COSTUMES.

I'm the ghost. The one on the left, NOT the Klansman on the right.

There's something about costumes that give me the heebie-jeebies. I'm not talking about Scream masks and zombie makeup. I'm talking about the regrets and inadequacies that have plagued me since my youth. You see, as the offspring of two EXTREMELY economical individuals (a.k.a. cheap-asses), my childhood Halloween wardrobe consisted of two options: 1) Whatever my older brother was the previous year (like the ghost from above). 2) A baseball player. (And by "baseball player," I mean I wore the jersey of whatever little league team I was on at the time.) No matter how adamantly I pleaded to be the White Power Ranger (much different from the "WHITE POWER" ranger pictured above), my parents insisted I go door-to-door as a Texas Ranger (and NOT the Chuck Norris kind). Like a home schooled adolescent struggling to socialize as an adult, I continued to wrestle with Halloween costumes over the years.

What does that thing on my hand say? "BUN WARMER!" Get it!? The ladies didn't :(

My first attempt to re-accustom myself to these emotionally painful festivities resulted in even more embarrassment. (Word to the wise, tongue-in-cheek is no way to trick-or-treat.) Armed with limited time and finances, me and my two collegiate roommates scoured our shitty apartment in search of anything we could slut up like a stereotypical coed. (Their identities have been concealed, because unlike me, some people have shame.) Several minutes later, me and my two misguided amigos emerged from our mutual rooms as a Slutty Soccer Ref, a Slutty Dance Dance Revolution Mat and last but not least, A Slutty George Foreman Countertop Oven. As it turns out, only sexy girls have the ability to turn ANYTHING slutty. Our nihilistic humor may have been lost on everyone at the party, but I gained hours of enjoyment from watching the Slutty DDR Mat upskirt the tramps who drunkenly trampled him (physically and emotionally).

I VANT to stop sucking at Halloween costumes.

That traumatic failure left my Halloween spirit dormant until my first quarter of advertising portfolio school in Atlanta, Ga. The combination of an unfamiliar city and the abundance of fresh faces encouraged me to throw together another last-minute outfit and step outside of my comfort zone. Since humor (or at least my humor) had already failed me once, I decided to let pop culture dictate my attire. What was hot in the fall of 2008? VAMPIRES! What was not? Pale dudes who looked like they got punched in the face for wearing a suede blazer. I returned home with an empty cell phone and an emptier bottle of red wine (consumed only by me, unfortunately).

Never Nude = Forever Alone

A year later, I found myself in an all-too-familiar predicament. Once again I was single and desperately seeking a costume that might catch the eye of a slutty nun. Social commentary had failed me once before and pop culture proved to be worthless to me, so what would attempt number three be? I tried to think of something clever. Something simple. Something that showed the ladies what I was working with. Instead of eliciting laughter and lustful desires from the fairer sex, my Arrested Development reference resulted in looks of confusion and cornea damage from my blinding white thighs.

See what I mean?

After opting for a House marathon in lieu of Halloween celebrations in 2010, I was bound and determined to make 2011 the year of a successful costume. Once October rolled around, I had narrowed my All Hallows' Eve outfit down to three options. Option "A" was Patrick Bateman from the Huey Lewis & the News scene of American Psycho, but I decided against it when finding a clear rain coat proved to be more difficult than I had anticipated. Option "B" was my doppelganger (and potential biological father) Patrick Swayze, but no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't feather my hair like Johnny Castle. Which brings me to Option "C," 

Markster!

It was simple, it was kinda sexy and after being told a multitude of times that my demeanor matches this loveable serial killer's, I knew staying in character would be a piece of cake. The only hiccup was when the entire sole of BOTH of my borrowed hiking boots fell off and left me walking on solid plastic for the rest of the evening. I later found out that the shoes my coworker so "kindly" lent me were old enough for consensual sex. But despite my foot foul, the praise of fellow Dexter fans and my date gave me the vindication I've been seeking since my mom safety pinned a black towel to my back and called me, "Batman."


So, what should I be next year?

IMMORTALITY.

There's something about immortality that will forever fascinate me. THINK ABOUT IT! Cancer. Cash. Catastrophes. They all become irrelevant when time becomes infinite. I could finally say hasta la vista to my rampant hypochondria. Sallie Mae could suck my spare change. And whenever a natural disaster decides to rear its fatal head, I’d throw on a kilt and show it mine, Braveheart style.

Check out this cane, hurricane!

Like all things that fascinate me (i.e. kittens and Taylor Swift), I spend a lot of my downtime fantasizing about what life would be like if I actually had them. As far as immortality is concerned, I've thought of several ways to obtain this illusive lifespan.

1.) LIVE ON THROUGH MY LINEAGE 

It may not be the sexiest option, but it sure is the simplest (providing I’m not sterile). I finally get why Asians and the English are so obsessed with bloodlines. As long as a trace of your DNA is coursing through your relatives’ veins, you’re kind of alive. What’s the downside? Given enough time, your double helix will probably be tainted by one of your great-great-disappointments. Although this is the first method I’ve mentioned, it’s certainly not my first choice. Moving on.    

Great Grandpa Conrad would be so proud.

2.) DO SOMETHING AWESOME!
 
If only immortalizing your name were that easy. Dying for mankind’s sins is already taken (Dammit, Hey-Zeus). I'd rather die than live in the White House (Seriously, what kind of masochist wants to be president?). And I hardly think someone who still owns a flip phone will be changing the face of technology (RIP, Steve). The only awesome thing I could POSSIBLY see myself doing is some kind of memorable writing. But let’s face it, I had to sells my soul for 25 Facebook followers. The chances of me joining the ranks of Hemingway or JK Rowling are right there with the odds of America's youth choosing literacy over TV. (That's right. I put Harry Potter and Hemingway on the same plane. Wanna fight about it?) On to the next one.

Chill, dawg. I got this!

 3.) FIND THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH

Transitioning from the realistic to fictitious, this approach to permanent existence seems more likely to kill you than grant you eternal life. I’m not exactly what you’d call a, “Man’s Man.” My idea of getting in touch with nature is watching Planet Earth. Reading Yelp reviews is the closest I’ve ever come to hunting down my own dinner. And I’ll voluntarily sleep in a tent the same day every snake in the world slithers back to Hell. Unless someone is willing to bring me the everlasting serum like a server (What do you even tip on immortality?), I’ll just have to enjoy my remaining years in the comfort of civilized society. Which is exactly where you’ll find my next plan.

Paris?

 4.) GET A SUCK JOB FROM DRACULA
 
My biggest hang up with this method is bloodsucker uncertainty. Before presenting my jugular to some pointy-teeth freak, I need to know what kind of crowd I’ll be running with. Will I become one of those lame, luminescent vampires from Twilight? (I’ll drive the wooden steak into my own heart.) Am I going to be a Louisiana hick like those True Blood tools? (Who wants to watch the sun rise?) Or will I be one of those worldly, wise vampires who use their unlimited time to consume as much knowledge as they do hemoglobin? Something like Tom Cruise's character in Interview With A Vampire, or Stephen Dorff's in Blade. Better yet, what about Blade himself? If those are my outcomes, I'm willing to put my neck on the line. If not, I’m going to have to go with my next attempt.

One punch! Two Punch! One-Two Punch! Ah, ah, ah!

 5.) F**K WITH PHYSICS

This last technique is probably the riskiest, but potentially the most rewarding. The easy part is wandering into an “Intrinsic Field Subtractor” like Dr. Jonathan Osterman (later known as Dr. Manhattan) from the Watchmen. The challenge would be reassembling myself into a physical form once every fiber of my being has been blown to smithereens. As the son of a teacher and a therapist, NOT a watchmaker, I’d probably end up looking more like a Rorschach Test than the Blue Man Group's personal trainer. Sure, I may lose touch with humanity, but most people who know me would suggest I already have. Why not finish the job by becoming a god?

Dr. Markhattan

Now, I know what you’re going to say. “Won’t it be depressing to constantly watch your loved ones die?” “Won’t you get lonely?” “Don’t you know the easiest path to eternal life is through Christ?” I can answer each of those questions with one word, “No.” If you’d like to convince me otherwise you are more than welcome to leave an endless argument in the comment section, or on my Facebook page, http://www.facebook.com/theressomethingabout. (See? Soul already sold.)

BLOGS.

This designer is SOOOOO fired.

There's something about blogs that are kind of like marriages. They may begin with promises of eternal love and devotion, but they usually end in divorce. That's why my blog and I are seeking the counsel of Dr. Mark (my much smarter and far more successful alter-ego).

DR. MARK: So. Blog. Mark. What brings you here today?

BLOG: Mark doesn't love me anymore.

MARK: That's not true!

DR. MARK: Mark, let Blog finish. Blog, continue.

BLOG: As I was SAYING, he constantly neglects me.

DR. MARK: Mark, is that true?

MARK: NO! Well, I mean, kinda. But it's not because I want to! I've just been busy. 

BLOG: With what!? That little tramp, Yelp!

MARK: Oh, Christ. HEEERE we go!

DR. MARK: Hold on, Mark. Blog, who's Yelp?

BLOG: Yelp's the typesetting slut he's been pounding his space bar to since June.

MARK: How many times do I have to tell you, WE ARE JUST FRIENDS!

BLOG: Then why are you always taking her out to eat!?

MARK: Because that's all she does! And I barely even see her anymore.

DR. MARK: Why is that, Mark?

MARK: Like I said, I've been busy. Work's been crazy lately.

BLOG: Work. That's always his excuse. Work.

MARK: Well EXCUUUSE ME for bringing home the bandwidth.

DR. MARK: Mark, is work the only thing standing between you and Blog?

MARK: Honestly...no.

BLOG: SEE! I knew it was that easy-formatting FLOOZY!

MARK: It's not YELP!

BLOG: Then it's that cheap trick you're always fantasizing with!

MARK: It's not Pinterest either! 

DR. MARK: Blog, it's Mark's turn now. Mark, why else have you been avoiding Blog lately?

MARK: I don't know. It's kind of hard to pinpoint.

DR. MARK: Well that's what we're here for. This is a place of understanding. Just say what you feel.

MARK: I feel trapped.

BLOG: TRAPPED!?

DR. MARK: BLOG! Please. Mark, what do you mean by, "trapped."

MARK: I just don't know if I was ready for this responsibility. I thought things would be as easy as they were in the beginning. I used to LOVE spending my weekends with her. Sharing my feelings. Telling her my childhood stories. Now, spending time with her feels forced. It's become more of a chore than a choice. 

BLOG: THEN LEAVE!

DR. MARK: Is that what you'd like, Mark? Would you like to end this relationship?

MARK: NO! Honestly, I don't. I just want things to be fun again. I'm tired of all the pressure.

BLOG: YOU made the pressure. YOU promised one entry a week. Don't be mad at me because I'm holding you to your word!

DR. MARK: Is this true, Mark? Did you make that vow.

BLOG: You damn right he did! I have the post to prove it.

MARK: She's right, Doc. My oath was bigger than my writing abilities.

DR. MARK:  Blog, how would you feel if Mark was to scale back his commitment?

BLOG: That all depends.

DR. MARK: On what?

BLOG: On what he's cutting back.

DR. MARK: Mark, what would you like to cut back?

MARK: Well, for one thing, I'm tired of all the photos. I'm a writer, not a freakin designer. I'm sick of all the eye-damaging hours I've been spending on Photoshop.

BLOG: Again, I NEVER asked you to do that. YOU are the one who wanted to "appeal" to all of your reading-averse Facebook friends. It's not my fault most of them STILL banned you from their news feed.

MARK: Fuck Mark Zuckerberg and his stupid updates!

DR. MARK: Alright, Mark. It sounds like Blog is okay with cutting back on the pictures. What else?

MARK: I need more structure.

DR. MARK: That's a little vague. What do you mean by, "structure?"

MARK: I just never know what the format is going to be. Some weeks it's a list. Some weeks it's an anecdote. Some weeks it takes an entire week just to read it. I just wish I had more guidelines to guide me. 

BLOG: THAT'S NEWS TO ME!

DR. MARK: Okay, Mark. Like what? What guidelines would you like to set?

MARK: Well, let's see. I'd like an exact word length. Like when I used to write for The Daily Gamecock. I'm thinking something around 500 words.

DR. MARK: Blog?

BLOG: Fine by me. You're the one who always needs to discuss his feelings.

DR. MARK: What else?

MARK: Time restrictions. I'm done with them. I don't want to be forced into a weekly date.

BLOG: Done! As long as you do the same for YELP. Three Yelps a week and you can't even guarantee me one post?

DR. MARK: Mark, are you willing to divide your time equally between Blog and Yelp?

MARK: But it's different with Yelp!

DR. MARK: Mark, this is a give and take. Blog has been very accepting of your requests. I think it's time you do the same.

MARK: FINE! I'll give you one post for every two Yelps.

DR. MARK: Blog, are you okay with that?

BLOG: Fine. But I get at least ONE picture or video per post. It doesn't HAVE to be Photoshopped, but you owe me some kind of multimedia.

DR. MARK: Mark?

MARK: Fine.

DR. MARK: Blog, are you willing give this another shot?

BLOG: Is he?

DR. MARK: Mark?

MARK: With all my heart. Or at least all the heart I have left. 

BLOG: You mean the heart you have left after YELPING!

MARK: DOC!?

DR. MARK: Blog.

BLOG: Just kidding!

MARK: Better be.

DR. MARK: Good. Now that you've resolved your issues and scared away all of your readership with this documented case of Multiple Personality Disorder, I re-pronounce you man and blog. You may now end this post. 

Fin.

Just to recap, my blog will now contain less multimedia, fewer words and more structure. Like a newspaper article, but with more vulgarity and spelling errors. Are all of my remaining readers cool with that? Do I have any readers remaining? Hello? Hello? Hello? Damn. Damn. Damn.

 

APOLOGIES.

There's something about apologies that are meaningless without sincerity. To those of you who were biting your nails and scratching your necks in anticipation of last week's (absent) post, especially those of you who were kind enough to "like" my Facebook page, I SINCERELY apologize. Due to circumstances completely within my control, I consciously decided to postpone my entry for the week of 7/18 until now. What better way is there to show my sorrow than this plea for your sympathy?

You can't stay mad at that.

While we're on the topic, I feel I have some repenting to do for some of the things I've said since beginning these charades. So...

• Mom, I sincerely apologize for accidentally informing you about this blog and for all of its contents. You weren't exactly the audience I had in mind when I decided to populate the web with another unnecessary E-diary. I'm still your little Pookster (just a little cruder). 
• Ke$ha, I sincerely apologize for not making fun of you more often. I promise to step up defaming-your-name game.
• Vladimir Putin, now that you are about to become the leader of one of the world's nuclear powers (again), I sincerely apologize for accusing you of poisoning people. You would NEVER do such a thing, especially to lil' ol' me. Right?
• Justin (my brethren), I sincerely apologize for painting such an accurate portrayal of our relationship.
• Matt, I sincerely apologize for not castrating you after you turned me into the laughing stock of our high school.
• Chairs, I sincerely apologize for swearing off of you so soon. After two pinched nerves and ten swollen toes, I now see that standing all day is just as insane as remaining on my ass for hours on end. Friends?
• Panhandlers, I sincerely apologize for stealing your patented form of self-promoting.
• Spongebob, I sincerely apologize for offhandedly suggesting you are immature. We all know you are wise beyond your years.
• Taylor Swift, I sincerely apologize for the cold feet. I'm just...figuring some things out. I'll be on bended knee before you know it.
• Feder-Bear, I sincerely apologize for saying I bought you as a "ploy to annoy one of my old roommates." I knew damn well why I was buying you and it had nothing to do with him. Get excited for our San Francisco X-Mas, travel buddy.
• Feder-Man, I sincerely apologize for jinxing you at the US Open. Had I written that post AFTER you hoisted the champion's trophy overhead, Djokovic wouldn't have pulled that cross-court winner out of his ass and staged an epic comeback.
• Mark, I sincerely apologize for selling your soul for the sake of a few Facebook "like"s, ESPECIALLY since you're still TWO LIKES SHORT of a unique URL! (Come on, people. I have two more personalized thank yous left in the tank. Who wants em? http://www.facebook.com/pages/Theres-something-about-____________/198638366868635)
• Dad, I sincerely apologize if you feel I'm replacing you with YouTube. No matter how many times YouTube gets me out of a pinch, you will always be my Pa.

So, those of you who were kind enough to add another tally to my Google Analytics, forgive me?

Now do you forgive me? I'll take your silence as a yes.

Is there anything you'd like to SINCERELY apologize for? Let it be known, either here or at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Theres-something-about-____________/198638366868635. (This link would be a lot shorter if I had just TWO MORE "LIKE"RS!)


(Spoiler Alert: I'm probably going to have to postpone the post for this week. DON'T REJECT ME!) 

YOUTUBE.

URL of the Year

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. 

How has YouTube come through for you?

SELF-PROMOTION.

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.)

ROGER FEDERER.

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 on the 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?