip files. no euphemisms attached. holla.