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 9- Crossin' Lines

Hip Hop From Mom's Basement- Crossing Lines from Mr. Mark on Vimeo.

if my train goes off the track, pick it up, pick it up, pick it up?

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.

i missed the bus

does anybody else start their calendar year in september? i can't really get past thinkin' september is the beginning of the year. years and years of that panic, anticipation, renewal, and hope that one fine lady in my home room class would take my virginity has led to me greeting the big s month with the same degree of newness. i don't know if i'll ever get past it. i still sit on the metro in those first few days of september, hoping that a lady from my new "home room" will take my virginity. i'd substitute the location for work, but since i'm self employed, i've already already banged the secretary and the boss. usually around 3pm on wednesdays after tisha campbell pops her head in on a rerun of martin.

washington, dc, 1996

mr. mark would love to have his new home room in rio. as in vanessa del. nasty.

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.

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."

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.

i'm the magnificent

as a kid, it was somethin' with a kung fu grip in the backpack. as a teen, it was usually a wethered condom in the wallet. as a young adult, it was a license carrying your own home address on it. now...well, we still got them things we keep on our person to showcase who we are, whether it's true or not. keys with some euro auto emblem blazin', a few pics of your kids, that same condom. shoot, maybe that'll never stop. you end up walkin' with a cane by the time you're ready to go and we all know the kind of stroll that's called.

i carried this joint in my back pocket my senior year provin' how cool my weekends were. hopefully, nobody smelled the bluff.

washington, dc, 1997

mr. mark carries his cell phone on him. he just wishes it would ring.

the formula

if you could party with any celebrity, historical figure, or fictional character, who would it be? i feel like a lot of you would say holden caulfield, but he's such a drag. slick rick would be a hoot. wallace shawn made a whole play out of a dinner with andre. i'm thinkin' a civil rights wife, like a betty shabazz or coretta scott king. probably really good listeners, probably could get down to jr. walker & the all stars, and they've probably got your back the whole night. but really, i just wants a good listener.

and someone to share my steak fries with.

washington, dc, 1996

mr. mark would be tempted to share his evening with einstein if he can hold his liquor.

the illest

they say that physical sickness can be cured by your mental capabilities. isn't that wild, dog? we can fix ourselves. now, i don't know that i'd try that with a 9mm chest wound, but a sniffle and some rawness in the throat might be countered with positive thoughts and some optimism. sometimes, we need an extra hand there. i'd keep the people in your life that can do that. even if you have to call a 7-year-old to give your stamina a boost in the midst of a flu like onset or heartbreak.

kids are wise or somethin'. maybe they're ghosts.

washington, dc, 2007

mr. mark saves his co-pay 'cause his niece has got mad jungian skillz.

always comin' back home to you

you gotta give props to where you're from. you look around close enough and you gonna find somethin' that someone else admires. even if it's the biggest target store.

word up otsego, minnesota. damn, y'all got everything there. mall of america. lakes. prince.

washington, dc, 1994

mr. mark counters with black people, headline ready interns, and a label hatin' punk rock outfit that charged less than a hamilton for rawness. doncha know, son.

...if you are what you say you are...

yo, imagine you were someone's hero. would you really want them to see what you do at home? i mean, it's hard enough tryin' to meet people's expectations. i dunno that i wanna mess that up with images of clippin' toenails with a can opener, watchin' reruns of "designing women," and scroungin' up pennies to buy a copy of men's health just to put that cologne sample on my person to impress the indian bank teller named sheri when i go in and ask for two fives and four ones in exchange for my obscene collection of copper lincolns.

at least, that's more exciting than the alternative...sittin' here writin' an entry about being a hero.
damn, i still wish i was british.

washington post, 1994

mr. mark imagines ll cool j just eats pink cookies in a plastic bag at home.

all my love

it takes the insight of an 8-year-old to define the status of your adult relationships.

washington, d.c., 2007

mr. mark is also weerd while she is so so so so so so pritty.

they reminisce over you

i wish some things didn't change so quickly. 12" dance was were i copped my first hip hop record on vinyl. it was the geto boys "mind playin' tricks on me" back in the early 90's. 12" became dj hut which now will become...something retarded, no doubt. in their words:

DJ Hut friends and customers,
We have some sad and disappointing news to share with you. DJ Hut can no longer battle the dual headwind of the demise of the music retail industry and the economic downturn. As a result, we are forced to shut down the store and go strictly online at the end of April. Effective immediately, all vinyl records, CDs, DVDs and books will be liquidated at the rate of 20% off the regular price.
We would like to thank you for your support over the last 7 years at the store and we look forward to your continued support online.
Best,
DJ Hut Crew

i'm tired of losing small, personable business in america. i'm starting a fasting movement until this changes. i'm not eating my vegetables until this country comes to its senses. rally up and join me people. we're leaving the brussel sprouts on the table.

washington, d.c., 1994

mr. mark emplores you to buy vinyl locally. it's good for the environment and it's safer than war bonds.

(anotha) song about (anotha) friend

that shuffle option on your mp3 player is a dirty beast, yo. you get to road trippin' with some friends and the skeletons are released when the player catches up with two belinda carlisle tracks, the "city of angels" soundtrack, and that jermaine dupri remix of "what a girl wants." you're better off with a killer road mix with no filler. keep that copy of jordan knight's "give it to you" in the closet, playa.

washington, d.c., 2001

mr. mark refuses to apologize for his carly simon box set. refuses.

x clan

there's always some way of upping the game with your peers. back in high school it was all about a bit of shading on certain parts of your body. it claims the "what happened last night" label, and dammit if you didn't work to get your due. if you walked into school with dark bags under your eyes, scratches or dirt on your skin, or maybe, just maybe a bluish purplish lip stain on your neck...you got some respect. but if you were really lucky, you walked into school with a black mark or "x" on your right hand telling everyone that you are a nocturnal animal and the city is your bitch. and since most teens will give you the benefit of the doubt, you don't have to make up an alternative to the bare truth- spending the evening seeing amy grant with your grandparents. for the third time. in one year.

i miss the simple power of black ink. student loans, credit card payments, and mortgages don't really have the same effect on peers. ya feel mee?

washington, d.c., 1996

mr. mark's superhero power would involve a black rubber stamp.

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.

knowledge reigns supreme over nearly everybody

i aim to learn. use this thing called google a lot. but a lot of my information comes from kids. they pick things up and pass them on to you. kids are the real google, yo.

i knocked my arm months back while i was teaching. funny bone tinglin'...lost my concentration. dc youngin' says, "funny bone, right?"

"what about it?"

"give it a few seconds. that sensation happens because your bone is moving and it keeps it from breaking."

i will never trust information from the internet again.

kids are lil' scholars, yo.

washington, d.c., 2008

mr. mark stops 4th graders to ask how to stop hiccups.

basic instructions before leaving earth

what kind of legacy do you want to leave? perhaps the meaning of life revolves around that pursuit. we all want to remembered for somethin'. here's your moment, jeff.

washington post, 2007

mr. mark still cries when he watches the last scene of ikiru.

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.