There's something about YouTube that's kind of like a dad. From teaching you the ABC's to helping you grasp the birds and the bees, this website is always there to lend some parental advice. I'll never forget the first time my virtual father came to my aid.
It was my sophomore year of undergrad and I had to give a speech in front of the 50+ coeds in my MGMT 101 class (many of which were hot sorority girls). As if my nerves weren't wracked enough, I had to deliver my classroom address dressed to the nines. Being a life-long heathen and a Myrtle Beach native, the nicest clothes I owned were two-toned golf cleats and a polo. When it came to a suit and tie, I was shit out of luck.
A couple days before the big speech, I perused the sales rack of my local Belk and purchased some inexpensive and ill-fitting business attire. My wardrobe dilemma was solved (aside from the fact that I looked like a little boy wearing daddy's jacket), but one problem remained. What in the hell was I supposed to do with that satin noose?
For the record, my family isn't THAT "country." My dad wore a suit to work almost everyday, and he even taught me how to tie a Double Windsor when I was a wee-little boy. Unfortunately, I had lost that knowledge about as fast as I broke the D.A.R.E. pledge.
After failing to remember that childhood lesson and leaving a frantic message on my father's cellphone, I had reached the end of my rope. As I hung the shiny lasso from the ceiling and prepared to kick the chair (slight exaggeration), I had an epiphany. "I'll ask YouTube!"
"How do you tie a tie?" I typed.
"," YouTube responded.
"I love you, YouTube!" I shouted while embracing the screen, my perfectly-knotted tie draping over the keys.
From that moment on, YouTube became my dad away from dad.
"How do I adjust a metal watch band?"
","YouTube responded.
"How do I check my oil?"
","YouTube responded.
"How do I know if a girl has an STD?"
","YouTube responded.
Like a dependable parent, Youtube knows the cure for all of life's little nuisances. But its helpfulness isn't limited to step-by-step instructions. You can also count on this comforting website for a frown-flipping smile,
a gut-busting laugh,
and a supportive pat on the back when you make a total ass out of yourself.
By no means am I suggesting that YouTube is superior to an actively-involved parent. I'm just acknowledging the fact that a mother or father can't always be there for you. With wireless internet and the advent of smartphones, YouTube can.
There's something about self-promotion that's kind of like dining at an all-you-can-eat buffet. There are three crucial rules for engaging in either activity:
1.) Try a little bit of everything - If you keep filling your plate with the same item over and over and over and over again (You've got to make AT LEAST 4 trips), you'll miss out on a lot of tasty opportunities.
2.) Don't let judgment curb your appetite - If you get indigestion from the self-controlled individuals staring you down as you take your third trip to the dessert bar, you don't have the stomach for the spotlight.
3.) Tip the help - If you don't grease the palms of the people who support your gratuitous narcissism, you'll be left with a hot mess and spit in your soda.
Help yourself to my hype buffet:
OKmarkOK's
Attention-Whoring Smörgåsbord
Entrées
These items contain the heftiest portions of Mark. Kudos to those who can consume all three without vomiting profusely.
Blogna (If you need the link, you need help) - This
spicy cut of Mark O.K. contains his 100% unpasteurized anecdotes and diatribes. Diners will either delight in the
playfully-poignant concoctions or purge it from their TweetDeck. Regardless, he's keeping it on the
cutting board for at least a year.
Yelperole (http://okmarkok.yelp.com/) - This goulash of reviews is quickly becoming Mark O.K.'s favorite dish thanks to the encouraging community (Yelpers make the BEST customers), alluring rewards (e.g. ROTD & Elite status) and the freedom to experiment with a variety of recipes.
Portfolioli (http://markkilliancw.com/) - After two years of refinement at the Creative Circus, this polished dish is ready for consumption. But don't get too accustomed to the current taste. A new take on this plate is currently being thrown around the test kitchen.
Sides These fixin's are the perfect complement to any of Mark O.K.'s self-indulgent entrées.
Tweet Medley (http://twitter.com/#!/OKmarkOK) - This quick mixture of impromptu insights and shameless plugs (Yelp, Blog, Pinterest, etc.) has created a seesaw of followers and droppers. (At least the porn stars are loyal.)
Facebouche (http://www.facebook.com/OKmarkOK)
- This mouthful of Mark has a little bit of everything. (That's what (I wish) she said.) It pairs well with the Tweet Medley, while offering a unique archive of photos for seasoned stalkers.
LinkedInguine (http://www.linkedin.com/in/okmarkok)
- This buttoned-up bite is just a mild version of the Facebouche for diners who don't care for the zest of my personal interests or privacy-protected pictures.
Dessert A display case of Mark O.K.'s inspirations.
Pinterest Pie (http://pinterest.com/okmarkok/) - Remember to save room for some sweet & savory food, home and kitten pics, captioned by the Mark O.K. himself.
What's the cost of all this shameless self-promotion? Aside from the loss of a few friends, a lot of sleep and whatever remained of my dignity, this egocentric binge has been the most life-altering decision I've made since I decided I to put down the Pringles and pick up a pair of dumbbells. At the end of the day this may all blow up in my face, but at least there will be a lot more people there to see it.
After Dinner Mint
A new Mark mark to refresh your palate.
Thank you for indulging in OKmarkOK's Attention-Whoring Buffet. We would love to hear about your experience. Please post any questions, criticisms or concerns in the comment section below (or on the new "There's Something About ________" fan page! (http://www.facebook.com/pages/Theres-something-about-____________/198638366868635?sk=wall) "Like" it and I'll love you forever.)
There's something about Roger Federer that's like an instruction manual for mastering life. From his career on the tennis courts to his debonair day-to-day life, this man has achieved a level of success that would make John McEnroe break a racket over his knee. Leave it to me to dedicate an entire post to my iconic birth-mate (8/8/##).
Still seeking a publisher. Any takers?
Introduction
Why am I so infatuated with this guy (God)? It's not because he has single-handedly rewritten the ATP record books. It's not because he defriended Tiger after he put his woods in more holes than a golf course. It's not because he is beloved on almost every continent on the face of the Earth (Antarctic penguins just don't get tennis). It's the fact that he embodies ALL of those qualities. Without an idol like Roger Federer, who knows where I'd be? (Mom's couch?) The following chapters describe the ways in which this tennis legend has altered the course of my existence.
Chapter One: How To Choose A Career
What's that, little guy? You're going to be the greatest tennis player of all times!? Kids say the darndest things.
You know how (public school) guidance counselors used to apathetically advise you to "do what you love" for a living? Well, guess who took that advice to heart? Since the age of eight, this little piece of Switz has been hell-bent on becoming the #1 tennis player in the world. If only I knew how to read and write at that age? Just kidding! I knew how, but the only things I read at eight were potato chip bags and candy wrappers, and the only thing I wrote was "Chips & Candy" on my mom's grocery list.
Chapter Two: How To Select Your Spouse
What is this, senior prom?
In the same way he resurrected traditional tennis (Sorry, Andy Roddick), Federer has brought chivalry back to holy matrimony. As much as I love the Federer(s), my initial reaction when I saw Mirka was similar to Michael Bluth's when he first met Ann, "Her?" (Arrested Development reference) By no means is Mirka an unattractive lady, but she's no Sports Illustrated swimsuit model either (Kudos, Andy Roddick). Regardless, Roger and Mirka have been together since they met while playing tennis for Switzerland at the Sydney Olympics. They may have let down their country, but they won a soul-mate. (Put that on a movie poster.) Quite a change from the celebrity divorces that keep People Magazine in business.
Chapter Three: How To Pick Your Friends
LEFT TO RIGHT: The Rossdales, The SECOND Greatest Tennis Player of All Times, The Devil (Who) Wears Prada
They say you can tell a lot about a man by the company he keeps. So who does Federer fill his friends & family box with when a major rolls around? Oh, you know, just a couple of multi-platinum musicians, the editor of the most influential fashion magazine in the world and his teenage tennis idol. Federer's entourage isn't full of a bunch of worthless lackeys like Turtle and Drama. (Get it? Entourage?) He surrounds himself with the kind of individuals you'd find onthe Time 100. (Until that individual uses his "driver" to rough up the turf of a ridiculous number of porn stars and cocktail waitresses.)
Chapter Four: How To Leave A Legacy
There's an entire Wikipedia page dedicated to his career accomplishments (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_career_achievements_by_Roger_Federer), so I'm not even going to touch on what he's done for the sport of tennis. This chapter (paragraph) is dedicated to his lesser known contributions to the world. For starters, there's the Roger Federer Foundation, which has provided education and athletic facilities to over 43,000 underprivileged Africans (Redundant?). Then there's the Feder-Bear. Not only does this little guy make a wonderful travel companion (read my previous post), but 100% of the proceeds from this philanthropic plush have gone to UNICEF since Federer was named its Goodwill Ambassador in 2006. And last but not least (to me), he has inspired a 25-year-old manboy to follow his dreams. (And what a great time to pursue the publishing industry!)
Epilogue
Even if he fails to win another major title for the rest of his tennis career (AFTER he triumphs at this year's US Open), I will ALWAYS revere Roger Federer for his contributions to tennis, to the planet and to my wardrobe.
Good luck today, birth-mate! I'll be watching you! (Did that come off a little creepy?)
Feel free to humor me by identifying your blog-worthy idols in the comment section below?
There's something about passions that are kind of like Horocruxes. (Suck it, Harry Potter haters!) Passions, like Horocruxes, are the things you put your soul into. (Side Note: Unlike Horocruxes, you don't HAVE to murder someone to develop a passion. It just helps if you do.) Whether it's an activity you tirelessly pursue or an object you're never seen without, these are the things that keep you alive once Death hits you with an "Avada Kedavra" curse. No, your deceased Grandpa can't be reanimated from that pocket watch he carried around since before you were born (especially if he's a muggle), but I dare you to say he's not resurrected in your brain every time you look at that timeless time piece. Taking note from the king of Horocuxes (whose name must not be spoken), I've devised a list of seven things that bear a piece of my soul.
FOOD
Starting left and moving clockwise: Dagwood's Chicken Salad Melt, Palmetto Pigs all-you-can-eat BBQ (Plate #1), Grecian Corner Chicken Souvlaki w/ side of Tangy Hot Sauce. (Not pictured: A lot of other INCREDIBLE food.)
I'm not sure what the attendees of my funeral would say if I met an untimely (probably bike related) end, but someone better utter something to the effect of, "Although that jackass forgot to wear a helmet, he never forgot a good meal." I don't mind the thought of my decaying corpse being devoured by maggots, so long as they enjoy it. Then I can truly say I've become what I love. (Side Note: That's a lie. I want my body donated to science, NOT insects. Those little shits wouldn't appreciate my sweetness.)
kangaROOS
Note To Roommate: I DID sanitize the counter after this picture was taken.
For going on 8 years now, these shoes have walked me through the most pivotal moments of my life. When I prematurely (double meaning) lost my virginity on an inebriated whim, my Roos were there (scattered on the floor, but still there). For the six years I spent "finding myself" through higher education, my Roos were there. When I flew out to Austin in hopes of landing my first full-time job, my Roos were there. And every morning when I rummage through my wardrobe, my Roos are there. Although these pocketed sneakers can only hold a few items (a heartfelt letter from a dear-old friend, ticket stubs from the 2004 NCAA Lacrosse Final Four and a School of Rock guitar pick, to be exact) they hold more memories than I can count. I'm all about donating clothes to the homeless, but these low-top time capsules will stay with me until the day I die.
To the untrained eye, I'm the whitest thing since a Klan robe. (In all fairness, I never said what Klan. You racist!) But before you go judging this milk by it's carton, read the ingredients. You'll be surprised to see how much chocolate I contain. Don't believe me? Pass the Courvoisier and ask me to karaoke ANY song on that playlist and I won't miss a word (I was going to say "beat," but my rhythm matches my skin pigment). I've loved R&B since I put every penny of my bed-making allowance towards a Tony! Toni! Toné! cassette tape. Although it's hidden beneath my nearly translucent epidermis, I got soul (and I'm super bad (at proving it)).
THE LION BLANKET
AKA, my invisibility cloak.
Say what you will about a 25-year-old man who still owns a "blanket," but this thing has been protecting me from the Boogie Man since before I could speak. Although I no longer believe this Leo linen keeps the monster under my bed at bay, I DO hold true to claim that this blanket contains magical powers. I challenge any of the two remaining people who follow this blog to show me a more climate controlled cover. Whether it's the dead of winter or heat of summer, this mythical throw keeps me nice and cozy from head to toe. Speaking of, it reaches my feet! as a 6'2" dude, that's HUGE!
UPMARRIAGE MONTAGE
NEVER have I felt such a roller coaster of emotions in such a short span of time. You can probably attribute a million of the 2,555,119 (current) Youtube views to me alone, and it STILL taps my tear ducts. I wish I could have seen the initial shock on my face when Pixar played the MISCARRIAGE CARD! That production studio has more balls than Carl and Ellie have balloons. (They've also got a lot of nerve. Cars 2, Pixar! REALLY!? Brave better be one HELL of a movie.) Up is still battling it out for the title of my all-time favorite movie, but I can confidently say that this clip is my FAVORITE MONTAGE OF ALL TIMES! (Sorry, Team America.)
What started as a ploy to annoy one of my old roommates has become one of my most childish and cherished traditions. Anytime I travel for an extended period of time, I leave room in my backpack for this TY tennis player. He's left his heart in San Francisco (as you may have noticed). He's celebrated Halloween on Bourbon Street. He's rubbed elbows with David Schwimmer at the SXSW Film Festival (before I permanently relocated to Austin). And he's constantly nagging me about our next destination. (NOT literally. I'm not THAT crazy.) Some people may pass down precious jewels or pocket watches (see opening paragraph), but the most valuable (emotionally speaking) item in my will will be this adventurous Beanie Baby.
FRIENDS & FAMILY
Which side of the ledge are you on? (Hint: Enemies and Frenemies belong on the left.)
My final and most important (also most cliché) Horocrux is the group of individuals who guard and protect my other passions. Sure, a lot of my friends and family may ridicule me for bringing Feder-Bear on our journeys or for wearing my Roos to, well, anywhere, but they would NEVER take a Basilisk's fang or Gryffindor sword to one of my passions (or each other, hopefully). More so than a delicious meal, a delightful movie or a nostalgic article of clothing, these select individuals carry the only piece of me that can truly insure my immortality, memories.
So, one remaining reader (if there is one), what are some of your quirkiest Horocruxes (passions)?
There's something about birthdays that makes them so much better for contemplating your existence than New Years. Unless your birthday is January 1st, making resolutions to get your lazy ass to the gym or to stop touching yourself so much are no more meaningful on New Year's Eve than they are today (unless today is your birthday (like Sarah Gatling's (Happy Birthday Former Roommate!))). Your TRUE New Year's Day is the date you slid down your mother's cervix like the countdown ball. In the midst of my birthday binge drinking and attention seeking, I like to take stock of the previous year while thinking of ways to improve my life for the long haul. In honor of my 8/8/86 entrance into this world, I came up with 8 ways to better my being by my 26th birthday.
Maintain My Blog
For every zillion people with a blog, approximately five of them keep up with it after their first handful of disappointing posts. My biggest fear when entering the blogosphere was not low readership (that was a given). It was falling victim to the three-month dump. Like a romantic relationship, the third month seems to be the point where you either lose interest or make a commitment. I intend to go steady with this digital diary.
Join the Elites
No, I'm not talking about the brave men and women who risk life and limb to ensure our freedom. I'm talking about the gluttonous boys and girls who spend a majority of their income on meals and activities they will then glorify or chastise via Yelp.com (http://okmarkok.yelp.com/). I have been bleeding at the fingertips to win the "Review of the Day" award ever since my first review. Unfortunately, Elites are the only ones eligible for such an accolade.
Be A Winklevoss
The Social Network left me with two insatiable desires. First, I want to become a billionaire before the age of 25. (Wait, 2011-1986 = 25. SHIT!) The second thing I've been dying to do is row crew. Every weekend I plan to roll out of bed before the sun breaks the horizon, throw on a Harvard University hoodie (Note To Self: buy or steal a Harvard sweatshirt) and glide up and down Town Lake (Gmap it) on one of those hydrodynamic vessels. What's stopping me? Good question.
Expand My Magnet Collection
Yes, I collect magnets. NO, it's not as lame as it sounds. Or, maybe it is. Either way, I purchase one of these refrigerator mementos every time I travel to a new destination. Thanks to my obsessive compulsive sentimentality, every trip to the kitchen results in a wonderful journey down memory lane. However, that mental voyage has recently become a reminder that I need to get out more. Sam Chow, ready your couch. I'm coming to NYC before my next birthday.
Get Laid
Whoa, whoa, WHOA! Before you point the finger of perversion in my direction, allow me to explain myself. I, unlike many people I know (ladies included) have been blessed (or cursed) with the ability to remain pleasantly celibate for ridiculous lengths of time after a break up (Record = 2.5 years without so much as a kiss). After reading multiple Men's Health articles suggesting that sexual starvation is harmful to your health, I figure I better "get down on it." You know, for my health.
Write Something Substantial
Not that Yelp reviews, blog posts and the slew of promotions I've concocted since becoming a copywriter are meaningless. They're just not how I intend to leave my mark (3rd person pun) on the world. I'm talking about a meticulously crafted manuscript or screenplay that immortalizes my literary voice while leaving me a suicidal alcoholic in its wake. I would gladly go the way of Hemingway if I could write (and breed cats) like him.
Nix the Negativity
Contrary to what I just said about one of the most notable and quotable authors in literature, I think it's time I tune down my neuroses to slightly less Woody Allen levels. I don't want to completely deactivate my misery receptors (contentment is a writer's Kryptonite), but I'd be nice to yawn for once without wondering whether or not that involuntary action was a symptom of Parkinson's Disease. I'll start by convincing myself that someone is actually reading this.
Marry T-Swift (And so begins the optimism.)
Stop rolling your eyes and read me out. As cheesy as it is, I've always had a soft spot for the saying, "Aim for the stars and maybe you'll reach the sky." I may never exchange marital vows with this driven, wholesome, talented, beautiful, etc., beacon of female perfection, but if I can find a lady who personifies those same qualities I'd gladly put some babies her belly. And if I can't, I'll just become the crazy cat guy (a.k.a. Ernest Hemingway).
So there you have it. Those are the eight goals I intend to pursue until August 8, 2012. If you have any words of advice, encouragement or defamation (I'm counting on you, Jack Rozier) feel free to share them with me and the 3 other people who read this blog. Speaking of sharing, if telling people your birthday wishes is bad luck, then I'm as f%&ked as this little darling.
There's something about crushes that can hype you up like a Starbucks Trenta or leave you crashing like hot coffee spilling on your crotch as you approach an intersection. As a man whose head permanently resides in the clouds, I'm no stranger to the these involuntary infatuations. A playful smirk from a personable store clerk can send my imagination running all the way to the altar. Once the fanciful thoughts of two (sometimes three) well-behaved children, a successful writing career and a home overlooking a mist cloaked lake subside, I'm crushed (CRUSHed! I get it now!) upon my the return to the real world.
But similar to a morning cup of coffee, a bittersweet daydream can awaken dormant aspirations and put some pep back into your step. The following crushes are what keep me trucking.
Raise your hand if you saw this coming.
THE CELEBRITY CRUSH
Like a cup of decaf, this variety of crush resembles the real deal, minus the debilitating crash of genuine rejection. As much as I go on about Taylor Swift (and anyone who knows me knows how much I go on about T-Swift), I am well aware that this will NEVER happen (most likely). Does it bother me when she's linked to celebrities like Jake Gyllenhole and Johnny Mayhem? No(t really). But does it put a smile on my face to imagine a fairy-tale scenario where we meet on the set of a commercial I've written for her and she whisks me away from the advertising industry to begin our holy matrimony? Ask me what I'm thinking about the next time you see me pulling a pudding face (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YyKhP6x0tXE) and I'll let you know.
Roger Federer was a close 2nd.
THE MAN CRUSH
Like a Mocha Raspberry Soy Frappuccino, society suggests that straight men should steer clear of this queer (as in peculiar) blend of reverence and adoration. However, a Man Crush is as natural and nonsexual as admiration for your father (Unless you're into dudes. Then it's probably just a crush.) Growing up in Myrtle Beach, SC, there was a shortage of hometown heroes (unless you're inspired by Vanna White). Then came a satirical pundit by the name of Rev. Sir. Dr. Stephen T. Colbert, D.F.A., who used his coastal South Carolina upbringing to insurrect the Republican Party and inspire me to pursue a life outside of my home state's pie-shaped boarder. Do I want to roll around in the sack with this man? No. But, would I like to roll around in a golf cart with him for 18 holes as he offers me wisdom and whiskey? More than a one-night stand with Ms. Swift. (Two-night stand? Tough call.)
If I told you, I'd have to kill me.
THE TRUE CRUSH
Like shotgunning a Four Loko and smashing the empty can against your noggin, this kind of crush can seriously F-U UP! One second you're Parkouring down the street over an out-of-the-blue text message from your sacred seductress, and the next you're wondering why she took 3 minutes and 58 seconds to respond to your response. A True Crush is the ultimate assessment of emotional maturity. Like Spongebob during a boating exam (See? Maturity.), I crash and burn every time I attempt this test of romantic temperance. Should I quit? NEVER! One, because I honestly have no control over the development of these subliminal obsessions. And two, the sense of optimism I experience during these bouts of passion are far more pungent than the crushing hangover that occurs once I realize it wasn't meant to be.
Like pimples and unprovoked erections, crushes are just one of those unfortunate things we have to overcome on our personal journeys to self-actualization. If you care to share a tactic, anecdote or insult on the topic of "Crush Management," feel free to leave it in the comment section below. Otherwise, I'll be crushed. (ZING!)
That's what I get for wearing camo-cargo shorts (and such shitty photoshopping).
There's something about length that can turn the most mild-mannered gentleman into the next Norman Bates. Whether it's penile insecurity, long waiting lines or the relentless pursuit of cardiac arrest (I'm looking at you, Pheidippides (Google it)) men go absolutely PSYCHO (Get it now? Norman Bates?) over matters of length.
One of my regular readers, who shall remain nameless (but pictured below), ignited my longitudinal anxiety by suggesting that my posts may be a little too lengthy in both size and required reading time. I had always hoped my first accusation of being and lasting too long would be under sexier circumstances, but this cherished friend got me thinking, "Maybe my posts ARE a bit verbose?"
I'm a little too long for this lady. (That's not what that straw said.)
To humor this nameless childhood friend (who will HOPEFULLY understand that this is all in good fun and not hold the use of her likeness against me), and to see if I can't get a few more followers (Eric's getting lonely), I'm going to refrain from writing another novella and leave this post a little shorter than normal. If the girth of my words was your gripe, let it be known in the comment section below so I can close the case of my missing readership. OR, better yet, suggest a new fan generating tactic for next week's entry.
And I can't legally say what I'll do for followers.
