I’ll start with a confession: I’ve been guilty of texting and driving. Usually I try to be sitting at a stoplight, where at least I’m not trying to focus on traffic, but I have sent messages while the car is in motion.

Show of hands — how many of you have done it, too?

Don’t lie. I suspect it’s at least 50 percent of you, if not more. We live in the age of cell phones, so it’s only natural that people will text and drive. We can’t live without our phones, right?

Actually, wrong.

First of all, you can live for the duration of the drive without texting your friends. If you must be in the know, pull off the road. Get out of traffic, where you’re less likely to cause an accident.

 A texting driver looks away from the road for about five seconds per text on average, according to statistics. That is enough time at typical highway speeds to cover the length of a football field.

An accident can take two or three seconds to happen. A texting driver will, on average, require 70 feet more than a non-distracted driver to brake. That’s 17.5 times the length a legally intoxicated driver needs.

 Sounds unsafe, doesn’t it? It sets my teeth on edge.

Let’s use something a bit more personal. With all these statistics in mind, put yourself in the passenger seat. If a driver were this distracted, you wouldn’t want to be in the car, right?

Well, if you’re the driver, you have to think about that. Even if you drive by yourself, you are your own passenger. Remember that and you’ll undoubtedly be a lot more cautious.

 Look, I’m not trying to preach or anything but I think we all need to develop  better habits.

Yes, I said “we.” I want to fix my own habits too.

Think about it this way: The Tucson City Council will likely pass a law against texting while driving soon, and the state legislature is debating the issue. If you’re out of the habit before a ban passes, you’ll be in much better shape to cope with it.

It won’t kill you to wait a few extra minutes to gossip with  friends. Impatience, however, is a notorious culprit. If you can’t curb it, it very well could kill you.

George has started trying very hard not to text and drive. Every time she resists the urge, she rewards herself with chocolate.

 Remember back in elementary school when the teacher had a “code” for you to stop what you were doing so you could pay attention?

As college students, we should pay attention without someone telling us to.

Should we blame technology for our lack of attention during class? I don’t. I blame us.

At the start of every semester, teachers tell us to put away our cell phones. Some instructors are OK with the usage of laptops, others aren’t. If we’re lucky, our class comes equipped with computers.

I’m sure we have all sent a little text here and there during class, but some students are glued to their phones. And how about those on Facebook who post how boring the class is?

There is nothing more annoying than when fellow students ask during class, “What did the teacher just say?”

I want to tell them, “If you weren’t on your phone, maybe you would’ve paid a bit more attention.”

But instead, because I am polite, I repeat the teacher’s whole lecture for them.

Or how about when someone’s funny ringtone goes off? Everyone, including the teacher, stops what they were doing.

Maybe we’ve all done it, but have you thought about how disrespectful it is?

I know if I were teaching and saw all these students on their phones or on Facebook, I’d just walk out of the classroom. It’s almost as if teachers are getting paid to baby-sit us while we are busy texting and on Facebook.

Don’t get me wrong, computers and cell phones are great but sometimes we over-use them.

We are fortunate to be provided with computers in classrooms, and take unfair advantage of this resource.

I know how addicting Facebook can get, and how much of a hassle it is to reply to 20 text messages. But next time, consider how much time your teachers take to prepare a lesson.

Facebook will be there once you’re out of class, and you won’t die if you don’t use your phone for an hour.

Avila recently deactivated her Facebook, and now has time for more productive activities instead of being in front of a computer for hours.

 There is nothing like waiting till the last minute to do something. Everybody does it at some point or another in his or her life.

We always tell ourselves: oh I have weeks before I need to get this project done. Before we know it, holy crap that’s due tomorrow.

Questions begin to arise in your head. Where did the time go? Did I really drink that much in the past week or so? I wonder if I can get an extension if I say a family member was sick or died.

I would suggest against using someone else as your patsy.

Oddly enough several people work well under pressure and wait till the last minute to do everything.

A funny story on the subject: while in elementary school my brother completely made up an entire book for his report. Lucky for him, he knew quite a bit about sharks. So his book report was on “Sharks Above and Beyond” by Dick Johnson.

Anyways back to my point, if I really even have one. Some people feel that they work better with the added pressure.

Personally, I usually don’t like doing things at the last minute as it just can add more stress.

More stress tends to increase the likelihood that my fat butt may suffer a heart attack sooner rather than later. Granted, I’m not in denial that a possible heart attack is in my future, along with diabetes and high blood pressure.

Well, this article was written the day before it was supposed to go to press. Now for most journalists, this is not a new concept.

Journalists tend to work under a short deadline, as a lot of their stories have to wait for interviews that couldn’t be done any other day to schedule conflicts. Also there may be a sports event that happens late in the evening and they need to plug in scores, stats and quotes from what happened in the game.

Alas, some things just happen and you have to cover it when you can.

Now I’m not saying that journalists are the only people who have certain details that arise, causing them to do things at the last minute. I’m sure doctors, roadies, sports team owners and numerous other professions have plenty of changing moments in their busy workdays.

Enough of my ranting, all in all it’s best to do your work the way you are comfortable with doing things. For me I’m the best under pressure as you can see from this article.

Erickson once let a pee-wee football team hit him in the head repeatedly with a metal trash can lid. That probably explains a lot.

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Pima Community College’s governing board doesn’t want it. Administrators of Arizona universities and colleges don’t want it. The police departments charged with protecting those institutions don’t want it.

So why on earth do Arizona legislators keep pushing to allow guns on campuses?

For the second straight year, Rep. Jack Harper, R-Surprise, and Sen. Ron Gould, R-Lake Havasu City, have introduced legislation that would allow students and faculty to carry concealed weapons on school property, so long as they hold valid CCW permits.

In comparison to last year’s version, which would allow all gun owners to carry on school property, this new version seems a bit more reasonable.

After all, I’d feel slightly more comfortable knowing that the dude sitting next to me in trigonometry had spent at least one day training in gun safety.

But this legislation, while championing Second Amendment rights, infringes upon not only the will of those most affected by this law, but on common sense.

Over the past years, there has been nothing but opposition from those in charge of our education.

Spokesman C.J. Karamargin said Pima’s stance on the proposed legislation is exactly the same as it was last year: that guns on campus will not make PCC campuses safer.

In fact, Karamargin, said, the college has concerns that guns on campus might have the opposite effect.

PCC’s view is that lawmakers “should listen to the experts,” Karamargin said, referring to the university and college police chiefs who have expressed opposition.

For once, I agree wholeheartedly with the PCC administration.

Lawmakers seem entranced by the wholly American, “Die Hard”-esque fantasy that one average person with a pistol can stop rampaging gunmen.

Gould, in an interview with Phoenix’s ABC-15, claimed the crime rate in Arizona has dropped since adoption of the concealed carry law. He said criminals have been intimidated out of fear of getting shot by bystanders.

That’s all well and good, but many of those involved in campus shootings have turned the gun on themselves once they believed their spree finished. That doesn’t fit the behavior of someone who would be intimidated out of opening fire on innocent people.

Were there to be a shooting on a PCC campus, my fear is that students attempting to defend themselves would only add to the confusion.

Worse, given the stress of the situation and the likely lack of comprehensive training, they might add to the body count with wild firing.

Lawmakers can claim this to be a matter of Constitutional rights, but I view it as one more attempt to force an ideology onto a resisting public.

Mendez is co-editor in chief for Aztec Press. He is not Chelo Grubb’s brother.

During waves of protest that spanned the United States last October, a group of Tucson residents established an occupation inspired by Occupy Wall Street.

I participated in the occupation, both as an activist and as an anthropology student at Pima Community College researching the influence of radical political organizing on contemporary social movements.

As Occupy movements across the country fizzle or change shape, we are left evaluating the strengths and weaknesses of the occupations for agitating for political change.

The movement is often perceived from the outside as directionless, and lacking in the ability to achieve concrete goals.

In a certain sense, this is true: Occupy Tucson was characterized by a lack of concrete political demands. This was true of Occupy Wall Street as well.

News reports generally didn’t give much information that would allow outside observers to understand this feature of the movement.

More sympathetic, liberal commentators sometimes offered a narrative about young idealists who are to be admired for their sincerity while being ignored for their naivety. Other commentators dismissed the movement entirely because it lacked a concrete agenda.

The spectacle of a national political movement without political demands can appear confusing, but it is a mistake to explain this curious fact as a consequence of the particular ideas or character of the occupiers.

Movement structure, more than the qualities of its individual participants, helps to explain the Occupy movement’s distinct lack of articulated reformist goals.

During the time of my participation, Occupy Tucson organized itself through twice-daily general assemblies open to anyone who felt they were a part of the movement. All decisions made within the general assembly were made through a form of modified consensus.

Consensus is a decision-making process designed to arrive at decisions that every member of the group finds acceptable.

Proposals are brought forth, discussed and modified with the goal of arriving at proposals that nobody feels compelled to “block.” Blocks are extreme, irreconcilable disagreements with a proposal. More casual reservations can be expressed by “standing aside” on a proposal.

Consensus models are rooted in principles of non-coercive organization that seek to avoid anyone being compelled to accept a decision with which they cannot agree. Rather than passing resolutions through majority votes, proposals pass consensus when no blocks remain.

This form of direct and grassroots democracy made it unlikely that the movement would produce any demands translatable to the political process of government, based as it is on its ability to force compliance to laws.

Within any Occupation, there is not a single demand or set of demands that represents every individual involved. For any single demand proposed, there would almost certainly be blocks from those who felt unrepresented by it.

This produced a fascinating, contradictory political community.

Many were seeking liberal political goals, but were frustrated by an organizational structure that made it impossible for the movement to express them.

Others were seeking revolutionary social change, but within a larger group committed to avoiding radical overtures in order to maintain a good public image that would help in pressing for legislative reforms.

This conclusion is not necessarily encouraging, for either revolutionary or reformist occupiers. Both tendencies are doomed to endless frustration, blocked at all turns by structural form or opponents within the movement.

It took a discussion with a friend not within the research group, who was back in town after some time spent at the more radically-leaning Occupy Oakland, to remind me that these disagreements need not paralyze or destroy a social movement.

In the best cases, such diversity can be a platform on which to build authentic political strength. At the very least, no meaningful work can begin without first engaging those conflicts.

Guest columnist Patrick Schneeweis is a Pima Community College student.

Activists with Occupy Tucson raise their hands last October to show their consensus for a proposal under discussion

 To lose is a part of life. It’s a way to test how you carry on without.

It’s an annoyance when the loss is trivial, like with a favorite pen. It’s painful when you lose a loved one, whether into the afterlife or simply out of your life.

But nothing alters one’s foundation as much as the loss of a loved one you never let exist.

***

I moved to Tucson after graduating from high school in 2006, enrolling at the University of Arizona as a creative writing major.

My high-school sweetheart went north for college, a decision she made long before we began dating.

We rarely saw each other, but spoke often by phone and the Web. When we were together, we hardly left each other’s sight, leaving each other only to visit the families we left behind.

Of course, we snuck out at night, stealing away to the desert or into each other’s homes to feel the warmth that’s a part of young, stupid, careless love.

Months into 2007, she began talking about odd symptoms. Aches. Swelling. Fatigue. Nausea.

Then one day, as I stood at the corner of Park Avenue and Second Street, my phone rang.

“I’m pregnant,” she said.

***

It’s an odd sensation, getting a call that changes your life. Your heart stops. You finally understand what it means to say that your head is swimming as you lose all feeling below your neck.

You later realize that the only reason you’re still standing is because your legs decided to act independently of your brain.

We were 19 years old. We were too young, too scared and too stupid to know what to do next. All we knew was that we couldn’t tell anyone.

For weeks, we agonized over our future, our options. I kept everything inside, shambling around campus in a daze. She struggled with her changing body and the isolation of pregnancy without loved ones nearby.

Winter was becoming spring. Reluctantly, we made our decision.

We met back home and stayed at my parents’ house. They had decided to leave for the weekend, giving us privacy they had no idea we needed.

From there, my memories blur. The drive to a clinic fades into protesters waving signs on the corner. Squeezing her hand before she left the waiting room becomes nauseating silence.

But burned into my mind is the trauma in her eyes on her return, dulled by shock and medication.

I don’t know how we got back in one piece.

Once we did, neither of us could stop crying. We agonized over our choice and made the mistake of discussing a future for a little girl who would never be, even naming her.

After that, I could never speak of it again. Instead I curled up, choosing to suffer in silence. I didn’t realize I was destroying the person I loved. Not talking about the loss only caused more pain.

Through some miracle, we stayed together for two more years. In that time, she decided to move to Tucson, to share an apartment and, ultimately, to leave when her feelings for me could no longer bear the weight she felt she carried alone.

***

During our first year together in Tucson, we topped our Christmas tree with a teddy bear from a Happy Meal. I decided that bear would be our angel, a memory of the girl we never had.

When my now-ex left, the bear stayed with me.

To this day, I keep that little toy in plain sight as a symbol of love, of loss and of life.

Not only of the life I constantly mourn, but of the one that I must make worthy to honor the memory of a child that never was.

To lose is part of life. It’s how you carry on without, that’s the test.

 Since 1995, tens of thousands of people on six continents have used the World Café method at different venues.

 At Pima Community College, Downtown Campus recently held its first Conversations Café as a process that continued for consecutive weeks.

 Although Downtown Campus hosted its first official “Conversations Café,” an exercise that’s constantly practiced by all walks of life, particularly among college students, every seat was taken and every table overflowed with participants.

 The environment was perfectly set at the Downtown Campus patio to depict the setting of a café, which created a hospitable space that evoked a feeling of informality and intimacy – one that allowed for people to feel comfortable to ignite their most creative thinking, speaking and listening.

 Each table was led by a host who engaged the participants in topics important to the general public, such as “What does going green mean to me?”

 I personally took part in a 20-minute, strategized World Café experience. Five individuals, including myself, sat at a table meant for four.

 The table that I sat with represented a diverse group of students that included a range of ages, backgrounds and ethnicities, giving different perspectives on what “going green” meant to each of us.

 We shared different approaches toward preserving Earth but we all consented the common belief that “going green” would further the longevity of our planet.

 Between the five strangers there, we decided that going back to basics might be a potential solution for the problem.

 Milk bottles delivered in glass and not plastic. Diapers made of cloth instead of the modern-day, impossible-to-destroy disposables. Different solutions for automobiles, paper, deforestation and solar energy abounded.

 We also discussed how big cities in the United States would never adopt the tradeoff of odds-and-evens car plates commuting in the city, an action imposed on citizens in Mexico City to alternate between driving and taking the subway every other day.

 We all expressed deep sympathy for the generations to come and how our actions today and neglect towards our environment will harm our kids, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

 A tiny ball stood as a podium where we all had the chance to express our sentiments on the topic. A large piece of butcher paper was used as a place mat to jot down ideas, thoughts and notes.

 Our commitment to democracy is being exercised through events such as the World Café.

It’s that time of year again. As people recover from their turkey comas, we tally the Black Friday damages, both to our wallets and to our bodies, and then look to the next holiday.

The lights go up, kids start getting out of school and the smell of pine trees and gingerbread fills the air. It’s “peace on earth and goodwill to men” for the next three weeks.

At least, that’s the idea. Unfortunately, it seems that goodwill towards men stops at an idea.

People get a lot more crazy and violent at Christmastime. Shoppers go completely nuts trying to buy little Timmy that last Zsu-Zsu Pet. You know, those little hamster things? I could have the name wrong.

I kind of developed a hatred for them a couple of years ago, after a seasonal job at Toys ‘R Us. They were the “hot toy” that year, we were always sold out and people acted like cavemen trying to get their hands on one.

Ahem. Sorry, I get carried away thinking about those things. Where was I? Right.

Christmas is supposed to be about joy and love. When did it become about nearly killing each other at the mall over a Barbie doll? What exactly makes it OK to pepper spray someone on Black Friday just to get a TV?

I love a sale as much as the next person, but why are the holidays more about money and less about family?

When I was younger, half the fun of Christmas was spending time with my family. Now that I’m older, it’s still more fun to be with family than to worry about how much money Grandma spent on my presents.

When I pick out presents for younger family members, in this case my girlfriend’s siblings, I do keep price in mind. However, I prefer to think of their faces lighting up when they see what I gave them.

That’s the most satisfying part of Christmas shopping, not calculating how much money I saved by shopping at Walmart over Target.

Let’s go back to those holiday values: family, friends, goodwill and love. Forget about the shopping and just take time to be with those you love. Tell them how much they mean to you, because you never known when it might be your last holiday with them.

George plans to spend her holidays with her family and girlfriend. They mean the world to her and she tries to tell them daily.

 Every holiday season, each Christmas-celebrating family chooses whether to buy a real Christmas tree or take the plastic one out of the garage. My philosophy: Go real or go home.

Fake Christmas trees fly off the shelves of major retail stores every year. What flies into the air are carcinogens polluting the air of neighborhoods located near the factories that manufacture these products.

Fake trees are made with polyvinyl chloride, one of the most offensive forms of non-renewable, petroleum-derived plastic. These “trees” ironically cause exponentially more harm to the environment than cutting down real trees to put in our homes for Christmas.

PVC, which is also used for a slew of other plastic products including shower curtains, has been studied extensively. One study found that one PVC shower curtain can release as many as 108 volatile organic chemicals into the air.

Some of these chemicals can cause developmental damage, as well as damage to the liver and central nervous, respiratory and reproductive systems.

Those of us with real Christmas trees know the value of having a live tree.

The anticipation of choosing the tree, bringing the tree home, setting it in your home, watering it and getting the fresh scent dispersed in your home shines in comparison to de-boxing the giant cancer tree.

If buying a fake tree is your only option because of allergies, explore your options and make sure the tree you select is not made of PVC.

Many fake tree owners use plastic trees because of their ease of use and reuse. But they’re wrong if they think that they are actually saving real trees by purchasing fake ones.

For those of you out there who are “tree huggers,” the best eco-friendly way to enjoy a Christmas tree is to buy one with its roots intact and replant it outdoors within a week.

Tsarsis is a real Christmas tree user for life and an aspiring journalist who specializes in fantasy sports analysis.

Sunlight glistening off the sand, cactus flowers in bloom, coyotes howling at the moon. When most people picture the desert, this is what they see.

I have seven words for those people: You have obviously never been to Tucson.

Don’t get me wrong. I love Tucson… most of the time. The problem is, Tucson has never been the idyllic desert setting people assume it is.

It’s pretty in its own way, but it loses its appeal when the only time you’ve been away is on vacation.

A lot of people talk about how pretty our desert is and how lucky we are to live so close to nature. Well, the only parts of Tucson that are close to nature are the outskirts.

Ninety percent of us don’t live in the outskirts. We have neighbors within 10 feet of our living room windows.

And even when you are lucky enough to live in the really pretty desert areas, you won’t want to go outside in the 100+ degree summers.

Before you start thinking that I need to pack my bags and move out, I want to say a few good things about Tucson.

We have a large population, but we act like a small town. You will generally always know several people at a gathering. We have many diverse communities, and each one is tightly knit and supportive.

Almost every niche has a place here. Nature lovers, authors, poets and even theater lovers all belong in Tucson. Any religion can find a home here. You will generally be welcomed somewhere in the city.

As we witnessed in January, we come together as a family when tragedy strikes. I wish it didn’t take horrific circumstances to bring us together, but we came out the other side of the tunnel a tighter group.

So while I may complain about Tucson and look forward to my few vacations out of the city, there is one thing that will always ring true: Tucson is my home.

If I ever leave, I will look forward to the moment I can come back to my desert.