happy holla-dayz!

Spike Lee came to the University of Illinois a few years ago and I had the opportunity to listen to his advice. $40,000 and an hour later, he pretty much fed everyone the same bullshit we always hear, "If you put your mind to it, you can do anything". Since this is the season of wanting, I started to think of all the things I want and don't want and I thought maybe Mr. Lee was right. Maybe I could put my mind to it and do or get whatever I wanted. Nope.

Disclaimer: It is to your advantage to watch all of the videos.

I want to be #1 like...

I want to eat dinner with my family in my dorm room like...

I want to stencil like...

And I want to draw who I truly am, like...

I want to hillbilly like...

Or like...

Or even like...

I just don't want to be the Chinese Ambassador anymore, like...

Well, as long as the good old days keep coming around with Dan, like...

Because I want to have brothers like...

Or sisters like...

Because I'm going to want a shoulder to lean on like...

Especially when I don't want to look like a lesbian like...

Instead I'd want to show off my haircut like...(and then be able to have a legitimate excuse on why I still have this picture)

Or like...

And not be insecure like...

Because then I'd want to hit on girls like...

And eventually I'd be able to hang out with girls like...

And marry a girl like...

Or even have a secret (or not so secret) admirer like...

I want to learn how to stick out like...

Or like...hey Jason...

Then I want to show off my moves like...

With those moves, I don't want to be left out of the dance party like...

I don't want to be on the outside looking in like...

I no longer want my heart to be locked up like...(please click)

I want to stop making ads like...

And I want to stop wasting my time on Facebook like...

I need to clean up my life so it doesn't look like...

Or like...

Because then I'd be able to keep my head up like...

And sing-a-long like...

Because we all know Life is about balance like...

We don't want to let it flash before our eyes like...

So let's spend as much time as possible sculpting ourselves like...

Fuck it, who am I kidding? I just don't want to look like...


Enjoy these days.

6th grade?

I break hearts not chairs.

Actually, I do break chairs and really haven't broken any hearts. That's besides the point. Recently I noticed a few negative blog posts about me. They imply that I'm fat and say that I'm an idiot. Fair enough. But in my defense, I broke those chairs sitting. Here is a true story about other furniture that I had no part in breaking.


One morning, I woke up to find this. This is a picture of my living room. Notice anything weird about the couch? Take a look at the makeshift leg made up of literature.


"Uncle Tom's Cabin". Sounded disgusting. "Emma". Well I won't even bring up old shit. "Lies My Teacher Told Me". I actually read it, pretty good. But "MOJO" magazine. Really didn't leave anything to the imagination. Obviously the results of foul play. But what exactly? I pondered for hours.


This was on the coffee table. The perpetrators must have had a midnight snack before they, seemingly, knocked boots.


I looked at the party pictures from the night before when I came across this haunting picture. This is Dan 'dancing' at the party he was at. Please pay attention to his pose and use your imagination to create an idea of what kind of activities (think sexual) he is looking for after a long night of partying. Definitely doesn't look like he's interested in leaving any room for the Holy Spirit. Hey English major, didn't think I knew what foreshadowing was?


Now add this overwhelmingly happy guy. This picture was taken earlier in the day when we were on our way to make modern postmodern egg-carton-art. I think he just found out there was going to be a little Guided By Voices at the after party he was going to in the evening hours. Mouth wide-open. I didn't ask him to see his tonsils and I'm pretty sure Dan didn't either...or did he?


I was onto something but I really needed to know how broke the couch was to help develop a mental reenactment of what actually took place. I sat on it and just as I expected, it was broke, broke as fuck. It must have taken a lot of movement and a lot of weight to break the shit out of it. The couch is made out of the finest wicker Canada has to offer (probably about all it has to offer).


Then, I came across this picture. That pizza box stared at me and this time I wasn't frightened. (The last time I was scared shitless. I drank too much at C.O.'s and ended up with a girl who had genital warts). (Hint: think 'box'.)

By now you should probably be able to create a vivid, yet disgusting, mental image of what happened. If not, I did it for you. I created a work of art (influenced by Piet Mondrian, if you didn't know that, you might have more fun here). Banksy isn't the only one that can hang stuff up in 'museums' and get away with it. Look with your eyes, see with your soul.



So that's that. Mondrian even said it himself (with my help). From Plastic Art and Pure Plastic Art (1937). “Although art (dingdong sex) is fundamentally everywhere and always the same (wouldn't know), nevertheless two main human inclinations (PG way to put it), diametrically opposed to each other (at least that's what Jesus says), appear in its many and varied expression. One aims at the direct creation of universal beauty (Dan's), the other at the aesthetic expression of oneself (Matt's), in other words, of that which one thinks and experiences.”

I think I will name this mystery Game of Pricks.

I was Martin: "Michael Jordan and I have the same middle name."

Preface: People tell me that they couldn't see me named anything else. They say 'Marty' is perfect. I mean the name 'Marty' is perfect, most people happen to think I am a weirdo (jealousy). Let me let you in on a little secret, I wasn't always Marty. Well I started my life out as Marty and I was perfectly comfortable with that. I mean I was young and I had seen Back to the Future so subsequently I thought I was named after Marty McFly. At preschool my two best friends Darryl and Malcolm always called me Marty. My kindergarten teacher called me Marty, even when I peed my pants twice in one day. So for a long time I was perfectly comfortable with who I was. Then grade school came around. I switched schools and I found myself in a completely new place, both mentally and physically. I mean back at my other schools I was pretty much a certified OG. I had quite the reputation of being full of smiles. William P. Gray Elementary was new turf. Certified OG's were expected to adjust to their surroundings but one thing stood in the way. Attendance. The first day of school was fine. I picked out the honeyz I was planning on macking and I picked out the playboys that had potential to gain certification. Mr. Pena called out this thing named 'attendance' and I noticed that everyone had it but me. He'd call a name and awww da bitchez would raise their hands. I figured he had the premium HM-HO. I had to get me some of that. But anyways. For 3 days I noticed that my name was never called. I mean I did not want to be a sucka with this dude but I needed to learn his ways. So one day I went home and I asked my moms, "Why doesn't the teach ever call my name when he's taking attendance?". Moms was confused. For an hour she seemed pretty puzzled. Finally, she came over to me and she asked me to write my name. M A R T Y. She had realized the problem. She wrote: M A R T I N. "That's the name you have to go by in school." Martin, I didn't like it. I didn't feel it and it didn't feel me. The next day I listened for 'Martin' and sure enough moms was right (she was a teach too).

Everything went downhill from there. For years I felt like a Marty trapped in a Martin closet. I mean there was things that helped me deal with the anguish. Eazy-E helped, Bone-Thugz helped, Keith Sweat helped. Most notably Martin Lawrence's hit sitcom 'Martin' helped. But it didn't matter. I was lost. I turned 17 and I watched the Back To The Future trilogy. Marty McFly was still the absolute shit. I decided that I had to come out of the closet. I know. It was going to be tough. I tried to learn everything I could about Marty McFly. I learned a bunch of facts about who he was mackin and about how a bunch of lame ass dudes wanted his shoes (check it). But I came to the end of the line. Back To The Future came out on July 3rd, 1985. I was born on March 26th. I was probably named after some lowlife.

So you see, this is what shaped the confused person I am today. I continue to struggle between Martin and Marty and sometimes the latter has to take a back seat. Let me share some of those moments with you.



Name: Martin
Place: Ridgemoor Country Club
Year: Summer of 2003

Martin was an Honor Caddy. He made a lot of money. He sold his soul to the rich white elite. He would wait around for hours, almost all day just to carry a Conservative's golf bag, give him yardages, fix his divots, and wash his balls.

However, there was one thing Martin liked doing. He loved to hoop it up even when it was close to 100 degrees out. But he wasn't any good. While Marty still dreamed to someday make it on the Bulls and fly high next to MJ, Martin's ignorance outwardly showed everyone that Marty's dream would never be. Here is the evidence.



Martin couldn't drive.



Martin couldn't shoot.



Martin's teammates didn't like him. He was on the blue team.



Martin could kind of And-1, but not well.

Fuck Martin.

Note: Barb doesn't believe my name story. I tell myself I was named after Martin Luther King Jr. to ease T-pain.

Al-truism vol. 1: Earth, Wind & Fire + Swervestyle.

Earth, Wind & Fire have had numerous hits that you can shake your tail-feather to. When I was growing up (still am, aren't we all? actually I'm growing more out than anything) hearing "September" and other EW&F classics at 5:45AM on weekend mornings was delightful. I wasn't a fan of waking up that early but it was comforting to know that it was possible to get your swerve on that early in the morning. While you're drooling on your pillow, Al is perfecting those moves that will probably change your life. I know it changed mine.

Note: My reenactment of Al's moves in no way live up to the real thing.

TriBond

Donatello and Captain Hook all up in that ass.

Donatello


Captain Hook

It's official. We be doin it. NOT LIKE THAT, TRICK ASS HO ASS TRICK! We on our way to elevatin the game, ya dig? Dan Jiggity Johnson aka Donatello aka The Don aka Don uh tell ya, is the freshest thing to enter the Hip-Hop scene since Do or Die made "Po Pimp". Just to remind you how dope that shit is/was I done linked that shit to this mu-fuckin blog.



Marty C. aka Captain Hook be writin them, well...hooks. Simple as that. Donatello is King of the streets of Summit, Illinois which be across the street from Chicago (never 'The Chi'). The grass ain't no greena on the other side cuz the only thing we lookin at that's green is that dolla dolla, girl let me holla holla. Marty C. is King of Portage Park, Chicago and if you aint never heard of it that just means you a punk bitch that don't know no better. If you don't know, now you know. Just be on the lookout for our new single "I Hurt Too, We All Hurt" which actually, now that I think about it, sounds pretty pussy-esque. And you know we know about that pussy-esque (check out the video at the bottom, that's what our partiez are gonna be like minus the zebra print g-string and fake bonerz, cuz when shit is real, shit is real, ya dig playboy?). The title might seem soft but once we add that bass that make ya nut hairz stand up and plenty of high hat and maybe a little chopped and screwed, if we got time, that shit is gonna be rockin booty butt bangerz with hangerz. We grown ass men and if you be sippin on that haterade you better shut up talkin to us.



By the way all this shit is copyrighted, patented, and all up in ya urrrrea. Certified gangsters.

What's up Doc? Can we rock?

Mr. Shaquille O'Neal is a scholar in individuality. No matter how many nicknames you give him, he forever remains a genius in that, as an obnoxiously large person, he has completely redefined the overused expression "Live Big". I use the word 'obnoxiously' because the difference in height between Shaquille and I is depressing. According to ESPN.com, Shaquille is 7'1". If someone were to rest one of Shaquille's rims from any of his 34 cars from 1996 on my head, we would finally be a similar height. Remember dubz were extravagant in '96. These days if you are not riding on at least twenty twos (you can't lose, that's what's up) you might as well retire from the game us scholars (and Milton Bradley) like to call 'Life'. Shaquille is a rapper (not 'ternt sanga' like Thelonius Pain), a philanthropist, a backboard shatterer, sometimes a heart shatterer, never a pants shatterer, a specific fractional distillate of petroleum fuel oil, Superman on occasion, and always a Fu-Schnicken. Too many identities to count, and he's living each and every one of them B.I.G. Admit it to yourself, we all live multiple lives. Do we live them vicariously? Does Shaquille O'Neil feel that he is the real deal? Maybe. Let's question the way we live our lives. Dig it. Feel feelings and let's try to remember that Shaq is 'alidocious'.

Get that thing off of your head!

Celine Rocks The Great Wall

Yes it is ridiculous.

Sleep.

Peace Peekaboo.

Peekaboo (daughter of Mookyboo) used to sleep in my lap when I played Super Mario Bros. on Nintendo. That's how long ago we saved her from her family. She used to nurse my cuts and hog my sheets. She was the raddest bitch alive and she will be missed.

Back From The Future

Maybe this will help keep me sane.

Repeat the 3-Peat.

Game 1 vs. the Heat was on TV here. I had to stay up until 4am to watch it but it was well worth it. Go Bulls.

30E Winton Drive. Room 4.

Here are some pictures of where I live.

Slippin on some sizzurp!

Ivica and I went on a 20-day trip over Christmas break. Our goal was to hit up a bunch of cities and end up in Italy for New Years. We didn't plan anything and we totally improvised as we went along. After many delays we met in Heathrow and flew to Amsterdam. After my luggage failed to arrive we kicked it in Amsterdam for about 5 days. Amsterdam is filled with beautiful people and bicycles, oh yeah and skankin ass ho ass skankz. Actually the Red Light District was really interesting, the girls were a lot better looking than either of us expected but we are moral dudes, kind of. Ivica didn't seem to have any sense of direction and we spent more time walking around looking for our hostel than sightseeing. Highlights of Amsterdam: Flanked by Warhammer Legionnaires, Ben from New York and his ideas that humans were going to become immune to antibiotics, Ivica hitting on Brazilian hardbodies that only like other hardbodies, CO's in Amsterdam, Desk Girl that never answered a question with an explanation, Christmas Eve aka the greatest night of my life, THE BOX, Guacamole, crazyass Old English lady, 'OH MY GAWD!'. Barcelona: We flew to Barcelona and met a dude named Alejandro from Italy while trying to figure out how to get to our hostel. He escorted us there and we hung out with him for a few days. He then tried to help me pick out underwear, since I had been wearing the same ones for 5 days, and that was when we decided to just hang out with ourselves. For the amount of time we were in Barcelona we failed to get a lot of sightseeing done but we did a good amount of partying. We hung out with some locals who spoke very little English and planned to take us to a Rave. It all fell through and we ended up going home really late. Highlights: 'Grasshopper!', Ivica met 1 of his many European loves, depressed ass people at hostel, Argentinian Hardbodies, crazy Chilean girl who loved the way 'North American' guys dance, the Luiz's, drinking brewskies on the street, partying until 8am, dying German girl, Flamenco dancer steams up the dance floor, Dan & Val New Year's, Ashlee Simpson (the one that got away). After about a week in Barcelona we flew to Paris. We ended up staying in the same hostel I stayed at the last time I was in Paris. We had to share a bed for the first night and I know Ivica loved every single second of it. This is where I lost my camera while Ivica was too busy proposing to his fiance Meredith who he plans on moving in with early next year (congrats Ivica). Ivica met Meredith in Heathrow during his layover, while he was waiting for me. He told me later that it was love at first sight. Good job big guy, I hope I'm invited to the wedding. Anyways, we went on some tours, ate some badass food, met up with my friend Lauren, and tried to enjoy as much of Paris as we could. Highlights: Luggage is in Glasgow, people at hostel recognized me, Australian breezy, Prashant: Indian business man that bought us a lot of drinks and got totally obliterated the last night we were there and hit on some really young Russian girl, totally hilarious, he invited us to his night club in India, hopefully one day we will be able to take him up on his offer, Meredith's crazyass French girlfriend, both dodge fights, Matt from Canada. We then took the train from Paris to London where Ivica stayed for a half-day. We met up with Natalie and she showed us some really cool spots around town. Ivica left in the morning. I stayed in London for 2 more days and kicked it with Natalie. We did some shopping and eating and dancing. It was a swell time indeed. Overall, the trip turned out to be a great success. We didn't die and we made it to more than one city. We never got close to Italy but we had some good times. I'm sure half of the things I mentioned above don't make any sense but I guess that's what Ivica and me will always share. Plus we both have secrets about each other and you will never hear any of those. Even though we were the highlight at every place we went, everything seemed to slip through our fingers but that's alright. We'll get them next time. Good times mu-fucka.


This is the group of dudes we hung out with in Barcelona. From Left to Right:Singer of INTWINE from the Virgin Islands (www.intwine.nl). He was a total liar. Luiz #1: Engineer working in Portugal, actually just a party animal. He didn't get out of bed until 7pm most days. Me. Luiz #2:This dude shared a special experience with me. We watched some Portuguese dude suffer a bad trip and slam his head off the ceiling air conditioner and then try to jump out the window. Totally awesome. Ivica. Chris: Total mooch. 'Artist' that was trying to move to Barcelona. From Manhattan, had a sillyass accent and made fun of the fact that we said 'dude' and 'man' a lot. Not pictured: Hardbodies from Argentina, I guess it's because we didn't really hang out with them.

One of the few left of Amsterdam.

I am a tiny dude.



Ignore the rug-burn on my face and look at the protestors about to get they ass whooped by the po-po-fo-sho.


Outdoor escalators are the shit.




Where's Waldo?

Love.



We went swimming and hung out with this playboy.


One of the only pictures that survived Paris.

Cut it out.

Looking good:

Looking illnasty good:


Today I worked out. As I was squatting using the Smith Machine I tried to re-rack the weight when I was finished. I managed to miss it and as I tried to move from underneath the bar it dragged me down to the floor. It scared the shit out of me. Maybe I should have been embarrassed. Smith Machine=1 Marty=0 (I won't count that one time I got nasty with it's baby mama). Wait. Marty will be around for a lot longer. Start getting used to it.