Marcus Gravy

Mark's one of my best friends. All kidding aside, I find him a little bit inspirational. Not because he's done anything monumentous with his life (yet), but because he's such a good natured person. Sure, he's full of averice and envy like the rest of us, and he unabashedly hates fat people for being un-aesthetic, but he's got an encredibly warm and open nature. I whole-heartedly endorse him.

I met Mark in 6th grade when he moved down from Alaska and came to Waldorf school with me, but we didn't really become close friends until 10th grade, when he and Luke and I became the triad that we were. See the entry on Luke for a little history on that.

Mark and I keep in touch fairly regularly. He came out here (along with my sister) about a month after the 9-11 tragedy, and it was good to charge my batteries up on his energy for a week. He lives in Northern California with his fabulous girlfriend Shannon (pictured), rides a motorcycle, and goes to Humbold State University. I've visited them down there, and while I couldn't settle into that pace for a living (I need the speed of the city, just like he needs the godlike presence of the sea), I have to admire it for all its bucolic splendor. It's an all-american paradise of sorts.

Mark and I also share an utopian social vision: Within our shared groups of friends there are two semi-distinct camps. For simplicity's sake I'll call them the Hippies and the Punks, although neither label is completely accurate. They're all good people, and they all know how to party, but they don't get along with eachother. Recently my and Mark's best efforts have allowed more and more cross clique misegination to occur. There appears to be movement on all sides, with common maturity and the realization that Good Folk are Hard to Find. My great hope is that we can all become one happy greased-up monkey family

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