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.

reflections

how often are you told you look or are like this person that your friend knows? i don't know how to take it either. they could be talkin' about this guy from their high school that they used to call "duck boy" who would never change his socks. i don't think we'd want that. you have the right to investigate these things. if someone is willin' to make that claim, then they have to be willin' to show proof. if you're not satisfied with the results, then you can ask them to get their life together because they're projectin' their negative image onto you.

just don't say it in front of duck boy. he'll cry into his socks and that moisture is jus' gonna exarcerbate things.

boston, ma, 1998

mr. mark thinks you do look like an angel though.

"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.

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.

no nose job

if your likeness had to used for a sign or mannequin, what little detail would give it away? i'm thinkin' that it's not likely that tears would be used for a municipality crossing sign. i'd prefer it if you don't use the arching eyebrows. maybe not the receding hairline. hmmm...i don't know about the knock knees either. when it comes to self-image, what are we proud to represent?

ahhh, the adam's apple, a quality tan, and a square jaw. start their and we'll work our way to the average endowment.

panama city, panama, 2009

mr. mark thinks his skeletal tissue is probably pretty outstanding as well.

who am i?

do we ever stop wanting to be someone else as we age? i would say that we get mad comfortable in our shells as we mature. you get to know yourself and understand your qualities. really, what makes you unique. and that's beautiful.

but then you find yourself lookin' at that older guy sittin' next to you at ben & jerry's with a much younger woman, thinkin' "that can't be his daughter." and it can't, dog, 'cause no father stares at his daughter lickin' an ice cream cone like that. and that just depresses me.

get a grip. treat that midlife crisis in your 20's, kid.

the source, 1992

mr. mark thinks cellulite is becoming, forgotten milfies.

Episode 3- Father, Figure

Hip Hop From Mom's Basment- Father, Figure from Mr. Mark on Vimeo.

gettin' old's a beach.

the world is yours

if you were a country, which would you be? imma have to stick to my childhood choice of italy. you're apparently born with a whistle (i can't), loafers and slacks are prerequisites, if you scream out to someone else during sex, you've got a 90% chance of naming the person you're already boinkin' (maria or antonio), and you can become a superhero simply by robbing people. ya gotta love that.

but i don't eat much pasta no more and probably gotta start looking at my carb intake. let's say japan for a minute because it's fresh food, slippers, men that "humphf," gals that giggle in mini skirts, and a mom's basement blog would probably lead to a second career as an anime style superhero.

florence, italy, 2008

mr. mark is going back to the first 'cause he can get away with chest hair and a lack of spf in the mediterranean.

parents, just don't. understand?

what did your parents try to get you into as a kid? they come up with all kinds of shit that they think you'd be into, ya feel me? my mom felt that sports was the missing link in my life. poor mom, stuck with this fey son who had to be coerced into enjoying athletics (or maybe it was 'cause i called it "field goal ballet"). i think ma wanted to make sure i didn't live ma vie en rose. as a result, she'd meet with athletes, get autographs, but nothing seemed to take. but look ma...over 20 years later, i still have this card from the illustrious art monk from our local 'skins. as a result, i love soccer.

mother's have assiduous motives that you don't appreciate until later and shit.

washington, d.c., 1987

mr. mark's could maybe tackle your mom, if prompted.

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.

burn, hollywood, burn

don't know if i can say it much better than this. just stopped trusting morgan freeman being more than a conduit for white guilt in any movie i see him in. let a brother figure out some brother shit in a movie, yo.

montreal mirror, 2000

now if you need a latin to assuage your guilt, mr. mark is available for that. "i make jou feel so goood in jour heart, señor," he says while dusting off his sombrero.

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."

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.

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.  

"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.