Monday, October 31, 2005

The Scariest Thing in the World

OK, its Halloween. And of course there is something about this Pagan ceremony that makes us want to scare the twizzlers out of each other. So I was just thinking... what is the scariest thing to ever happen to me?

And I worked my way down a list... for a long time I was afraid of flying-- I still don't like to fly, but I don't have any horror stories, yet. There was 9/11... but my first thought on that was that it was just "War of the Worlds" all over again-- I mean, I was listening on the radio as I was moving from Cincinnati to Peoria. There is the story about how I've met some women, but my fear was irrational-- I think the fear was for the women.

And then there was this morning...

We took my car to the mechanics for an oil change, and to have a sensor light checked-- I was hoping it was just a short in the wire. Instead, I find out it's time for new breaks. So, for the day, I am without my car. And I miss my car. I miss my car a lot more than I did at 9.00 this morning when I left it at the mechanics.

So, my mommy drove me to school today. How sweet of her. Well, I thought so, until I actually got in the car. I hadn't ridden in a car driven by my mom for a couple years-- if I'm out with my parents, dad drives, and when he gets tired, I drive. But I can now say that riding in a car driven by my mom, is the scariest thing I have ever experienced.

My mom is "Leadfoot Lisa" if there ever was one. Let me just say, I have driven a race car before-- and the first rule of driving a race car is: "you are always on a pedal." You are either on the gas, or you are on the breaks. My mother takes this to a new extreme. She does not ease onto a pedal, she just drops the flippin hammer on it.

By the time we got to the bottom of the hill, I moved my seat all the way back, just so I didn't bounce my head off the dashboard.

Then we get into traffic. And my mom is lane-jumping, weaving in and out of traffic, cursing, swearing, flipping the bird, calling everyone 'morons'. And I'm just like, talk about the pot and the kettle.

Then, she blew through the red light. No even close. I'm not even sure she saw it. Fortuantely there was no cross traffic.

She then procedes to attempt to pass a car turing right off the street. So she drag races the car next to her, doesn't signal, and cuts of the car she was racing. Oh yeah, the turning car-- couldn't have been more than 6 inches from the front corner of the car.

At this point, I call my professor-- told her I wouldn't be in class today, cuz I'm going to be dead by the time I get to campus. Yes, my life was flashing before my eyes.

Then her cell phone rings. "No, I'll get it." No way in the world I'm letting this crazed woman answer a cell phone while driving-- she can barely keep the car on the road as it is.

"Karen's phone... ... ... I'm sorry, she's busy roadraging right now, can I take a message and have her get back to you?"

Her boss starts laughing.

Seriously, my mother is a school nurse. A health care professional. Is this how they stay in business? They send my mom out to drive like a maniac-- causing broken bones, concussions, heart attacks, strokes, and possibly even motion sickness? (I'm beginning to wonder if my childhood days of motion sickness might have been caused by her driving.)

So we get to campus, in record time-- something like 37 seconds (for a 6 1/2 mile drive). And I'm breathing into a paper bag. And as I get out of the car, I tell my mother: "I don't ever want to hear you complain about my driving, again."

So, as a friend, I ask you. Can somebody please give me a ride home from school?

Sunday, October 30, 2005

Somebody, Please-- Stop the Insanity!

Is it Depression Awareness Week in Nebraska again? Oh, wait, that was last week. This week is Domestic Abuse Awareness Week.

Normally when the Husker lose, it's Depression Awareness Week-- and the entire state goes on suicide watch. When they lose twice in a season, it becomes Domestic Abuse Awareness Week-- because then NU footballers usually start beating up their girlfriends.

I know, it's not funny. But it is worth noting.

Beyond that, I'm convinced that Husker fans-- which account for about 99% of the population of this state are a bunch of spoiled fucking whiners.

It started before the game was even over. Oklahoma runs a fake field goal, which led to a first down, and eventually a touchdown.

"Oklahoma's cheating! They're resorting to trick plays! Who runs a fake field goal?"

Shut the fuck up!

Nevermind the fact the Huskers ran a halfback... err, excuse me... I-back pass. Who runs an I-back pass? The Huskers ran a trick play, too. Stop bitching! If a fake field goal is cheating, so is a halfback pass.

Sit down, you Republican, Felon sympathiser.

Then they bitch about "it's a sad day when we can't get a call in our own stadium".

Shut the fuck up!

Nobody cares if you thought there was holding on ANY play. The opinion of the men in the striped shirts are the only opinions that matter. And even if they missed one hold, shit happens, they're human.

And are you suggesting that teams used to get "homered" when they came to Memorial Stadium? Were the Huskers paying off the officials in previous seasons?

Somebody call the NCAA-- I think we have a conspiracy on our hands! Investigate the University of Nebraska... again. We got the swimming program once-- and Steve Pedersen said they weren't the only program in violation of NCAA policy. Was he protecting the football program?

Bring it, you cow-tipping, corn-growing hick.

Your team lost. Deal with it. Stop making excuses. Your team sucks. Get used to it. Besides, it's sport. Who gives a damn how a college football does? It's not the end of the world. Perhaps the State of Nebraska should invest time in money in promoting other aspects of life in this state-- wait, are there any? Surely there is a better use of time and money than backing a bunch of felons on a field trip from the state pennitentiary.

Let's take pride in something else. Anything else. Arbor Day? uhh... wait, I had another... please, send some ideas. There has got to be more to this state than a college football team.

Monday, October 24, 2005

If Not In Your Backyard, Then Where?

To all imature, people who think the rest of the world should not inconvienience you-- shut the hell up.

You know who you are. You are the people who are whining about registered sex offenders living anywhere within a 3,000-square mile radius of your house. Sit down.

How dare you.

This is just NIMBY at it's worst. Listen, nobody wants to live never door to a registered sex-offender (I certainly don't), but just who do you think you are to dictate where these people can live? You don't get a say in anybody's life, but your own (and maybe your children's).

I simply have to ask you one question. If they can't live on your street... where can they live? They can't live on the next block, because there resides another selfish prick, who doesn't want them there either. That leaves the only option to set them out in the desert somewhere, away from any other person.

Isn't that little over the top? I mean, we don't live in 'the Scarlet Letter', nor is this 'Les Miserables'. We should not have the option to physically label these people for what they have done.

Let me put this another way-- In my many years as a college student, I have taken several Black Studies courses. One day, my professor brings in the covenence from the neighbourhood where he and his family resides. Less than 40 years ago, he would not have been permitted to own the house he currently lives in, simply because he is black. Now we are saying that because someone made a mistake in their life, we fear they might inconvienience your life-- you have been taken out of your comfort zone. Boo hoo. What do you think you are doing to these people?

You are the same people who demand more prisons... but not anywhere near your house. Guess what-- you can't have your cake and eat it, too. Pick one side of the argument.

But some of you have the right idea. We need to keep our streets safe-- and changes need to be made. I certainly don't have a problem with 'Class 1' offenders being released back into society. 'Class 2' might get a bit iffier. But, 'Class 3'-- those most likely to re-offend-- now we have a problem. If they are likely to re-offend, then they are not fit to return to society. It means they have not be rehabilitated, doesn't it? Isn't rehabilitation one of the primary objectives of our prison system? Then don't put us in harm's way, like that. If you're 'Class 3', then you've be pre-approved for an extended stay in our luxurious prison system. And if the prisons start to get overcrowded-- we can build more prisons, or reopen ones that have been closed. It is a good use of our tax dollars.

And to those of us on the streets, there are other things we can do to not be bothered with the fear emitted by having a sex-offender in our area. First, don't let your kids play in the front yard. It's bad enough you yell at me for driving 26 in the 25 MPH zone. It's even worse when you drive 15 on that same street. But you have a backyard for your kids to play in-- and you can have them protected by a fence. Secondly, treat the residences of registered sex-offenders the same way you would a HUD home. Seriously, none of us know which homes on our streets are HUD homes. (At least, we're not supposed to know). So don't tell us where the sex-offenders are living. It is our knowledge of the subject, our protusion into someone else's life, that gets us into trouble. We don't need to know. (This would sound a lot better in conjunction with my idea of keeping 'Class 3" offenders in jail).

I really don't understand why anybody can they are so much better than anyone else, that they can't live on the same street as them. If you think you are so much better-- leave. Start your own community elsewhere. Someplace you can make your own rules. If you need an example-- do some research on Germany from 1920-1939 and East Germany from 1960-1990.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Reflection after a Deflection

We've all been there before. We've all had those moments where something frightening happens, and you say to someone "I just saw my whole life flash before my eyes." But what happens if you miss that flash? Was it something that wasn't meant for you at that time? Or are you just plain lucky?

Let's just say I had a rough weekend as a hockey referee-- and for once it didn't involve an incident with a player, coach, or fan.

The local midget (high school) hockey team in Omaha hosts a season opening tournament, anually. Generally, it's a regional tournament-- teams from Iowa, Nebraska, and Colorado. (They host a more national tournament around Thanksgiving.) It's fun to start the season with such high energy games, but that comes with a risk.

Early in the season, you're just trying to get back into gear-- that goes for players, coaches, and officials. You're certainly not in mid-season form, and mental mistakes are bound to happen. Also, the rink employees aren't up to speed yet either-- they're still in summer mode, with less action around, which puts them in the same position as everyone else. Add it all up, and sometimes you fear the start of the season.

I got through Friday's game fine-- no problems whatsoever-- but I can tell you for the first several minutes of the game I felt like I had lead weights on my feet.

Saturday got a little more adventurous. With the warm temperatures outside, it can be difficult to keep the ice, inside, it decent shape. You've got sharp baldes on soft ice, and what ends up happening is the conditions of the game deteriorate. Players fall down more often, and those who make sharp turns usually make huge ruts in the ice. I caught one of those ruts, and took a tumble. I bounced up, no harm done-- until I realized I had managed to cut my hand. It didn't look bad at first-- at the next whistle, I went to the bench to cover up the cut... but a couple minutes later, at the next whistle, I realized my entire hand was covered in blood. Kinda scary when you see it, but I knew I wasn't in danger, I knew it was just a small cut in a bad location. I cleaned and patched my self up at intermission (9 seconds later), and finished the game.

Then there was Sunday. I could tell right away it just wasn't going to be a good day for officials. It started early, while attempting to get out of the way of a couple players, I went to hop up on the boards, to let them by, only to find myself going through and open door. I found it to be quite comical. I laughed it off, and kept on. I watched the referee get hit sqaure in the back with a clearing attempt. Saw my fellow linesman get his feet taken out from under him following a faceoff. And then saw the same partner get crunched by two players at full speed. The referee and I both swear he bounced a good 5-10 feet off the boards. It was one of those hits you can feel, just by witnessing it.

But nothing would compare to what was about to happen to me.

I mentioned the mental fitness of those involved, because this is the case of a player going absolutely brain-dead. I honestly don't think I would have found myself in this situation had this game been in Decemeber, not October. In December, the player would have a flow for the game, and the mental awareness to know where the officials are at any point during the game. I don't blame him-- I just wish he had taken a look before he did it.

What did he do?

With the puck near center ice, the player went to dump the puck into the offensive zone. At the same time, his opponents are changing lines. Me? I'm stuck near the blue line, in position, but dodging the changing players.

They tell you than when you're on the ice as an official 90% of your job is self-preservation. I was in self-perservation mode.

I just happened to see the player wind-up from center ice, and knew exactly where that puck was headed-- it was going to hit the glass about 5 feet to my left, and come right for me. I took cover.

Had I been on the side of the ice away from the benches, I might have had the option of just diving to the ice, to get out of the way. Unfortunately, I had ten players right by me, for a line change. So, I turned my back to the shooter, and crouched down as low as I could.

I remember feeling the puck buzz past my eye. I got up and made my call, and play went on. But I could tell by the immediate silence, something happened. Then a player on the bench quipped "I'll bet that hurt." I didn't realize he was talking to me, until at the next whistle I had both the referee and the other linesman checking on me. I was fine-- I didn't feel a thing. But apparently, the puck did glance off my helmet.

I can't tell you how lucky I am right now. A fan, videotaping the game said he saw it, and looked at it several times-- then asked if I wanted to see (I said, I'd take his word for it). Like I said, I felt the breeze as the puck zipped by my face. It could have hit me an inch forward, and broken something near my eye. It could have hit me an inch behind and messed up my ear. Don't forget, I was ducking. If that puck gets to me a second sooner, it hits my jaw. Or, if I hadn't seen it coming, I could have taken it in the chest.

As it is, it hit me in the helmet, and it hit the part of my helmet that covers the temple area of my head. But I realize, that even then-- the helmet could have shattered, or failed in some way-- and I could be resting in a hospital, or worse yet, in an oak box.

Of course, that fear didn't hit me until several hours later. And I think it's still setting in. And I'm a little short on rest, so maybe my reations are a little slow, but as I continue to think about what happened, there is a good chance that for the next several days, I could become Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky.

As it is right now, I'm just lucky. And I'm happy to be here.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

When Will It End?

(I'm back from an extended hiatus. My appologies, life has been busy of late.)

OK, I have a beef with a faction of the 'crown jewel of Omaha', and for once I can't blame it on Roger Dixon. Well, maybe I could... but I'm willing to bet this one is not of his doing.

Sunday was UNO Hockey's Red-White scrimmage. I was present at the scrimmage, actually working for the team-- they contract out to UNO-TV for help shooting game films for scouting and coaching breakdown. The event was not an official event, so there were no credentials for us to show.

I arrived at the same time as my boss. We entered through the media gate, and had no problem gaining access. A co-worker, Joey, arrived a short time later, and also had no issues gaining access to the building. But when Cody arrived, the security guard at the media gate wouldn't permit him access.

Apparently Cody had been there at least ten minutes when we just happened to be going past the gate while setting up the video feed to the scoreboard. And all Cody could say to us was "they won't let me in."

Why does this have my ire? I'm sure you could have guessed it-- Cody is black. I should also point out that the security guard who permitted me access was not the same security guard who hassled Cody-- so it is very possible that this was the case of somebody, new to the job, going strictly by the book.

Unfortunately, I'm drawing a few assumptions from this. First of all, Cody is a nice guy, and certainly not intimidating in his presence (if you've met him, you'd see he's a studious type, not someone who looks like he would cause trouble). But when the security guard opened his mouth, I drew a stereotypical assumption. The security guard, named Tony, had a very heavy New Jersey accent. OK, I was quick to judge. But then it hit me-- during this whole situation, he kept asking Cody for his credential... he NEVER ONCE asked my boss or myself for our credentials (which we did not have).

The situation diffused itself when the first security guard came back from his break, and without hesitation allowed Cody to enter the building. My boss did, however, offer a parting shot for Tony-- asking if there would be a problem when two other workers (both black) arrived. Tony had no response, but the other security guard said "there won't be".

I would like to point out that these security guards are not Qwest Center employees. They are respresentatives of Silverhawk Security. So, I really can not pin this one on the reign of Dixon.

However, I would like to know when this shit will end. Why is it so hard for people to get past what someone looks like? Seriously, I would like to gouge out the eyes of some of these people so they couldn't see the differences of people.

But here's the worst part. While talking to Cody, I told him I was impressed with how he handled himself through this-- he was very calm, and seemed to take it better than my boss and I did. Cody's response: "I'm used to it by now."

How sad for us. How sad for this country founded by a bunch of political, religious, and social rejects. You'd think we'd know better by now.