Author: Michael Brown

The Crimson Dream

I’m awake at 3:OO AM. It’s as if The Phone Call has reset my body clock to beat the roosters.

But then again, it could have been The Crimson Dream that startled me awake. I mean, when you have a dream like that, why risk going back to sleep and forgetting it? No, better to get up, get at it and write it down quickly to preserve it for posterity.

In The Crimson Dream, I was as I am now: a balding, 47-year-old male who is in pretty good shape for his peer group, but with the usual trace of middle age paunch.… Read the rest

And For That, We Are Thankful

When I finished “The Anatomy of a Broken Bone” two and a half years ago, I was hoping there would never be a Part II. “Here’s hoping our first one will also be our last,” I wrote.

So much for wishes, well-laid plans and good intentions.

Number Three Son is down again. This time with a broken distal left fibula (ankle, essentially) obtained while sledding down a snowy hillside on a trashcan lid in the wee hours of Sunday morning in Gatlinburg, Tennessee at the annual “Juiced-For-Jesus,” mega-monster youth rally, Winterfest.

The chance to frolic in a few inches of fresh, frozen precipitation was just too much of a temptation for a gang of Southern boys whose experience with the stuff is limited mainly to pictures on the internet and coverage of the Winter Olympics every four years.… Read the rest

Now Gew Away, Or I Shall Taunt Yew a Secund Time-uh!

I’ve been watching some Youtube clips of Monty Python and the Holy Grail this morning in order to jog the memory banks for tomorrow’s trip down to The Von Braun Center (that’s pronounced BROWN for the uninitiated) to see the Broadway production of Spamalot.

If you were a geeky nerd like me in the late 1970s, chances are you made several trips to the theater to see that irreverant parody of the Arthurian Legend and that it was probably the first movie that you watched on VHS. Eyegal was more partial to The Rocky Horror Picture Show, but what do you expect from a girl who waved a Bic lighter while riding some dude’s shoulders at a Boston concert?… Read the rest

Edgar Allen Poe On Blogging?

“Authors will perceive the immense advantage of giving their own manuscripts directly to the public without the expensive interference of the type-setter, and the often ruinous intervention of the publisher. All that a man of letters need do will be to pay some attention to legibility of manuscript, arrange his pages to suit himself, and stereotype them instantaneously, as arranged. He may intersperse them with his own drawings, or with anything to please his own fancy, … In the new régime the humblest will speak as often and as freely as the most exalted, and will be sure of receiving just that amount of attention which the intrinsic merit of their speeches may deserve.”

… Read the rest

What Ever Happened To Don Meyer?

Well, for one thing the former NAIA national championship-winning basketball coach at Lipscomb University in Nashville, Tennessee and now HC at Northern State University in Aberdeen, South Dakota recently passed Bob Knight’s 902 career victory total to become the all-time leader in men’s college basketball history.

And for another, he did that while recovering from a near fatal car accident and battling inoperable cancer.

Having a bad day? Don Meyer would say that there is no such thing as a bad day.

… Read the rest

Travel is Fatal to Prejudice–and Provincialism

A federal holiday means movie day around our house, and yesterday Eyegal and I trekked to the local mega-cinema for a showing of what will most likely be Best Picture, Slumdog Millionaire (forget all the preening and pretentious envelope-drama, this one’s a lock).

This kaleidoscopic, Dickensian pauper-to-prince tale came highly recommended and did not disappoint, but be warned–it’s a rough ride. There’s one scene in particular that made this Eyeguy cringe more than all the others put together, but even amid the torture, squalor and exploitation of the Mumbai ghetto the human spirit rises, irrepressible, and at the end of the bumpy journey, redemption awaits.… Read the rest

A Close Encounter of the Cupid Kind

Yesterday I went to Sam’s, as if on cue, because rumor had it that they had red tulips in a large, festive red pot for ONLY $21.99.

Once inside, I was surrounded by a throng of panic-stricken males, their eyes ablaze in full pre-Valentine’s Day buying frenzy. Keeping my cool, I decided to take my typical detour through electronics to see “Wassup?” before heading over to the tulip department (I am a guy, right?).

Right there, between the Bose speakers and the iPods, was a full display of various women’s perfumes and cosmetic bags. Over by the 60″ plasmas, a large sign read: Guys, this Valentine’s Day, give her what she really NEEDS.… Read the rest

T-minus 24 Hours and Counting

Hmmm, let’s see if I have everything…

1) Overpriced, moderately-racy Valentine’s card, check.

2) Flowers and Walkers Shortbread Cookies, che…oh, I knew I was missing something (mental note: hit Target after work today).

3) Two tickets to Monty Python’s Spamalot…for next weekend…check.

4) Dinner reservations for two…also for next weekend…check.

5) Obligatory rehash of old Valentine’s Day Huntsville Times column and blog posts…check, check, check and check!

That about covers it. Have a great weekend, everyone. And guys, if she really loves you, she still will even if you screw everything up.

Believe me, I know.

… Read the rest

Not The Daily Planet, But Close

Since my Huntsville Times gig ended in December, I’ve been casting about trying to find another rag that might absorb some of my overflowing logorrhea, and it looks like I may have a nibble.

Valley Planet is a local, alternative newspaper that’s been around for a few years now. Like The Nashville Scene to the north and Birmingham Weekly to the south, VP has a little more “edge” than the local daily. It tries to focus more on the local arts scene, music, restaurants, movies, books, and other topics of interest to young, urban hipsters, Boomers with more cash than common sense and aging hippies still clinging to their love beads and Jim Morrison LPs.… Read the rest

That Was Then, And This Is Now

In the past, I always swore that Ocular Fusion would never devolve into one of those TMI “OMG, my big toe aches and I want everybody in the universe to know about it and sympathize with me” kind of blogs.

But that was then, and this is now.

That was before I happily ventured out into the sunny, 65 degree Alabama weather this past Saturday and down to McGucken Park to fling the Frisbee disc with Number One Son and Uncle T. who was visiting from Colorado Springs.

And now my right gluteus maximus is tied-up tighter than King Tut and a tombful of his Egyptian cousins and concubines.… Read the rest

A Drip Off The Old Block

All across the South this week, dozens of new football recruits signed on the dotted line and donned their new lids, sometimes in very elaborate and ham-handed ways (Just kidding. We love ya Dre–Roll Tide!).

Speaking of hams, how ’bout the Vols’ new “wunderkind” HC Lane Kiffin? The guy hasn’t coached a single game in the SEC and he’s already talking trash and accusing his colleagues of cheating? This is going to be soooo much fun!

Number Two Son has completed his own “official visits” and is sitting on and mulling over acceptances from Harding, Lipscomb, Auburn and the University of West Florida.… Read the rest

National Signing Day (College Football, Not the Language Kind)

For hardcore Southerners, National Signing Day in college football ranks right up there with Christmas, Confederate Memorial Day and Mardi Gras on the holiday scale.

It’s the day when 18-year-old player prospects, typically endowed with more brawn than brains, play king for a day by holding nationally-televised press conferences at which they very slooowly look over the collection of ball caps bearing the logos of their various suitor schools until finally they reach–or wait, maybe not!–for The One and plop it on the ol’ noggin, much to the delight of their classmates, coaches, parents, siblings and long string of cousins who have gathered for the big event.… Read the rest

A Full Extension, Both-Toes-Inbounds Catch

Here’s the question: If I could somehow translate Steeler receiver Santonio Holmes’ sublime, full-extension, both-toes-inbounds Super Bowl-winning catch (or for that matter, James Harrison’s “Pass the oxygen, please” 100 yard interception return) into Eyeguy language, what would it look like?

Possible answers:

  • When I hear the splatter of rain on the gutters, I would round up my gear and go for a run anyway, or short of that, hit the elliptical trainer after work.
  • I would write something–anything–to jump-start my aging gray matter and focus it toward constructive work.
  • I wouldn’t be in so much of a rush that I would forget to kiss Eyegal before heading out the door.
… Read the rest

Settlin’ Down Me Ol’ Soul

Number Two Son and I are in Pensacola, Florida this morning. It’s not the first time I’ve been here with one of me lads.

And Pensacola means McGuire’s Irish Pub, a steroid-enhanced, Gatlinburg version of one that I’m sure a real Irishman would scoff at and probably scrap over if anyone dared to call it the real thing. Aye, I think he would.

But the filet was melt-in-your-mouth wonderful and the, ahem, “root beer” was just what the doctor ordered after a hard, six hour drive. We had a seat near the stage, so we got an earful of some loud and raucous Irish music, all of which bore the same basic theme–whiskey and fightin’.… Read the rest