So this blog has been around for a while.  Those of you who followed since the beginning know that, at first, it was a fairly intriguing experiment.  In the beginning, myself and the other original owner of this domain gave each other creative writing assignments and then posted the results side by side.  It was a fairly pretty concept and well-executed, if I do say so.

After that working relationship dissolved, this turned into a solo space for my “work.”  Since then, I’ve tried to update regularly with longer-form writing, as well as general rants and philosophical raves along with documentation of my travels.

Now I’ve gotten busy.  I have a fairly serious full time job that I (kind of) care about.  I’ve also gotten back to longer form writing.  Specifically, writing that I don’t necessarily want to just post online.  And so, for the time being, this blog will be shutting down.

I’ve also realized that a majority of this blog became a testament to neuroses.  To self-imposed insanity.  To wallowing.  Fairly recently, I heard a quote from Bret Easton Ellis: “Just relax.  No one cares about your madness but you.  Just relax.”

And so, the shutting down of this blog will be that, as well.  A relax.  A thing off of my mind for the time being.  In the future, it may turn into a space to exhibit my professional work instead of a self-involved blog.  We’ll see.

So I encourage you to keep this blog on your bookmarks, your RSS Readers, etc.  Because I’ll use this space for something.  But for now, please follow my much shorter form thoughts over here: http://listlessintellectual.tumblr.com.

Hope to see you all around (in real life) soon.

Yesterday, I got on a plane immediately after cleaning up a Fourth of July party.  I flew straight to Minneapolis, MN, then (eventually, after 2 delays) on to Anchorage, AK.  Words cannot describe just how strange it is to wake up in New York City (hung over), get on a plane, sleep for a bit, eat for a bit, and then suddenly be touching down in the relative wilderness.  Skyscrapers, bike lanes, and the eccentric/unnecessary artists in the streets have been exchanged for mountains in every direction, bike paths through forests, and everything from “urban moose” to people with actual (not lifestyle) alcohol problems everywhere you look.

I’m already enjoying this place a lot.  Loaner bike, check.  Planned trip into the wilderness tomorrow, check.  M.I.A. and La Roux playing in the internet café I’ve found, check.  People say, “Hi” here, which is one of those things from the Midwest that I never realize I miss while I’m in Brooklyn, but becomes a bit heart-wrenching all too quickly when it catches me off guard in a place where no one needs to be addressing me at all.

I’ll update here once more during the trip, but you can follow much more regularly over at http://listlessintellectual.tumblr.com

I went to Mexico a few months ago.  In the process, I stopped in Long Beach, CA to see some friends and meet up with my fellow travelers, 4 longtime friends from Chicago.  While the digital pictures of that whole fiasco, along with the documentation of all the food we ate, is hilarious, I think the roll of actual film I shot while in Mexico is a bit more interesting.

In order to get to Rosarito, Mexico (where our 50 mile bike race began) from Long Beach, we had to pass through the busiest land-border crossing in the world.  Remarkably, a car full of five unshaven yahoos failed to get searched.  Our luck continued all trip long, as our hotel was amazing, everyone rode strong and well, we got no flats, and successfully housed In N Out Burgers as soon as we were back in the states.

This was one of those trips that I don’t even like to talk about.  Everything went too well.  Everyone had too good of a time.  Everything went right.  Those 5 days simply went by too quickly.

Here, the analog:

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First off, I promise to get around to the Mexico trip soon enough.  I’ve been busy with a new job and such.  Here’s a brief update of fun from Memorial Day:

The Burg was in full swing this weekend.  Everything from riding in the backs of trucks while helping friends move to witnessing a cab jump the curb and hit a building on Bedford and an extensive amount of hanging out on roofs occurred:

The real fun, however, came on Memorial Day.  Promptly upon waking, my apartment’s crew touched base with my old friend Dustin’s and an entourage took off in separate cars for Riis Park (out in the Far Rockaways).  It’s an area of New York City that is completely not like any other part of the city.  Suburban, beautiful, bridges everywhere, waves, and backyards.  Best of all, we brought my roommate’s dog, Nico:

Here’s Phil and Brett, the other two people in our car.  Phil cowered in the back seat while Brett drove “like an 8-year old who got a hold of some Mountain Dew.”

After crossing “the ugliest bridge in New York,” we showed up to the beach and met up with Dustin, Laura, Celia, Simon, and Abel.  Some of whom are pictured here:

After a few hours of heavy wind, freezing water (which we did swim in), we headed back.  Little did we know, finding our way back to hipster-ville from the “real world” was as easy as following the signs along the road and the track bikes leading the way:

Strangely enough, somewhere in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, we found unfortunate historical practices still in full swing… and being propagated by a Reverand, no less!:

Mexico update soon.  I promise.

So I’m sitting in JFK airport right now, about to head to Long Beach, California. I’ll be meeting up with four friends from Chicago who were in Las Vegas last night and we’re all staying at some friend’s place in Long Beach. Afterward, we’re riding in the Rosarito/Ensenada bike race.  It looks to be a great time.

There will be a long-form post of all the pictures, words, idiocy, etc. on this blog at the end of the trip.  In the meantime, if you feel like keeping up, check out my Tumblr.

http://listlessintellectual.tumblr.com

Please wish me, my friends, our legs, and – especially – our livers good luck.  To the Conan The Barbarian-run state and Taco Bell-land I go!

Here is a conversation I (Mark) just had with Anna:

It’s pretty much the best short story I could ever write.

“To all the people watching, I can never ever thank you enough for your kindness to me and I’ll think about it for the rest of my life. All I ask of you is one thing: please don’t be cynical. I hate cynicism. For the record, it’s my least favorite quality, and it doesn’t lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they would get, but if you work hard and you’re kind, I’m telling you, amazing things will happen.”

-Conan O’Brien

When he says this.  Especially when his voice quivers during that first sentence.  It kills me.

Go watch the last episode here or just skip to about 31 minutes in to see the entire final sign-off.

This is where I am. Solo bike rides in 30 degree weather just for the view.

This is a monologue I wrote about what I do/did at night.  Pretty regularly.  It’s in reference to the “Middle of the Night” episode of This American Life.  It’s pretty self-involved… as most monologues should be.

Certain names have been changed.  Hope no one is offended.

The night begins with coffee.  It is a ritual that I started years ago, back in undergrad.  Back then, we hardly slept.  About one hour after dinner, when I finally worked up the strength to be productive, there was a ritual that surrounded myself and the coffee pot in my room:

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I promise.  I’m working on writing a lot more.  And on the topic that I previously proposed.  I’m actually working on both a “Bait & Switch” story and a “What We Do At Night” piece right now.  But until those are finished…

This is a very, very short character sketch I wrote a little while back:

There is a child being held by her mother at the Bedford Avenue subway stop.  She is sucking her thumb and staring staring staring at a man who is playing the violin and singing loudly.  It is the saddest song she has ever heard and it drips out like the cries that the child knows exist.  She understands that there is pain.  She has fallen and scraped knees and watched as her mother’s hand shakes while it pays bills.  She knows that this pain is in the world, but she has not learned about it yet.  The girl somehow understands.  She knows that she is staring into her future, through black locks falling in front of her eyes, past her mother’s ears, into her future.  She has been programmed to know that this is the eventual end of all things.  But she cannot fathom it yet.  All of this sorrow, somehow, is a part of the life that she knows she will be forced to breath through.  She begins to cry.  Then her mother bounces her and and whispers a frail, “Shhhh.”  For the first time, the child stops immediately.  The man finishes his song.  The train arrives.