April 22, 2014

Cell Phones

By James McCleary

No one needs to be using a cell phone while driving a vehicle. Yes, if you are suppose to be meeting someone someplace and you’re running late…it’s nice to be able to call and let that person know. Yes, if you are headed home and your spouse would like you to stop and pick up something on the way…a cell phone can be very convenient. Yes, if your car breaks down or if you’re in an accident…having a cell phone in your possession may help to rectify the situation sooner. However, I long for the “good old days” when a stranded motorist would have to walk to the nearest house and ask the homeowner if they could use their phone to call somebody for assistance. I’ll say it again. No one needs to be using a cell phone while driving a vehicle. Talking on a cell phone when driving is a distraction like fiddling with the radio, attempting to eat a meal, and trying to put on make-up. Since there aren’t any specific regulations against those other types of reckless behavior then I can somewhat understand the argument, if and when creating distracted driving laws, of not singling out cell phone users.

I would not have made the previous statement, a few short years ago, as a longtime proponent for a national ban on all cell phone use when operating a vehicle, but this is what typically happens in our society. When enough citizens stand firm in their beliefs, regardless of how ill-conceived or irresponsible they may be, the rest of us tend to follow suit. We eventually all become desensitized to the situation including even those who at one time or another had lobbied for cell phone use regulations. A perfect example of the “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em” mentality happened in my own family several years ago. A family member who shall remain nameless, but not my wife or my son, was rear-ended by a distracted driver who admittedly was reaching for his phone at the time the accident occurred. My family member was so angry about the ordeal, and insisted there should be a law against such asinine behavior, but then a couple of years later I was a passenger in that family member’s vehicle, so imagine my surprise when he began fumbling around with his cell phone to answer a call. He unintentionally began drifting out of his driving lane and almost caused an accident himself.

You should see my wife trying to answer her cell phone while pushing a shopping cart down the aisle when we’re getting groceries. She inevitably veers to the right before eventually coming to a complete stop and usually before clipping any of the merchandise on the shelves with the front end of the cart. Speaking of my lovely wife (good save), we were recently in California where cell phone use while driving is prohibited, and I must say it was refreshing to see all of the alert drivers with their eyes forward and with their hands on the steering wheel. I know California has its share of problems, but the Golden State absolutely got that one right unlike most of the other states in this country. This sort of situation is precisely why I normally prefer federal regulation over individual state’s rights.

Public safety should not just be a West Coast, East Coast, or somewhere in between concern, but it should be of national concern. Talking on cell phones when driving will never be completely outlawed, but all states should at least ban texting and driving! When some states enact certain rights and/or regulations which differ from the majority of the other states it can be a little confusing to the average citizen, but it’s downright absurd when adjoining cities are allowed to have a separate set of rules from one another. Here in Arizona there are anti-texting laws in Phoenix but nowhere else in the Valley; therefore, drivers heading east and west would be texting legally, illegally, and then legally again all in the matter of a few minutes and during one short drive. On another ridiculous side note, it is currently legal to purchase fireworks in the entire state of Arizona, but it is illegal to use them in almost all of its cities. I don’t even begin to understand the logic behind that one.

What I also have trouble comprehending are the numerous reports showing that almost everyone who texts while driving admits they know it is dangerous, yet they continue participating in the negligent act. Many of these guilty texters have an array of excuses for their behavior, and they claim not being able to do so would infringe on their rights. I say anyone who texts and drives ultimately could someday infringe on my right to life. Many members of a particular party in our state’s legislature consistently and stubbornly express the importance of personal freedoms and individual responsibility, so these elected officials are unwilling to pass or even consider banning texting and driving. Without any common sense regulation in place my responsibility as a defensive driver becomes much greater as I am left trying to navigate my vehicle among the multitude of distracted texters. They commonly are crossing over into my driving lane and interfering with the normal flow of traffic by not being able to concentrate on a consistent speed.

I would rather take a chance with the drunk-drivers on our streets and highways than with those who text while driving. I don’t make that declaration light-heartedly because reports do show drunk-driving to be a safer irresponsible act than texting and driving, and at least the drunks tend to keep their eyes on the road. The great state of Arizona has strict laws against driving drunk, as does every state in the United States, but the Valley of the Sun is one of the only six remaining states which currently doesn’t ban the more treacherous conduct of texting and driving. I have long since given up hope of Arizona ever passing laws against using a cell phone while driving; however, I do continue to hope for a nation-wide ban on texting and driving not just for my sake but for everyone’s safety.

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April 17, 2014

God

By James McCleary

They say you should never talk about politics or religion if you aim to keep your friends, or in my case readers, but I have never been one to really care what others think of me, so why start now. I’ve already scratched the political surface with my previous writings and have even touched on religion a bit, but as I was worshipping at Copper Hills Church this past weekend I was suddenly and overwhelmingly compelled by the Holy Spirit to share with you my thoughts on God. As I began seriously considering what needed to be said I couldn’t help but rethink the situation, and I started searching for reasons not to discuss this subject. That is what sometimes happens when the human flesh battles with the Spirit. Sitting in my usual spot (the comfy chair by the windows) at Starbucks, where I do most of my writing, I continued thinking about other possible topics to pursue, but the voice of the Holy Spirit is not easy to dismiss nor should it be. That being said, I am still struggling some with the subject matter since there is so much I could say, yet I feel a heavy sense of responsibility for conveying it in a complete and accurate way.

Therefore, the following is not me speaking on behalf of all Christians, but it is simply the truth as I know it. I also know that being prompted to write this at this time, with Easter upon us, is not just a coincidence. I have never been a big fan of the Easter Bunny, but I have enjoyed coloring eggs and participating in Easter egg hunts in the past. The reason I celebrate Easter though is because it is a special time for me to acknowledge that God’s only Son, Jesus, rose from the grave. He did so after suffering a painful and brutal death on an old wooden cross; therefore, conquering death for everyone who truly believes in Him. Jesus Christ was a spotless (sin-free) man, yet he willingly and humbly paid the ultimate price for each and every one of our sins. The sacrifice he had to endure seems very unfair, and it was, but fairness died in the Garden of Eden when man chose to disobey God, so now all believers and non-believers alike lead imperfect lives and experience unfairness while on this earth.

Although the sun shines and the rain falls, on both those who believe and those who don’t, believers are no longer enslaved to sin whereas non-believers still are. The only way out of enslavement is to acknowledge the one and only God, believe in Jesus’ death and resurrection, and then accept Him into your life. That is precisely when the Holy Spirit begins to dwell inside of you and the gift of eternal life in Heaven with Him is given. Please be advised though that you’re not immune to sin after becoming a believer. Bad stuff still happens, and life remains unfair, but now you have your Savior walking by your side at all times. That’s the Good News! I cannot imagine dealing with the perils of everyday life such as losing a job, family issues, health issues, or even death and tragedies like 911 without having God in my corner.

Every Christian has their own story as to what brought them to the realization they needed God and to that certain point in their lives when they finally made the decision to follow Him. On the testimonial scale of 1-10, ten being the most earth-shattering, mine is maybe a two. I am almost envious of the numerous powerful testimonies I have heard over the years of people overcoming addictions, abusive backgrounds, and rotten childhoods with the much needed help of Christ. On second thought, maybe I’m actually more thankful I did not have to endure anything like that to lead me to Him. I was raised in a Christian home, so I knew the truth at an early age, and at some point I made the most important decision I will ever make of accepting Jesus into my life. As a Christ follower I am not perfect and still have many faults, please don’t tell my wife, and I would be a bit leery of any Christian who would pretend otherwise.

On that note, I would now like to apologize to any non-believer who is reading this and who has ever encountered a judgmental, arrogant, or hypocritical person that call themselves a Christian. I know it’s not that far fetched because even I encountered some of them at the church I grew up in. I am reminded of an episode of the hit television series, The Big Bang Theory, where Sheldon finds out his very religious single mother is having, in his character’s all too familiar expanded word choice, “coitus.” He is extremely disappointed in his mother’s actions and tells her, “I’ll condemn you internally, while maintaining an outward appearance of acceptance.” Sheldon’s mother responds with the humorous line, “That is very Christian of you.” There are so many things wrong with the aforementioned scenario that I wouldn’t even know how to address it, but I do believe my responsibility as a Christian is to accept others as who they are and allow God to do the judging if and when He sees fit. There is a huge difference between being a Christ follower or just being religious. I once had a keychain that read, “I’m not religious, I just love the Lord,” which I think says it all. Well, I have now blogged about both politics and “religion” at great lengths, and I truly hope the Holy Spirit is pleased. Happy Easter!

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April 14, 2014

Back To School

By James McCleary

A few years ago I decided to go back to school as a full-time student, and even though my experience wasn’t quite as eventful as Thornton Melon’s, Rodney Dangerfield’s character in the timeless movie, Back to School, it certainly did have its moments. In actuality, I was not going back to college but rather I was experiencing higher learning for the first time since graduating high school many, many years ago. I had this crazy notion I could just get in and get out in four years, earn some sort of Degree, and then start making lots of money. My objective was to begin with two years of community college and then transfer to one of the Arizona State University campuses, besides the one my son was already attending, so I could also graduate as a Sun Devil. I already had visualized celebrating my accomplishment by getting a tattoo of the school’s mascot, Sparky, with the anticipated year of my graduation (2013) scrolled across the icon’s chest.

Because my high school days were ancient history (my transcripts had most likely disintegrated by now) I was forced to take a placement exam to see where I was at academically. I would then know the appropriate class levels to begin at which would enable me to start my college career. The results showed I excelled in all areas except math. What? I know how to add, subtract, divide, multiply, and figure percentages. I also knew how to calculate my batting average when I played baseball, and I do my own taxes for crying out loud. I’ve always prided myself on being both creative and analytical unlike most people who tend to be either one or the other. Maybe my mother has been wrong all these years and I’m not that special after all. No, that can’t be it. I still believe I am both a creative and an analytical person, and I’m positive I do know basic math very well, but algebra is a whole different monster.

I think my initial experience of trying to learn the awful subject when I was in 9th grade was a contributing factor to the inevitable downfall of my college career. In the “good old days” high school consisted of only grades 10-12, so the freshmen in junior high were obviously the “top dogs” which was quite fitting for my school since we were the Berg Bulldogs. One full year of algebra, during that time, was the only math class required to earn a high school diploma. The luck of the draw gave me Miss Dralle as my algebra teacher. She was a first year teacher and fresh out of college. She was somewhat of a looker, especially for a math teacher, and I suppose many of us guys even considered her to be a fox. For my younger readers that translates into being hot!

Miss Dralle may have been a decent teacher, but at the very least she was a total distraction. She was thin, very cute, and had brown feathered hair, and who didn’t love feathered hair back then, but she was also a bit timid and easy to take advantage of sometimes. One day in class I noticed an open window, and I was smart enough to put two and two together. When we were suppose to be solving algebraic equations at our desk, and when Miss Dralle was not looking, I escaped out the window just to have some fun. What is it with me and windows anyway? I strolled around the building, walked back into the school, and then re-entered the classroom through the door. Miss Dralle questioned my whereabouts but not too seriously since each student was allowed to sharpen their pencils across the hall with her permission. I didn’t have her permission this time, of course, but that was a fairly forgivable offense. My great escape was exhilarating, but the best part was hearing the laughs and giggles from my peers as I walked through the door.

Although I barely passed the one and only algebra class, imperative for completing high school, I now thought for sure I’d have an easier time of it since I was a mature adult striving for something better in life. Unfortunately, that was not the case in my situation. Let’s be honest here – the majority of people on this planet will never ever need to even once use algebra in their entire lives. Anyway, I eased into college life by enrolling in a summer class, at Glendale Community College, a couple of months before the fall term was to begin. I decided to start with a required speech class, Interpersonal Communication, just to get it over with because I absolutely despised the one semester of speech class I had to endure in high school. My former teacher was adequate enough and the class wasn’t all that difficult, but I did have an immense fear of public speaking back then. After utterly disliking my first experience, of presenting a speech in public, I refused to give any of the mandatory remaining speeches in front of my classmates for the remainder of the term.

As much as I disliked public speaking I really didn’t mind the preparation, so I was always prepared on time. However, my dry mouth, sweaty palms, and trembling body prevented me from ever volunteering to go first, and when I finally was the only student left to participate I would then shamefully decline. My teacher was kind enough to eventually allow me to present the assignments in front of her, and only her, either before or after school. That was barely, but thankfully, enough to pass the class. As a somewhat mature adult, going back to school with a sense of purpose, I was able to overcome my fear of public speaking although still to this day I enjoy it just about as much as eating broccoli or visiting the dentist.

The first assignment of my Interpersonal Communication class was to pair up and learn as much as possible about the other person, in a short amount of time, and then give a five minute speech introducing that person to the rest of the class. My chosen partner was Myron Begay (boy, I could’ve had some fun with that name if I wasn’t somewhat of a mature adult), and my initial short speech was a complete success. Myron was of Indian descent, so weeks later when I read in the local newspaper about an Indian tribe member who was receiving an award, and his last name was Begay, I assumed he must be a relative of Myron’s, so I clipped out the article and presented it to him the next day at school. Myron thanked me but admitted he did not know the man in the story. He then went on to inform me that the name Begay to Indians is as common as the name Smith is to Americans. I guess I was receiving quite the education at the community college.

Another student I sat next to in my college speech class and enjoyed being around was named Cody. I could tell from the first day of class he must have been one of those popular kids back in high school. He was funny, good-looking, had an athletic build, and nothing seemed to bother him. My suspicions were confirmed when shortly thereafter I noticed him conversing with the most popular girl in our class, Brittany, on a daily basis. I felt like I was holding my own, not unlike Mr. Melon from the classic movie, and fitting in nicely with the youngsters when one day Cody declared to the entire class, “James is the coolest old guy I know.” Ouch! Overall, attending a year of college later in life was a great experience. I even finished with a perfect grade point average (thanks to dropping algebra). I learned how to cram an enormous amount of worthless information into my brain, for tests and final exams, only to forget most of it the very next day. I also learned Chuck Berry probably would’ve been crowned the “King of Rock ‘n Roll” instead of Elvis if not for U.S. racial tensions during that era. Now there’s some information I’ll probably never have to use again…sort of like algebra.

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April 10, 2014

Taxes

By James McCleary

They say the two certainties of life are death and taxes. I’ve already previously touched on the subject of death, so I guess it’s only fitting I should now discuss the topic of taxes and what better time than the month of April when tax season is in full swing. This time of year I can’t help but feel pretty darn special. Although I have been married to my lovely wife for almost 27 years (yes, I did the math to be absolutely sure since I am writing about taxes and not the death of me) it is still nice to be wanted by someone else. Uncle Sam wants me bad! He wants me to file a federal income tax return, and he insists that I do it very soon. I have heard the argument our government cannot legally force its citizens to pay taxes, so some people choose not to submit a return. I don’t know how true that is because I’m too lazy to do the research, but I do know there are some people sitting in prison for tax evasion, so common sense tells me not to take the chance.

Ever since I was a pimply teenager, earning a paycheck from McDonald’s, I have usually completed the annual tax returns on my own. Call me crazy, I’m sure many people do, but I used to actually enjoy the whole process of filing a return. Gathering pertinent information, organizing numerous receipts, and even filling out all of the forms was kind of fun. The thrill of figuring my own taxes has significantly worn off with the increase in not only the number of forms to fill out but also with the difficulty of trying to comprehend them. Being self-employed for most of our working years, and dabbling in the stock market has only complicated matters. Each year we typically have to file Schedules A,B,C,D,E, and SE, as well as Form 8949. One recent year when my wife was an employee at a salon the owner wrongfully, yet purposefully, claimed her as an independent contractor so she wouldn’t owe as much in taxes. We were forced to dispute the claim by filling out Form SS-8. We did win the case, of course, because we had right on our side.

This year I thought I might have to include Form 8903 which had an attachment number of 143. Really? Attachment #143? You have got to be kidding me! I don’t know exactly how many attachments are possible for a single tax return, again with the laziness, but I am quite aware there should be an easier way for completing them. Like most other things in my life I am very “old school” when it comes to doing my taxes. I still fill out the forms by hand, instead of electronically, and then send them to the Internal Revenue Service via snail-mail. I figure I’m doing my part in helping to keep the United States Postal Service open for business. I also find the “old school” way more convenient by affording me the luxury of viewing both the instructions and the forms at the same time. It is so much easier than having to click back and forth from one to the other on a computer screen. I am constantly hounded by everyone wanting me to do everything through the internet, and the I.R.S. is no exception. I am aware eventually I probably will not have a choice in the matter, that’s what routinely happens with the advancement in technology, but for now I will joyfully continue not banking, paying bills, or filing my tax returns on-line.

However, I do somewhat have a choice in how my tax dollars are spent by who I vote for at the polls. The two major political parties of this country sure do talk a lot about taxes, and even though they differ fundamentally on the amounts and the methods of taxation the truth as I know it is I can always count on them to eagerly spend my money on their agendas. I honestly do not mind paying the government my fair share of taxes, but surely there is a much better and less complicated way of doing so. The one time I made a mistake on my federal tax return the I.R.S. sent me a kind letter stating they had made a correction because they had found an additional deduction I could have taken which then increased the amount of my refund for that year. If Uncle Sam knows my financial situation, even better than myself, then why not simply either send me the dang refund check, or the bill for the amount I owe, instead of placing a giant heap of unnecessary stress on me every April.

A wise woman, my wife’s Grandma Proctor, once said that receiving a refund check from the government at year’s end was not good business sense because that money was rightfully ours to begin with, and they were only using it to their benefit for the entire past year. As much as we used to look forward to the delight of receiving an annual refund check I thought Grandma Proctor’s logic made perfect sense, so now we usually have to make a payment at the year’s end. Considering the aforementioned two certainties of life (death and taxes) I suppose paying taxes is better than the alternative…but not by much.

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April 4, 2014

Last Vegas

By James McCleary

No, the title of this blog is not a typo. The first time my wife and I went to Las Vegas is also probably the last time for visiting the Nevada tourist trap. I am so relieved that “what happens in Vegas…stays in Vegas” because I am extremely embarrassed at what transpired during our wedding anniversary getaway to Sin City. Boredom happened! I can’t remember if we spent two days there, or just one, but either way our trip lasted way too long. I suppose if money was no object we could’ve had a much better time, but I am always looking for a bargain, so I’m not that willing to shell out beau coup bucks on any show only to be entertained for an hour or two. Luckily, my wife and I are on the same page when it comes to being careful with our finances. I think by now you’ve got the point – We Are Cheap!

We aren’t much for gambling either, but we did allow ourselves $20 each to blow, or hopefully to win big with, but probably to blow. My wife and I played the nickel and quarter slots until all of her money was gone, and I decided to stop when I still had about seven dollars left because I was simply bored. The slot machines of today have buttons to push rather than handles to pull, which I think diminishes the fun of playing them, but I admit I do enjoy the sound of clanking coins. Neither of us tried our hand at any of the card games since we’re not too familiar with them, the house rules, or even the proper protocol. We also were afraid of possibly irritating the casino’s card dealer and the intense players gathered around the table. I had to wonder why we even came to Las Vegas in the first place. Maybe we could find some cheap entertainment outside of our hotel.

We were staying right on the Vegas Strip where we had heard most everything was suppose to be within walking distance of our hotel. As we ventured out, up one side of the street and down the other, we noticed several men lining the streets, who were all about twenty feet from one another, for as far as the eyes could see. They were handing out what appeared to be something the size of a trading card, and they were getting everyone’s attention by slapping them against the palms of their hands. They would then offer one to each passerby. All of the working men were similar in their looks and accents, and I’m sure Arizona’s Sheriff Joe Arpaio would have a field day if the Strip was within his jurisdiction. However, it is not “America’s Toughest Sheriff’s” territory, so I’ll never know if those men were legal immigrants or not.

I had already received a few of the gifts from the brown-skinned men before my brain could even register that they were photos of nearly naked women. Each card was advertising various strip clubs and escort services in the area. I wasn’t considering the offers placed before me although as a one time avid card collector I was intrigued at the thought of starting a new card collection. I had collected baseball, football, basketball, and even Elvis Presley and Kiss trading cards in the past, so I wondered why this would be any different. After one look from my wife – I stopped wondering! I dropped the unwanted gifts to the ground like many of the men walking up ahead of us had done. Because of the awkward situation, all of us men had been forced into, we all were now uncomfortably accompanying our female companions. The incessant slapping sound, heard throughout the duration of our visit, became a tremendous annoyance to me.

What isn’t annoying is the movie, Last Vegas, starring aging iconic actors Michael Douglas, Morgan Freeman, Robert De Niro, and Kevin Kline. The humorous film is a refreshing change from many of the comedies being shown in theaters today. The movie was not only entertaining, but it also did not have to resort to the all too common crude humor or continuous swearing to make it funny. The thing I really appreciate about rated PG-13 movies, like Last Vegas, is that the f-bomb is only allowed to be used once throughout the entire film, so if and when the word is said it usually brings with it some sort of added value to the script. I have heard there are well over 200 f-bombs in the R rated blockbuster, The Wolf of Wall Street , and I would think the audience would quickly become desensitized to the obscene word. I would walk out of the theater before I’d ever let that happen to me. I give Last Vegas an enthusiastic and well-deserved thumbs up, but as far as I’m concerned the boredom that “happens in Vegas”…can stay in Vegas!

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April 1, 2014

Bicycle Stories

By James McCleary

I own a nice bicycle and so does my wife. We bought the matching pair almost seven years ago, immediately after moving to Arizona, and I do mean immediately. After unloading all of our worldly possessions, from the rented Penske truck, we promptly went to Wal-Mart and purchased our new bikes. We then used the emptied truck to transport them back to our house. I see the shiny blue bicycles, hanging from hooks in the garage, every time I’m getting into my car to go someplace. I can count the number of times, on one hand, I have straddled my “two-wheeled waste of money.” My wife has straddled hers even less. The thought of riding mountain bikes together in the desert seemed like such a good idea when we first bought them, but for whatever reason the excitement quickly lost its appeal. Maybe it was due to the uncomfortable seat, hurting my tush when riding, or maybe it was because we found tennis and hiking to be much more enjoyable activities. Either way my butt hasn’t been on a bike in over six years.

That definitely was not the case during my youth. Back then my “two-wheeled friend” was not only fun to ride, but it was usually my only form of transportation. I grew up in a single car family, my mother didn’t drive, so having my very own wheels, to tool around on in our small-town, was pretty important. It meant the difference between either having freedom or else being stranded at home all day. Many times I rode to Tastee Freeze, or the shopping mall, to purchase baseball and football trading cards. Having a bicycle also allowed me the necessity of riding by the homes of potential girlfriends. How else can a boy pick up chicks during summer vacations? I rode to and from school, weather permitting, during my years at Berg Junior High, and although traffic could be quite heavy in the mornings it wasn’t too bad by the end of the school day, so I made up a game to make my afternoon rides home a little more enjoyable. I would try to complete the two-mile trek without having to grab onto the handlebars or put my feet on the ground. The success or failure of my invented game would usually depend on the precise timing of the only set of stoplights between school and home. I won about 50% of the time.

Many years before I could even consider attempting no-handed endeavors I had to first learn how to ride a bike. My parents taught me in our modest backyard by having me push myself off from a small embankment. That enabled me to already be sitting and balanced on my bicycle before I was ready for takeoff. I thought maybe my parents were having a little fun at my expense: making me learn how to ride on rough terrain and with a couple of large trees acting as a scary obstacle course as well. Looking back, I’m sure they just logically assumed a grassy yard would cushion a fall much better than a cement street could. Of course, we didn’t wear any helmets in the “good old days,” nor seatbelts when riding in cars, for that matter. I don’t know how I ever survived my childhood especially when soon after mastering the art of bike riding I got the bright idea of thinking I could ride a no-handed wheelie. However, It never failed that each time I would “pop a wheelie,” and then let go of the handlebars, I would fall off and onto my backside, so I finally gave up the pursuit of the no-handed wheelie after far too many bumps and bruises. I guess I was a little slow back then.

I wish that was the only bad bicycle experience I could remember, but it isn’t. One afternoon, when I was still in elementary school, a buddy and I rode our bikes to the shopping mall where a bowling alley was located in the basement of the building. We parked our two-wheelers in the bike rack, just outside the mall entrance, and went downstairs to play a video game or two. A mere ten minutes later, after playing a few arousing games of Defender and Caterpillar, we came outside only to find my bicycle was nowhere to be seen. My friend and I checked all of the nearby ditches, hoping someone was just playing a cruel joke on me, but after several minutes I was finally forced to admit my bike had been stolen. I jogged home in disbelief as my buddy pedaled next to me since he still had his ride. I could not help being extremely upset with myself in knowing my combination bike lock was wrapped tightly around the seat stem of my stolen “two-wheeled friend.” I irresponsibly had decided not to trouble myself with locking it up because we were only going to be inside for a few minutes, but now I knew I was in for a whole heap of trouble when I got home. After recalling my past bicycle experiences, and after taking all things into consideration, I am perfectly content in continuing to watch my shiny blue bicycle hang from hooks in the garage.

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March 29, 2014

What Time Is It?

By James McCleary

Many years ago the legendary band, Chicago, posed the simple yet thought provoking question, “Does anybody really know what time it is, does anybody really care?,” on one of their multiple hit recordings. The perception of time has completely changed, due to technology, since the classic tune was written in the early seventies. Back then the clock was a visual representation of past, present, and future time because the second and minute hands suggested a complete picture of what was, is, and will be. That notion (of authentic time) is best described by Jarice Hanson in the book 24/7. Digital time, on the other hand, now recognized by the majority of today’s technological society is only an illusion of the true time. The author goes on to explain how the digital age renders a counterfeit sense of what is by presenting only the current moment; therefore, offering just a fragment of the complete picture.

Occasionally, people do want to really know what time it is, but with the advancement in technology they’re sometimes literally incapable of figuring out the authentic time on their own. If the digital time they’ve grown accustom to, found on all of their cell phones, computer screens, and now commonly found even on their wrist watches, is unavailable to them then some people are clueless as to what time it actually is when a clock is their only source for telling time. This was quite evident, several years ago, when I owned a small music store at the height of the compact disc craze. Many high school students frequented my establishment to get their music fix.

I had a clock that resembled a cd, with functional second and minute hands, setting on my counter. I routinely would point to it whenever I was asked if I had the time. Time and time again I was shocked, and then saddened, by the number of teens who could not decipher the correct time when looking at the cd clock. Many of them would just stare intently at the shiny object as if they were being hypnotized. I finally gave up, after many failed attempts, trying to teach the high schoolers the apparent lost art of telling time. I was forced to admit this was no longer the seventies, and maybe nobody does really know what time it is.

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March 25, 2014

Death

By James McCleary

I almost died recently, or maybe I didn’t depending on how one regards the situation. Two weeks ago, before the crack of dawn, I was driving through a residential neighborhood, on my way to Starbucks, so I could do some writing. As I was approaching an intersection a pick-up truck not only ran through a stop sign, right in front of me, but it was also traveling at an extremely high rate of speed. I did not have a stop sign, so a mere second or two sooner and I would not have been able to avoid being hit broadside. Death does not discriminate. It knows no sex, race, age, or good from evil. We don’t always know when to expect it, but we do expect it because it is the circle of life, and no one is immune.

I remember my Grandpa Nolin telling me, when I was in my early twenties, how quickly time goes by. It was around that same time when I used to think, after hearing someone had passed away in their fifties, “oh well, at least they had a good, long life.” Now that I’m older, and getting painfully closer to that magic number, I no longer believe fifty is old. I’m also well aware my grandpa was absolutely correct about life being so fleeting. I know a widowed Christian woman who loves God, and when she was in her fifties had said she would rather be with her Savior sooner than later. I can appreciate her sentiment, but she still has good health, employment, children, and grandchildren. Maybe I’m a little selfish, but I prefer being on this earth for a much longer time, if possible, experiencing all of the good things our Creator has given us to enjoy. I would also like to grow old with my wife and have the opportunity to one day spoil some grandchildren.

I do not know when I will take my last breath here on earth, but I do know I will be in Heaven afterwards. I once had a non-practicing Jehovah Witness friend who had said about Christians, among many other things, that they believe in Heaven only because they are afraid of death. I rarely agreed with most of the things he had to say, but as a Believer I do take comfort in the knowledge of where I will be someday. That apparently is not the case for George Costanza in an episode of the beloved television comedy series, Seinfeld, when the gang decides to volunteer spending time with senior citizens. George, the neurotic worry-wart of the bunch, is paired with a spry 85 year-old man, and as the two are having coffee, at a local diner, George gets concerned after the man claims he is not afraid of dying. Volunteer Costanza questions how an 85 year-old cannot be afraid of death since he himself is already worrying about it, and he is only in his thirties.

George continues his interrogation, and he keeps persisting the elderly man’s time on earth has to be just about up. He then declares the senior citizen is really pushing the envelope, but the old man’s reply is that he is grateful for the time he has, and he just doesn’t think about death all that much. Mr. Costanza keeps pestering the senior citizen, insisting he should be worried about his nearing demise, with more astounding comments such as, “How can you be grateful when you’re so close to the end,” and “You’re not stupid, you can read the handwriting on the wall.” The 85 year-old has finally had enough of George, as he gets up from the booth to leave, and tells the worry-wart, “Life’s too short to waste on you.” I hope my disposition about death, as I grow older, is closer to that of the elderly gentleman’s than to George Costanza’s viewpoint on the matter.

My first experience with death, except for the loss of a pet or two, was around the age of thirteen when my great uncle passed away. My parents insisted the whole family go to the visitation although only my mother and father would be attending the funeral service. I didn’t know the deceased all that well, and as a teen I had no desire for wasting a day off from school by driving out of town to mingle with some “strangers.” I admit the thought of seeing a dead body also kind of freaked me out. I tried pleading with my parents, in hopes of them allowing me to skip the visitation, but to no avail. Therefore, I resolved to take matters into my own hands. Shortly before the dreaded time had come, for us to leave, I made an escape out my bedroom window. The breakout wasn’t all that easy either: not with the window in the corner of the room being so small, my bed acting as somewhat of an obstacle, and then a short drop down to the ground below.

My daring feat was absolutely exhilarating. As I ran free down the street a sense of relief came over me, but it was almost immediately replaced with the fear of knowing I would be facing my father’s wrath when returning home later in the day. Unfortunately, I was not able to enjoy my new found freedom since I spent the entire time fretting and pondering what the punishment would be. The sentence ultimately handed down was much worse than the grounding, or the possible whoopin’ I had anticipated, because I was now being forced to attend the funeral service of my great uncle, and I knew escaping this time was not an option. Oh yeah, while my father was closing my bedroom window, in utter frustration and anger, he had broken the glass, but guess who had to pay to have the window replaced? Life is a journey filled with experiences and lessons learned. Death is a part of life, and without death we would never be able to fully appreciate life.

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March 22, 2014

March Madness

By James McCleary

This blog is dedicated to my lovely wife because she enthusiastically suggested I write one and title it March Madness although fully knowing the subject matter would have nothing to do with the NCAA Basketball Tournament. The catchy phrase most commonly relates to the college basketball playoffs always held during the month of March. She thought it would be clever putting the emphasis on the Madness part, but I told her I didn’t think it would be such a great idea. I explained how I would be concerned that anyone checking out my site may either see the title and choose to skip it, assuming the blog was about college hoops, or they might instead be enticed into reading it, supposing the topic was indeed about basketball, but then would become very disappointed after finding out it wasn’t. After great consideration, and remembering “a happy wife is a happy life,” I have decided to honor her request.

The infinite number of empty shopping carts found scattered around, the entire premise of a parking lot, and needlessly occupying numerous potential parking spaces is sheer Madness! My first thought about this typically seen scenario is that this sort of behavior must be an Arizona thing since I don’t recall this situation being all too commonly found in the parking lots of Iowa. Then I remember many residents of Arizona are transplants from other states, including Iowa, so I’m not sure where the culprits come from, but I do know for some strange reason(s) they are not putting their shopping carts away after using them.

I have purchased a few brand new vehicles over the years, and I have always done my part in trying to protect them from acquiring any damage. I’m constantly going out of my way to find parking spaces far away from the store, whenever parking in a lot, and hugging the curb on end spots in order to avoid those dreaded car door dings. I take these drastic measures to preserve my vehicle’s exterior finish, but nothing can save it from the mysteriously left behind shopping cart. Nothing irritates me more than when I come out of an establishment and find that a “basket on wheels” has been left next to my automobile. Except, of course, when it’s actually resting firmly against my car’s exterior. Almost all of the damage done to my vehicles in the past have not been caused by me, but by the negligence of others, and it never fails that after just a short couple of years my once immaculate vehicle ends up significantly marred.

I am astonished as to any reason why a rational person, when done using a shopping cart for their convenience, would not place the empty cart into one of the numerous cart corrals provided by the store. Just seems like common sense to me. One recent evening I was waiting in the car, while my wife was retrieving a movie rental from our local Wal-Mart, when not one, not two, but three separate individuals left their carts in two empty parking spaces during the brief time span of 5 minutes. I was reminded, at that point, ignorance does not discriminate because the three guilty parties weren’t alike in any aspect whatsoever. One person was alone, the other was half of a couple, and the last offender was part of a large family. They all appeared to be of different races, and they were all getting into various types of vehicles. The most puzzling thing to me is there was a shopping cart stall a mere few feet away from where everybody had chosen to leave their carts.

There are no second chances to leave a first impression, and I think shopping cart etiquette speaks volumes as to who a person is. The truth as I know it is if the only one thing I know about a person is their decision of not properly putting their shopping cart away then I would have to presume that individual is irresponsible and selfish. If a human being cannot grasp the basic concept of doing what’s right, by considering others and their property, then I’m left wondering what else that person is capable of doing. I realize I may seem all high and mighty discussing this topic, but it is only because I can honestly say I have never improperly abandoned a shopping cart in my entire life. Please join me in helping to make this world a little better place by responsibly placing your “basket on wheels” in a proper location after using it, and at the same time you will be leaving behind a great first impression to anyone who may be watching. Together we can stop the Madness.

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March 20, 2014

Guns

By James McCleary

Oh no…here we go again. Some members of our state legislature are once again, not surprisingly, proposing new bills that would allow for additional gun ownership rights in the state of Arizona. What a perfect world it would be if everything in the Valley of the Sun was so rosy, with all of the state’s problems already solved, that the only discussion left to consider would be concerning gun issues. Unfortunately, that is not the case, so I wish our elected officials would show some common sense and concentrate on more important things instead. Thankfully, at least this time around allowing guns on our college campuses are not presently included in the mix. Last time several of our state representatives fought long and hard to pass a senseless bill, although it was eventually defeated, which included allowing guns on campus even though the majority of Arizona’s law enforcement agencies, including campus police, were adamantly opposed to the proposal.

A few years ago I had the opportunity to fire several shots from a handgun, during a citizen’s police academy class, and I admit I liked it. The experience was very exhilarating, and it gave me a glimpse into how one might be attracted to owning a firearm and participating in target shooting. Guns are fascinating to me, but I have no use for them. Maybe that’s because of an incident which happened long ago involving myself and an innocent bird. As a beautiful Robin sat on a telephone wire high up in the sky, happily chirping away and enjoying life, I took aim at it with my BB gun. Expecting to miss the target, like I had so many times before, I was shocked and then saddened as the bird fell from the sky and hit the ground with an awful sounding thud. At that moment I realized if my BB gun could do that much damage then what about a real gun especially with how potent they have become in the modern world. There is a substantial difference in the kind of weaponry used in the old western classics, commonly seen on the “boob tube,” compared to the array of powerful gun choices now normally seen in most of today’s action films. For better or for worse they’ve come a long way.

The truth as I know it is I am in favor of sane people, who have passed an extensive background check and have taken a gun safety course, owning as many guns as they would like. I also support enforcing all current gun laws, reinstating the ban on assault rifles, and reducing the number of ammunition allowed per gun clip. Many times I have heard the pro-gun argument that the main key to reducing crime is by arming as many of the “good guys” in our society as possible. However, the problem then becomes attempting to determine what constitutes a “good guy,” and what happens if the “good guy” one day becomes a “crazy” but is still armed. Another problem can arise when the “good guys” are firing at the “bad guys” in public and innocent people are caught in the crossfire.

Many gun owners routinely insist the Second Amendment to the United States Constitution gives them the right to protect themselves and their property, via firearms, and I would agree with that. I would disagree though with allowing those weapons in public places because that would then infringe on my right to “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness” as found in the United States Declaration of Independence. How can I be happy with the fear of knowing I’m possibly surrounded by people with loaded guns when I’m innocently patronizing a store, restaurant, or bar? I believe the true intent of our forefathers, when crafting the Second Amendment, was to assure all Americans, both individually and collectively, the right to bear arms against an invasion from another country onto our Nation’s soil. Many additional things could be said on the topics of gun ownership and gun control, but I guess unlike some of our state representatives I have more important things to do with my time.

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