Stories like this make me glad that I’m not a famous TV anchor.

My office is right across the hall from the ladies restroom at my place of work. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times–turn the faucet on, turn your microphone off.

Speaking of famous TV anchors, I wish someone would airbrush me.

Where’s Walter Cronkite when you need him?

In one of the quieter sports stories of the summer, the U.S. Mens basketball team has been marching steadily forward in the FIBA World Championships in Sapporo, Japan. There was a time when U.S. teams took World Championship and Olympic gold medals for granted. But in recent years, a new generation of international basketball players has humbled American hoopsters, resulting in an embarrassing 6th place finish in the last World Championships and a disappointing bronze in the 2004 Olympics in Athens.

So what’s different this time around? Two words: Coach K. Duke Head Coach and master motivator Mike Krzyzewski took over the reigns of the National Team last year and immediately went to what USA Today appropriately called Plan B–a true team. Out is the old cocky attitude of “we’re the best, just show up and play.” In are the concepts of team instead of individual stardom, smothering defense over lazing loping down the floor following a long distance trey or rim-rattling dunk. There’s still plenty of offense, but the new-found defensive intensity has resulted in mostly wide-margin U.S. victories. [...]

(Sigh) As if I didn’t have enough to write about already…

Just like 7th grade, I’ve been tagged by Jason the Youth Minister, this time for my take on the following book categories:

1. One book that changed your life: C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity–nothing else comes close. It’s the main reason that I remained a Christian through a period of very intense doubt. Kudos to the Harding University Bookstore for daring to carry the work of a pipe smoking, ale-quaffing Anglican literature professor who wouldn’t have been welcome as a student or professor at that fine, teetotalling institution of higher learning.

2. One book that you’ve read more than once: [...]

It’s a given that if you’re taking a walk or a run on a Saturday morning in Alabama (or just about anyday anywhere in the South for that matter) and you meet up with one of your neighbors, that you’ll exchange a greeting of some sort. A head nod, a lift of the hand, a “hey,” or the classic “good mornin’” are all socially acceptable salutations. To acknowledge and greet a fellow passerby is as much a Southern staple as barbeque, sweet tea, high school football and Wednesday night church.

Or so I thought.

This past Saturday I was nearing the half way mark of my morning run when I spotted a speed-walking, fifty-something woman clad in colorful, cheerful spandex coming around a corner directly into my path. Her Nikes were fairly smoking, and she seemed to be carrying on a conversation with an invisible companion.

Fine, I thought, either she’s engaging in a a little motivational self-pep talk or perhaps she’s a tad schizophrenic. If the latter, no problem–I usually have a least one schizophrenic in my exam chair daily, and as long as they’re taking their medications, they’re usually among the most lucid and pleasant conversationalists that I know. I moved over slightly to let her pass and went for eye contact. “Good mornin,’” I called out. [...]

It’s been quiet. Almost too quiet.

Stories like this make me wish I had worn the uniform.

Semper Fi to my many friends who did.

It’s always a good day at work when you can get one of these bad boys out of someone’s eye.

When I run, I feel His wrath. But when I remove a metallic corneal foreign body (rust ring and all) with one swipe of a 25G needle and leave only a 1mm epithelial divot, I feel His pleasure.

Androcles has nothing on me.

How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.

–Matthew 7:4-5

This is low:

www.google.ca/search?hl=en&q=bushy haired nerd&meta=

But I’ve been called worse.

If you shill it, they will come:

http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&lr=&q=Shoes are loyal and faithful servants of the feet&btnG=Search

And the congregation said, “Amen.”

Whenever we Alabamians hear that our beloved Yellowhammer State is in the news, our first reaction is to usually to cringe–”what now?”

Well, for better or worse, Alabama has made it again, this time in the form of MTV’s “Two-a-Days” a reality show which documents the fortunes of the Hoover High School (near Birmingham) Buccaneers football team, winner of four of the last five state 6-A football titles and the current preseason #1 in the USA TODAY Super 25.

We know a little something about Hoover High up Huntsville way. Our Grissom High Tigers are usually the ones who make the first round of the state playoffs only to be served up as Buccaneer bait. Last time out it was 47-19. I think Hoover’s third string defense played most of the second half. I would point out that this sort of thing does not happen when we play them in soccer. [...]

It’s been over a month now, but I just can’t let it go.

Forget the head butt. These are the images which will endure. (Hat tip: Seattle Soccer Mom)

If a mix of Coldplay and Zidane aren’t to your taste, then try a helping of U2′s Bono and a mesmerizing montage of World Cup 2006 highlights.

Ok, I know some of you hate it when I write about soccer. Just do me a favor: watch the videos and then take the same pulsating passion, the vim and verve, the emmaculate elan, the deftness of foot, and the all-encompassing, all-seeing vision and apply them to whatever work God sets before you this day. Just leave off the Wayne Rooney crotch-stomp.

And may you be blessed. Joga Bonito (play beautiful).

The photo is of Number One Son as he prepares to drive off for his “last first day” of public high school. He’s a member of the mighty 2007 senior class at Virgil I. Grissom High School, and he sure is exuding the confidence that flows from such a lofty station in life. Another reason he’s smiling is that he’s just glad his hair finally grew back in time for his senior portrait.

Number One and his brothers are Gen Nexters or Millennials, a generation that has been receiving a lot of attention lately in the media. For some, this generation reminds them of “The Greatest Generation” which came of age during World War II. They are trending more and more, according to experts, toward traditional values such as patriotism and respect for authority, perhaps fueled to a great degree by their eyewitnessing of the events of 9/11.

However, according to this USA Today article, this generation can also become very stressed as they try to manage the uber-expectations and demands of their parents and peers. [...]

It’s been an eventful week here at Ocular Fusion. First, I was graced with a visit by the Winged Goddess of Victory herself (I think we all know her name, don’t we?). Then I was the victim of a vicious attack of flying spam, necessitating the installation of the new and improved, all purpose, Super-Duper Askimet Anti-Spam Shield and Bug Zapper (so far, 70 pieces of fried spam in 48 hrs).

But, no matter what I do, the assimilation continues.

Here’s my latest VIP visitor: [...]

I thought that “getting Swooshed” would be the greatest thing that ever happened to me. Visions of free running shoes, endorsement contracts, commercials and billboards were dancing like Oregon Waffles in my middle-age, ever-balding head.

Instead, I went from Swoosh to spam in no time flat.

It all started when those pesky and creepy little search bot worm thingies started crawling all over my site a few days ago. Both Google and Yahoo (Inktomisearch.com) stop by at least daily, Yahoo sometimes more often. The result was a coordinated spam attack between 10:15 and 10:50 A.M. yesterday which launched eight cash-seeking missles that landed in the comment section of my various Nike posts. Each comment was the same: [...]

In mob circles, it’s known as becoming a “Made man.” You’ve shown loyalty to the family through the years, doing all the dirty deeds you’ve been asked to do. Finally, after paying your dues, somebody notices. Suddenly, your suits get silkier, your shoes shinier, you receive VIP treatment at the dry cleaners and get the best seats at all the good restaurants with no reservations. Usually “being made” is the pinnacle of a mobster’s career–unless you’re Joe Pesci’s character Tommy DeVito in the movie Goodfellas.

Now I’m no mafioso, but I am a shoe nerd. And we have our day too, you know. Saturday was just such a day; the athletic footwear equivalent of “being made.” No, scratch that like a bad case of athlete’s foot. This was even better.

I’ve been Swooshed.

If you don’t believe me, check out these these visitor stats from Saturday: [...]