Karma pays me a visit

I have been a soccer referee for my daughter's league since last fall. I received three hours of basic training and worked six games in the fall in the 7 and 8 year old division. In the spring, I got an additional three hours of training so that I would be qualified to work in all divisions. I worked four more games. So, with training and experience, I have been at this for about about 12 hours.
I signed up because they begged me to. Because no one else would do it. Because I can't say "no."
I did not sign up because I love rules. I did not sign up because I know how the game is played. I did not sign up so I could wear these terrific thick polyester shorts. And I sure as hell did not sign up because I enjoy sucking.
Today was Soccerfest. Soccerfest is a tournament with special rules. Teams of 4 players each play two seven minute halves. No keepers. If the ball is played in the goal area, it's a point for the other team.
My daughter did not play in Soccerfest, but I volunteered to ref, because they had a hard time finding volunteers. Perhaps this is because they schedule it for Memorial Day weekend. I digress.
My first four games were in the U8 division, and I did okay. I blew one corner kick call. Since there are no keepers, I had a hard time keeping track of which team was attacking and which was defending. It sounds easy, but those girls get all mixed up, too.
My second four games were in the 10-14 division. For the most part, things went well... until the last game. The last game was the black team versus the green team. The green coach, let's call him, oh, I don't know....Mr. Small-Johnson... was loud and obnoxious from the get-go. It is my philosophy (and the philosophy of the league) to let the kids play- not call ticky- tack fouls or incidental handballs. One of his kids flopped down, and I didn't call a foul- because there was no foul. He called the kid over, and in his "loud secret" voice, told the kid to get more aggressive, because obviously the refs have been told not to call anything. He said it had been happening all day.
His team was awarded a goal after the black team played the ball in the goal area.
At the second kick, the teams switched sides. He yelled "Why are we switching sides? We have been playing the same side all day?!?" and the other coach replied that they had been switching. Small-Johnson mentioned that "It says in the RULES that we aren't supposed to switch"
I turned around and said, "It also says in the RULES that coaching is discouraged, and that players are to wearing the same color jersey. (One of his kids was wearing blue)"
He said "Well it's hard not to coach when the reffing is so bad"
Now I know he wasn't just bitching about me. He was bitching about all the refs, all day. And he was probably pissed because his team sucks.
Then, I missed a call. I did not see whether or not a green player played the ball in the goal area. Both coaches agreed that the kid had, but the kid didn't say he had, and I didn't see it... so I couldn't call it. I blew a call, and it went Small-Johnson's way. And it knocked the black team out of third place for the tournament.
I told the tournament director what happened, that I hadn't seen it. He said if I didn't see it, I couldn't call it. So technically, I was in the right, but really, truly, I was wrong. I was terrible. I should have seen it. Everyone else saw it.
All the referees I have yelled at in my life are smiling, I think. I feel awful.

I solve the problems of the world.

Torture is a hot topic these days. The president and former vice-president gave dueling speeches yesterday, wherein we heard their awesome plans for what to do with the Guantanamo detainees. Cheney says torture them, it's working. Obama says we should keep them, un-tortured but indefintely, without trial, and somewhere else.

I want to feel safe from terrorism. I want bad guys caught and punished. I don't think we should be a bunch of pussies, but I can't sign on for torture. I thought maybe I could. Here is a story about a DJ, Mancow,
who thought waterboarding didn't sound too bad, so he tried it. After six seconds, he admitted it was torture. After reading that story, I was still okay with a little torture. But then, I did a google image search for the photo I will use for this post. I used the search term "torture", with safe search on, and it was as stupid as it sounds. The photos I saw were obviously prisoners being tortured, some appeared to be tortured by Al Qaeda, and others appeared to be AQ operatives being tortured. None of them looked like they were getting their faces rinsed. They were all naked, and there was blood, and much torture seems to take place upside down. It's just not right, and I can't get behind it.
It's also ridiculous to think that we can keep suspected terrorists detained indefintely without a trial. It's not American. Obama's argument is that these prisoners aren't criminals, they are warriors, and therefore, a different set of rules apply.
I think that was Cheney's argument for torture.
I don't know what's right. I think both plans suck.

Here is what I want:
I want a supersecret team of agents with the undying patriotism of a Nascar fan, the kung- fu skills of Jackie Chan, the ability to infiltrate enemy territory like James Bond, and the judgement of Jesus of Nazareth. We send this team after the bad guys with these instructions: Do what is necessary to protect us. Then, (here is the tough part) we would have to trust them. I don't want any congressional hearings or media exposes. I want to eat my metaphorical veal scallopini without having photographs of a slaughtered calf shoved under my nose.
I want the Superfriends to kick terrorist ass.

Mean Girls

On Wednesday, my daughter got in trouble at soccer practice because she was fighting with another girl. A girl that she considers her best friend, whom she has known (and fought with) since kindergarten.
What Madison told us was that she was hyped up on sugar and her "friend" wouldn't stop joking about Madison's brand new but uncomfortable shoes, which were exactly the same as the friend's, so Madison kicked her in the shinguard. The only explanation Madison could offer for why she would kick her friend was that she was feeling "tense".

Today at the game, the friend was absent. Madison's coach approached me as I walked the sideline as a referee to tell me that she had talked to the other girls about watching what they say about Madison. She told me that she has heard the friend and others saying mean things about Madison within Madison's earshot . The coach told me that they tease her about being small, and not able to run as fast as the other girls. This was the first time I had ever heard of Madison being teased.

It's a good thing I was wearing sunglasses. The field went a little blurry for a while. I've always known that kids can be mean. I guess I didn't think her friend would turn on her. Ever since we found out that Madison has Turner Syndrome, I have been trying to prepare her for the comments she will invariably hear. I should have been trying to prepare myself as well.

It's probably also a good thing her friend wasn't there. She reached her educational plateau in elementary school, and I was angry enough to maybe mention it.
I'd like to think I'm mature enough to restrain myself. I'd like to think I wouldn't kick her in the shinguard.

Madison, I know you read my blog- here is a link just for you. I love you.

Ingredients for spite.

On Sunday, while flipping through the newspaper inserts, I noticed that Safeway was having a sale on Coke products: buy two twelve packs, get two free, and get a free 24 pack of Dasani bottled water. Spencer hates to go the the store for just one or two things, but they also had Corona on sale for $11.99, and we were already going next-door to Joe's going-out-of-business non-sale, so he decided it would be okay to swing by Safeway.
We bought two twelve packs of Diet Coke with Lime (a harbinger of summer!) one twelve pack of Diet Coke, and one twelve pack of Fresca. We grabbed our beer and 24 pack of Dasani and headed for the checkout lane.
While the checker- I don't recall his name, but for now, I'll call him... oh, I don't know...Richard- was ringing up the order in front of us, we loaded our drinks onto the conveyor. Richard looked at us and barked, "Leave the water in the cart!". We did, but it doesn't make sense to me. Why? Is it because the weight of the water is too heavy for the conveyor? Surely, if the belt can handle 48 cans of pop -42 pounds of pop to be exact, it can handle 24 bottles of water. I am left to assume that Richard can't lift a 24 pack of water. Maybe he suffers from a crippling back injury, or carpal tunnel syndrome, which is common for grocery checkers. Or, maybe he's just not very strong, like a child. We'll never know, because I left the water in the cart.

Richard rung up our order as I keyed my phone number into the card reader. It didn't take long for Richard to finish, we only had the 7 items. I noticed that the total was much higher than I thought it should be. I examined the screen, and it appeared that I was charged full price for the water. Here's how the conversation went:

Me: Um, did we grab the wrong kind of water? I thought it was free.
Dick: You didn't run your card yet.
Me: I sure did, you can see the "club savings" on the pop and beer.
Dick: Well, you can only get the water one time.
Me: I only want the water one time.
Dick: No...the free water deal is limit one.
Me: I only have one.
Dick: You must have used your card and got the water before.
Me: Nope.
Dick: Well, someone used your card and got the water.
It was at this point that I realized that Richard thought I was trying to pull a fast one on Safeway. He was sure I was some sort of flim-flam con artist, grifting free water from unsuspecting cashiers. He was not going to be hoodwinked.

Me: Look, I didn't use my card.
Dick: Well, someone typed in your number
Me: When? Where?
Dick: I don't know.
Me: Okay, look. How about you just punch in YOUR phone number, I get my water, and everyone is happy.
Dick: We can't do that.
Me: Right, because that would be some kind of club card fraud. Don't you ask for ID with club cards? What is Safeway doing to protect me?
I knew the last part was ridiculous, but I tend to get over-dramatic and sarcastic when I am pissed.

I told Dick how awful I thought the whole thing was, and that I did not want the water. I paid, and immediately wheeled the cart to customer service where I calmly (really) explained to the lady what happened. She suspected that someone had keyed in my club card number accidentally. She gave me the water. She told me that Safeway Customer Service could tell me when/where my card had been used.

On Monday I called customer service as soon as they opened. Guess what? No one had used my card since the last time I did two weeks ago. No one got free water with my card. It was just a computer error, and it has happened before. I asked if there was any way that the store could have known this, and the lady told me no. She took my information and told me she would contact the store.
Now it's Tuesday. I have my pop, I have my free water, someone listened to me complain. But I am still fired up, because Richard thought I was shifty.
I figure I have a couple options. I can never shop at Safeway again, which is a real possibility. Safeway is expensive and crowded, and I have many grocery store choices. This option would cost Safeway about $300 a year, and I really wouldn't get any satisfaction.
My other option is to use Safeway's silly customer service policies against them. I know that cashiers like Dick are required to "Thank by Name!" - they are required to look at your name as it prints out on your receipt and use it to thank you. They never pronounce my last name correctly. I could sign up for a club card using a pseudonym... either something unpronouncable, like "Bwitfarnilghy Czjkarzjchklyski" or something I would get satisfaction out of hearing them say, like "Gloria Stitz" or "Norma Snockers".
It could go either way at this point. Maybe I will only buy heavy things at Safeway, and make sure Richard is my checker.

Aluminum Foiled Again

Here in Oregon, as in many states, we pay a deposit on most of our single-serve beverage containers. Beer bottles, pop cans, and now water bottles... we pay a nickel apiece at the checkout, then return them to the grocer for a refund.

In theory, it's a good idea. Literally tons of glass, plastic and aluminum are kept out of landfills, and our parks and roads are free of beverage litter and broken glass bottles. Most large retailers have machines set up outside the store that count your empties and issue a receipt that you can take in to the store to redeem for cash.

In practice, the bottle bill is a pain in the ass. We have to save up our empties- separate of course, from trash and recycling. Then, we have to remember to bring them back to the store. Then, we have to deal with the three big problems with can returns:

1. Each store is only obligated to accept returns for products that they sell. Which means if you bought Dr. Skipper from Safeway, you can't take those cans back to Fred Meyer.

2. The machines I mentioned earlier are quite prone to fill up, jam, mis-print, reject, mis-read, or otherwise malfunction. This means a trip into the store to the customer service desk. The customer service lady pages the lowest man on the grocery totem to the bottle return area. It always takes him about 5 minutes to finish his smoke, then another 5 minutes to walk all the way through the store to get to the machines. When he finally does show up, he usually does something like the Fonz did to the jukebox at Arnold's, and the machine resets itself and works again for another 40 cans or so.

3. Due to the above problems, a cottage industry has arisen: Seagulling. Seagulls are the men on bicycles who stand about 20 yards away from the machines and wait for people to walk away from their broken machine in disgust, or for someone to throw their Select Diet Cola cans into the trash at Albertson's. You can feel their eyes boring into the back of your jacket, waiting for you to give up. The Seagulls have plenty of time to wait for customer service. The Seagulls have plenty of time to shuttle their wares between grocery stores. The Seagulls are not bothered by the stench of month old beer bottles. I think the Seagulls are getting wealthy one nickel at a time.

He wants to be your President.

Massachusetts Governor Mitt Romney is running for President. I don't know much about him, other than he organized the Salt Lake City Olympics and he seems to be somewhat impaired in the smarts department.

I swear this is true. In 1983, he loaded the presumably large Mormon family into the station wagon and set out from Boston on a 12 hour trip to Ontario. The Romney kids couldn't leave the family dog behind, so he packed Seamus the Irish Setter into his PetPorter....and strapped it to the roof of the car.

At some point during the trip, Russ, or one of the other Romney kids, noticed Seamus diarrhea running down the windows. Mitt pulled in to a service station, hosed down the car, (problem solved!) and headed for Canada.

Oh, he also used the incident to illustrate his "emotion free crisis management" in an interview with the Boston Globe.

I pray he doesn't have an Aunt Edna.

source

Joey Almighty

In 2001, then- 39 year- old Joey Salvati was in the shower when God spoke to him. The Lord did not ask Joey to make sure he wiped the pubes off the soap, He asked Joey to manufacture and deliver wooden paddles designed for spanking kids.

Click here to read the article.

Of course this pathetic loser lives with his mother.

Why is it that God never tells anyone how to cure cancer?