The hit was the pina coladas. The hit was everyone who showed up, the way they danced, the way they licked their barbecue fingers, the way they lived those seven days on that river, in that wonderful house next to it. The laughter. The applause when I signed the check, strummed a 'C' chord, and swan dived off the deck, landing in the Little Tennessee river without a splash. These are days to remember.
Ken was nice, and smart enough to bring a defaming concoction of pineapple juice, coconut juice, rum, and decadence. Mixed together, they cause guests to go whack and haphazard. Since I am normally the bastion of haphazardness, it was wonderful to see. The weight shifted. For the rest of the trip (without golfballs--yes you horrible country club hacks, it is possible to enjoy oneself without them!), we seemed to watch Cassandra float in the ebbing stream once flowing enough to be called the Little T. The normally rushing, slightly forbidding, waters this year were 'slow and low.' The river was transformed from a survival-of-the-fittest challenge to a mild brook to loose worries. She was amazing, floating for four or more hours on end without looking up or reading a book. We were glad to watch her, and she was fine with being watched. The river, that is.
We were also grateful to have C-Dogg's sister Nancy come down to share the place with us as well as (list of honored guests): Jill, Mark, Jeff, Sarah, Blaise, Ken, Gabrielle, Nancy, Michelle, Andrea, and Steve. After the loss of my dear friend Royce this past year, it was especially poignant to be surrounded by special souls and I resolved to do whatever it takes to have such a slanderous outcropping every year until I die. Some say mentioning and thinking about death is downright morbid, and by definition it is. But I also think there's something damned practical in it. After Royce, I feel the seconds ticking away, wonder how long I've tolerated this beer gut and this broken knee and I can't accept a second, a breath, being whittled away without a cry. Pavarotti died recently, and I've taken him as model of living life as a tenor in high 'C.' Take the chords, all the rest of 'em, for yourselves. But leave me, expiring, with the shrillest peak eking out of my low-singing lungs. Stick your forks into me, cold and blue, while my mouth glows orange with the last vibrations of friends, family, a well done task, respect for others, and a gloat about my CD collection, a brag about the last time I slayed you verbally.
I love you. Forgive me. Don't forget me.
9.13.2007
I am a have
I have just nudged the scale from the realm of suffering-so-softly so that I'm shading slightly over into the land of bounty and fulfillment. I have just received, as a bolt from the sky, the brand new Macintosh laptop with the Intel Core Duo chip–the silver-faced thing flies like the wind, platinum plushed and brushed for all of you squareheads. Not that I'm letting it go to my head or anything.
I now sit on my back patio, fashioned from stone slabs with rough hands and cups of sweat, connected to the delights and decadences of the World Wide Web (yes--caps), listening to Beck burned from a friend through the Bose-like laptop speakers, copying iPod sound files from our (surprise surprise) failed PC, devoured (surprise surprise [am I annoying? {yeah!}] by--of all things–viruses.
I sit strapped to this polished demon, opening, closing files. If the mood strikes me, I may record a song. I may find out how many have-nots are being devoured in French riots right now. I may...this is getting disgusting–I'd better stop it now. Anyway, when did this Intruder thing become a forum for gloating geeks smitten with their own ability to click and drag? Does buying a piece of machinery make me worthy of recognition or praise? Maybe not, but it does make me HAPPY.
Oh yeah, and I got married.
I repeat, in a grandeur echoed off the mirrored faces of skyscrapers, I am a have. As of October 22, 2004, I HAVE a wife. Her name is Cassandra Bliss--ha! Perhaps you know her? I HAVE a money pit.
We bought a wretched wreck about 6 months ago; this baby was termite-ridden, not forgiven. They say ready cash is Aladdin's Lamp–we showed up with duly deposited sums to buy it up. In exchange for this fortune, we received a world of pain–a supposed 3-month rehabilitation project that is now at 7 months and is half done. Yoke's on us, apparently. But I have a wife, a wife who says it's worth it and for now I believe her. I will always believe her, it seems. Sucker!
Please take a moment to marvel and revel in images of our little lives.
href="http://www.quasisuave.com/intruder/view_big_intruder_ecards.cfm?pic_id=int12_1&set_id=int12">Click here to take a glance at several of our wedding photos.
Click here to see the def white boys' and girls' attempt at Hip Hop Chic.
Hear me wail and fret on the new Role Models MP3 I Don't Get It.
A swatch of poetry on my recent trip to Florida with Cassandra and some good friends:
Scorched rain flounders
beach screams hot feet on the sand
run for Frisbees
hard to catch in this sun but what is not
crying friends never ends kids hard to have
but what is not
Relaxed no work to do
no string to fly a kite but found 3 sand dollars
make up the deficit
what luck–luck if we have it could be all we need
to make this scene and the next mystery
we are strapped to
forget vacation
to much work before and too much after
let's just enjoy life
I turn to her in laughter and she agrees, swats my knee
What is it about happiness that is so gaudy? Next time I might be less jubilant; next time I might be bearable.
Thanks to all of Cassandra's relatives who warned me what a 'nice girl' she is, and about the possible consequences of my misbehavior. Thanks for cheering up the air, taking the nerves away.
Some day soon I will inflict the same vengeance on a sad friend attempting eternity. For now, I am content to complain and play the martyr.
Click here to see more wedding pics (and order some) at Moments By Michael. (use any name and email address and the password: PORTER05)
4/28/2006
I now sit on my back patio, fashioned from stone slabs with rough hands and cups of sweat, connected to the delights and decadences of the World Wide Web (yes--caps), listening to Beck burned from a friend through the Bose-like laptop speakers, copying iPod sound files from our (surprise surprise) failed PC, devoured (surprise surprise [am I annoying? {yeah!}] by--of all things–viruses.
I sit strapped to this polished demon, opening, closing files. If the mood strikes me, I may record a song. I may find out how many have-nots are being devoured in French riots right now. I may...this is getting disgusting–I'd better stop it now. Anyway, when did this Intruder thing become a forum for gloating geeks smitten with their own ability to click and drag? Does buying a piece of machinery make me worthy of recognition or praise? Maybe not, but it does make me HAPPY.
Oh yeah, and I got married.
I repeat, in a grandeur echoed off the mirrored faces of skyscrapers, I am a have. As of October 22, 2004, I HAVE a wife. Her name is Cassandra Bliss--ha! Perhaps you know her? I HAVE a money pit.
We bought a wretched wreck about 6 months ago; this baby was termite-ridden, not forgiven. They say ready cash is Aladdin's Lamp–we showed up with duly deposited sums to buy it up. In exchange for this fortune, we received a world of pain–a supposed 3-month rehabilitation project that is now at 7 months and is half done. Yoke's on us, apparently. But I have a wife, a wife who says it's worth it and for now I believe her. I will always believe her, it seems. Sucker!
Please take a moment to marvel and revel in images of our little lives.
href="http://www.quasisuave.com/intruder/view_big_intruder_ecards.cfm?pic_id=int12_1&set_id=int12">Click here to take a glance at several of our wedding photos.
Click here to see the def white boys' and girls' attempt at Hip Hop Chic.
Hear me wail and fret on the new Role Models MP3 I Don't Get It.
A swatch of poetry on my recent trip to Florida with Cassandra and some good friends:
Scorched rain flounders
beach screams hot feet on the sand
run for Frisbees
hard to catch in this sun but what is not
crying friends never ends kids hard to have
but what is not
Relaxed no work to do
no string to fly a kite but found 3 sand dollars
make up the deficit
what luck–luck if we have it could be all we need
to make this scene and the next mystery
we are strapped to
forget vacation
to much work before and too much after
let's just enjoy life
I turn to her in laughter and she agrees, swats my knee
What is it about happiness that is so gaudy? Next time I might be less jubilant; next time I might be bearable.
Thanks to all of Cassandra's relatives who warned me what a 'nice girl' she is, and about the possible consequences of my misbehavior. Thanks for cheering up the air, taking the nerves away.
Some day soon I will inflict the same vengeance on a sad friend attempting eternity. For now, I am content to complain and play the martyr.
Click here to see more wedding pics (and order some) at Moments By Michael. (use any name and email address and the password: PORTER05)
4/28/2006
Hidy Hi Hidy Ho
Back in action: clickety-clack-shun. Here I is and here I be until you all are rid of me.
Since my last transmission: Cassandra and I have decided to undertake the most vast of all vast undertakings: marriage. Even the decision was final we got engaged, the actuality was a vague shadow of the expectation. We got engaged and then swaggered on the precipice of finality for A MERE 4 YEARS. Now we are resolved, and the wedding will happen this month! Disclaimer for those not invited: hey man, you ARE important to us or you wouldn't be getting the Intruder. Unfortunately this heartfelt occasion was bound by the absurd measure of cash supply (especially absurd in our case)--budgets dictated matters of the heart. Sucks. But like I said we love you and try not to hate us.
Phew! That was a load off my chest. Now I can just sit back and watch the hate email pour in.
I went on a trip to France with my dad for 10 days. We rode over 100 miles on our (awkward 150-pound European basket-having, dorky pedal-pushing, gravity-loathing) rental bikes, setting out each day in the Loire Valley southwest of Paris to visit the Chateaux. Included in the journey: Chambord, Chenonceaux, Chaumont, Chateaux d'Amboise, and Chateaux de Blois. I had the first real chance of my
life to speak french as I was plunged headlong into the American-loving (not!) French cultural sphere.
The best story of the trip was when Dad and I arrived at the Chambord train station to go to Paris and found out that the station was closed that day--the only day all year! And the French have a wonderful system whereby only French people with French bank cards can access tickets. Or else you are left trying to insert about $30 worth of coins into the machine. I, of course, had only about $20 worth, so I WAS FORCED CRUELLY AGAINST MY WILL to go to the bar and drink. The bartender wouldn't give me any coins unless I bought beer, so buy beer I did. When I finally had enough (change and beer), I inserted all the coins and the machine told me that I had used too many coins!
So the leery bartender begrudgingly exchanged smaller coins for larger ones and I was on my way.
Pure convenience.
Watch, transfixed--stagger back bemused--as I take a bath. Pics from my birthday (10.4.05) trip to Hot Springs, to (what else) soak in the life-giving waters.
Gape in wide-mouthed amazement as neighbor Royce kicks up sparks at The Primal Pit, at its new home on the Mezzanine. For the uninitiated: The Primal Pit is the (tongue-in cheek) name of our backyard fire pit, the Mezzanine is our backyard upper-terrace paradise. We obviously are very busy since we spend so much time in our own back yard naming things.
Cracking the waves, until next time
Since my last transmission: Cassandra and I have decided to undertake the most vast of all vast undertakings: marriage. Even the decision was final we got engaged, the actuality was a vague shadow of the expectation. We got engaged and then swaggered on the precipice of finality for A MERE 4 YEARS. Now we are resolved, and the wedding will happen this month! Disclaimer for those not invited: hey man, you ARE important to us or you wouldn't be getting the Intruder. Unfortunately this heartfelt occasion was bound by the absurd measure of cash supply (especially absurd in our case)--budgets dictated matters of the heart. Sucks. But like I said we love you and try not to hate us.
Phew! That was a load off my chest. Now I can just sit back and watch the hate email pour in.
I went on a trip to France with my dad for 10 days. We rode over 100 miles on our (awkward 150-pound European basket-having, dorky pedal-pushing, gravity-loathing) rental bikes, setting out each day in the Loire Valley southwest of Paris to visit the Chateaux. Included in the journey: Chambord, Chenonceaux, Chaumont, Chateaux d'Amboise, and Chateaux de Blois. I had the first real chance of my
life to speak french as I was plunged headlong into the American-loving (not!) French cultural sphere.
The best story of the trip was when Dad and I arrived at the Chambord train station to go to Paris and found out that the station was closed that day--the only day all year! And the French have a wonderful system whereby only French people with French bank cards can access tickets. Or else you are left trying to insert about $30 worth of coins into the machine. I, of course, had only about $20 worth, so I WAS FORCED CRUELLY AGAINST MY WILL to go to the bar and drink. The bartender wouldn't give me any coins unless I bought beer, so buy beer I did. When I finally had enough (change and beer), I inserted all the coins and the machine told me that I had used too many coins!
So the leery bartender begrudgingly exchanged smaller coins for larger ones and I was on my way.
Pure convenience.
Watch, transfixed--stagger back bemused--as I take a bath. Pics from my birthday (10.4.05) trip to Hot Springs, to (what else) soak in the life-giving waters.
Gape in wide-mouthed amazement as neighbor Royce kicks up sparks at The Primal Pit, at its new home on the Mezzanine. For the uninitiated: The Primal Pit is the (tongue-in cheek) name of our backyard fire pit, the Mezzanine is our backyard upper-terrace paradise. We obviously are very busy since we spend so much time in our own back yard naming things.
Cracking the waves, until next time
NEW IN THIS INTRUDER:
Link to The Weekly Intruder from http://www.quasisuave.com by clicking the 'Q' in the logo!
Welcome to pics and thoughts on Halloween, my grandma from Alabama's 90th birthday (pronounce: grammabamma), my grandmother from Chicago's funeral (not pictured), Christmas with the Bliss family at our home in North Carolina, and New Year's Eve & Day.
Lament my looks in my annual New Year's Day hangover picture.
Brutally candid, witness every pore clogged with toxins, every hair out of place, the sub-eye pouch size--bared in grim reality for the world to witness, my fresh hungover approach ta new year. New Year's resolutions were uttered and forgotten, whispered through a cough. Scarcely uttered.
Got some great pictures of my family in Alabama for my Grandma's 90th. Check out the ones on the battleship.
Halloween was a blast. We dressed up and flew about Asheville to different parties. Nothing like shedding your own skin and donning an alternate identity. Cassandra was an excellent Frida Kahlo.
Neighbor Bruce had a cauldron with dry ice that looked like real steam in a witches brew. There's a pic of Bruce's nephew checking it
out. Bruce also projected several horror movies and Phantom of the Opera on his across-the-street neighbor's house for viewing by kids trick or treating.
Cassandra's family came to North Carolina for Christmas and we had a great time. Got to hike through some freshly-dug red mud at Bent Creek Experimental Forest because they are logging the hell out of it. Wormkmen have created a wonderful mix of motor oil, mud, discarded lunch trash, and beer cans. Especially fine is the red mud that subsequently lines your house after a hike. We all enjoyed it. Very festive.
It would have been a great occasion, if Cassandra's sister Nancy's boyfriend Robert hadn't RUINED CHRISTMAS. Robert brought his two rascally circus dogs who proceeded to oust our two darling cats and toss their tiny turds about. Not like we had anything we cared about in the house; not like we had fancy new rugs from the Orient on our floors or anything like that. The converse of "my home is your home" is "if you stain it, you bought it." Still waiting for a check, Robert. (Disclaimer: the preceding segment is intended for entertainment purposes only and therefore should not be taken seriously, even by those who ruin Christmas.
Although the depicted events vaguely resemble actual occurences, cognitive shortfalls prohibit us from distinguishing the difference.)
Also, in this issue of my life but not in this volume of the Intruder, Quasi-Suave Digital enjoyed prominence at this years Keller Williams Fashion Victim's Ball for charity. As the theme delineates, it is absolutely vital that all guests wearn the worst fashion ensembles they can dream up.
Myfriends wore it with pride,
coming dressed in most morphed outifits imagineable; even Versace would have found it appaling. Jill created a semi-stylish rendition of a 70's Siberian that was really very flattering. But my fave, I have to say, was Bart. He carved his moustache into a garish 'U' shape, wore a Bjorn Borg-esque headband, and came up with this awful, awfully funny, Puerto Rican looking shirt with flames and cars on it. L.A. button down short-sleeve style. A true gas. I was beaming with pride at his horrible taste.
1/26/2005
Welcome to pics and thoughts on Halloween, my grandma from Alabama's 90th birthday (pronounce: grammabamma), my grandmother from Chicago's funeral (not pictured), Christmas with the Bliss family at our home in North Carolina, and New Year's Eve & Day.
Lament my looks in my annual New Year's Day hangover picture.
Brutally candid, witness every pore clogged with toxins, every hair out of place, the sub-eye pouch size--bared in grim reality for the world to witness, my fresh hungover approach ta new year. New Year's resolutions were uttered and forgotten, whispered through a cough. Scarcely uttered.
Got some great pictures of my family in Alabama for my Grandma's 90th. Check out the ones on the battleship.
Halloween was a blast. We dressed up and flew about Asheville to different parties. Nothing like shedding your own skin and donning an alternate identity. Cassandra was an excellent Frida Kahlo.
Neighbor Bruce had a cauldron with dry ice that looked like real steam in a witches brew. There's a pic of Bruce's nephew checking it
out. Bruce also projected several horror movies and Phantom of the Opera on his across-the-street neighbor's house for viewing by kids trick or treating.
Cassandra's family came to North Carolina for Christmas and we had a great time. Got to hike through some freshly-dug red mud at Bent Creek Experimental Forest because they are logging the hell out of it. Wormkmen have created a wonderful mix of motor oil, mud, discarded lunch trash, and beer cans. Especially fine is the red mud that subsequently lines your house after a hike. We all enjoyed it. Very festive.
It would have been a great occasion, if Cassandra's sister Nancy's boyfriend Robert hadn't RUINED CHRISTMAS. Robert brought his two rascally circus dogs who proceeded to oust our two darling cats and toss their tiny turds about. Not like we had anything we cared about in the house; not like we had fancy new rugs from the Orient on our floors or anything like that. The converse of "my home is your home" is "if you stain it, you bought it." Still waiting for a check, Robert. (Disclaimer: the preceding segment is intended for entertainment purposes only and therefore should not be taken seriously, even by those who ruin Christmas.
Although the depicted events vaguely resemble actual occurences, cognitive shortfalls prohibit us from distinguishing the difference.)
Also, in this issue of my life but not in this volume of the Intruder, Quasi-Suave Digital enjoyed prominence at this years Keller Williams Fashion Victim's Ball for charity. As the theme delineates, it is absolutely vital that all guests wearn the worst fashion ensembles they can dream up.
Myfriends wore it with pride,
coming dressed in most morphed outifits imagineable; even Versace would have found it appaling. Jill created a semi-stylish rendition of a 70's Siberian that was really very flattering. But my fave, I have to say, was Bart. He carved his moustache into a garish 'U' shape, wore a Bjorn Borg-esque headband, and came up with this awful, awfully funny, Puerto Rican looking shirt with flames and cars on it. L.A. button down short-sleeve style. A true gas. I was beaming with pride at his horrible taste.
1/26/2005
I'm baa-aack
8/31/2004
Welcome to the digest of my life, the pics and text of me and mine. After a long
hiatus and a startling makeover packing my Intrusions with a bit more techno-punch, The Weekly
Intruder has renewed its pledge to spread self-depicting digitalia across the globe like a thick
swath of pesto.
Speaking of my favorite sauce, check out the multi-various pics of much of the
food Cassandra and I have eaten since we last e'ed. You guys missed out on the details, but why miss
out on the good stuff--what we tasted and did not spit out. We have made our way from the previous
Intruder to this one bite at a time, the sausages from one meal butting the asparagus from the next.
Here we have strewn select snacks for your prying eyes--indulge.
I've moved Quasi-Suave
Digital to an office in downtown Asheville that makes me feel quite dapper. I bought some new shirts
from Target for the summer and figured out what was wrong with my feet--I needed insoles. Things also
purchased: an ultra-suede couch and matching chair for the living room, a corner desk for Cassandra's
new home office, 2 rugs, a shed, a gas-powered weed-whacker (who ever butchered this object-name by
changing it to 'grass trimmer'?), a patio set, and a gas grill (not easing but charging into my new
suburban life).
In the pictures above, please witness my industriousness in full force,
between hangovers, as I knock out aforementioned shed in a torrent of nails and gravel. Finally, we
have found a home for our poor lawnmower that has lain cold all winter under a hoary tarp for as long
as we have owned it. Gone the days of our trash-capped back porch, the disarray of yesteryear.
Goodbye chaos, hello disorder.
Cassandra has a gift and it is real estate. She got her
realtor's license and is selling houses. To date, I believe she's has sold 3 houses out of 5 buyers
she's taken around, for a whopping .600 average. Go sluggah go. Finding herself in a massively
competitive holistic market here in a capitol of wellness, Cassandra has opted to split her time
between Cranio-Sacral Therapy and Real Estate.
New features of The Weekly Intruder:
1)E-Cards. Now you can send any Intruder Pic to someone special quickly and easily by simply
pressing the 'Send This One' link below the photo. Then you can select a custom background and
color, write a message for your friend, or just send it.
2)The Weekly Intruder Blog. I'm
tired of hearing myself type; now it's your turn, too. We can both play along. Whenever I send my
usual Intruder message to the masses, I will also post it on the Blog. Then you guys can join in by
posting your comments. Feel free to criticize peoples noses, posture, and general demeanor in the
photographs or use this as a megaphone for your pet cause--it's unmoderated!
Welcome to the digest of my life, the pics and text of me and mine. After a long
hiatus and a startling makeover packing my Intrusions with a bit more techno-punch, The Weekly
Intruder has renewed its pledge to spread self-depicting digitalia across the globe like a thick
swath of pesto.
Speaking of my favorite sauce, check out the multi-various pics of much of the
food Cassandra and I have eaten since we last e'ed. You guys missed out on the details, but why miss
out on the good stuff--what we tasted and did not spit out. We have made our way from the previous
Intruder to this one bite at a time, the sausages from one meal butting the asparagus from the next.
Here we have strewn select snacks for your prying eyes--indulge.
I've moved Quasi-Suave
Digital to an office in downtown Asheville that makes me feel quite dapper. I bought some new shirts
from Target for the summer and figured out what was wrong with my feet--I needed insoles. Things also
purchased: an ultra-suede couch and matching chair for the living room, a corner desk for Cassandra's
new home office, 2 rugs, a shed, a gas-powered weed-whacker (who ever butchered this object-name by
changing it to 'grass trimmer'?), a patio set, and a gas grill (not easing but charging into my new
suburban life).
In the pictures above, please witness my industriousness in full force,
between hangovers, as I knock out aforementioned shed in a torrent of nails and gravel. Finally, we
have found a home for our poor lawnmower that has lain cold all winter under a hoary tarp for as long
as we have owned it. Gone the days of our trash-capped back porch, the disarray of yesteryear.
Goodbye chaos, hello disorder.
Cassandra has a gift and it is real estate. She got her
realtor's license and is selling houses. To date, I believe she's has sold 3 houses out of 5 buyers
she's taken around, for a whopping .600 average. Go sluggah go. Finding herself in a massively
competitive holistic market here in a capitol of wellness, Cassandra has opted to split her time
between Cranio-Sacral Therapy and Real Estate.
New features of The Weekly Intruder:
1)E-Cards. Now you can send any Intruder Pic to someone special quickly and easily by simply
pressing the 'Send This One' link below the photo. Then you can select a custom background and
color, write a message for your friend, or just send it.
2)The Weekly Intruder Blog. I'm
tired of hearing myself type; now it's your turn, too. We can both play along. Whenever I send my
usual Intruder message to the masses, I will also post it on the Blog. Then you guys can join in by
posting your comments. Feel free to criticize peoples noses, posture, and general demeanor in the
photographs or use this as a megaphone for your pet cause--it's unmoderated!
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