Should plastics be banned?

Plastic use has skyrocketed across the world in the past several decades, leading many to wonder if plastics should be banned completely. I’m one of the people who has that opinion. There is no need for plastics when there are so many viable alternatives available.

There are plenty of reasons to dislike plastics. Plastic products contain toxins and chemicals, which can leech into the food chain and have serious, negative health impacts. The production of plastics requires huge amounts of energy and water, making it a resource-intensive and environmentally unsound industry.

On top of all of these issues, there is the problem of how we are disposing of plastic waste. Plastic bottles can take hundreds of years to break down in landfills and oceans, causing serious pollution, while incineration is costly and polluting as well.

However, there are also a few compelling reasons for keeping plastics around. Plastics are extremely versatile and useful, and it’s hard to imagine our current technological capabilities without them. For example, plastic is one of the only substances we know of that is strong, flexible, light, chemically inert, durable, and recyclable. It can be used as construction material, furniture, clothing, or packaging. Plastic products have the potential to greatly reduce greenhouse gas emissions.

There are many viable solutions to our plastic problem. We just need to make the switch from petroleum-based plastic to bio-based plastic, like plant cellulose (which is what bioplastics are based on). We can do this by using bioplastics that are already on the market and are compostable, or by using plants like algae to manufacture bio-plastics directly from carbon dioxide in the air.

On top of this, we need to dramatically reduce the amount of plastic that is produced. To do this, we need to ensure that the plastics we do produce are as sustainable as possible. We must also minimize the amount of waste we produce by reducing the number of plastic bottles that we use, recycling whenever possible, and avoiding unnecessary single-use products like disposable plastic cutlery.

I’m not a fan of banning plastics outright, but I would like to see more companies and governments switch to more sustainable methods for making and disposing of plastic.

How Much World Cup to Watch?

The 2022 World Cup has begun in Qatar and like everyone else, I’m planning to watch a lot of it. But how much should I watch? I’m streaming most of the matches over IPTV, and that means up to four matches per day in just the first week of the group stage. But is it too much?

As a football fan, I want to see my team playing well, but as a scientist I need to make sure I get enough rest so that I’m fresh when I write the match report.

With that in mind, I’ve started working on an app that will monitor my sleep quality and tell me when to get enough sleep to keep me fresh. It’s a neat idea, and it’s something that can help anyone who wants to stay on top of their game during big events like the World Cup.

To build this app, I’m using the Google AIY Voice Kit, which lets you build your own voice-activated smart speakers, virtual assistants and more.

So far, we’ve built an Assistant that can answer questions about the World Cup. But to help me figure out how much rest I need before the next match, I’ve built an AI that monitors my sleep quality. It uses data from my wearable Fitbit to monitor when I wake up in the morning, when I go to bed at night, and how well I slept.

It’s all done without using any of my phone’s sensors, so you won’t see any weird permissions popping up on your screen. It works by listening for my wake-up call, and then starting a timer while I’m sleeping. When it wakes me up, it takes a look at the Fitbit’s heart rate data and determines if it was a good night’s sleep or not. Then it starts another timer, and after the timer runs out it tells me what it thinks I should do.

This whole setup can be done with the Google AIY Voice Kit, so all you have to do is ask it to ‘Get Fitbit Data’, and it’ll start monitoring your sleep automatically. It won’t send you any notifications until your Fitbit detects a problem, though, so you can just get on with your day.

The hardest part is finding a way to display all this information to me, as well as allowing me to act on it. There’s no way to give me an alarm that will wake me up at a good time every day, for example.

But it’s not too hard to set up a simple dashboard for the app, where I can see all my Fitbit data in a chart. It’s still a work in progress, and you can see the code here:

The Google AIY Voice Kit is still in beta, so expect some rough edges. But if you’re looking for a fun project to help you learn about the Google AIY Voice Kit, or you just want to build an AI that will help you monitor your sleep quality, then this project is definitely worth checking out!

The Tale of Glorisom

Glorisom Jadestone was a dwarf. And he was a dwarf with a problem. He lived in a small village on the Lavaltona Slopes with about 30 other dwarves. One of them had stolen his battle axe.

His name was Gork, and he’d been stealing from Gloriosom for years. But this time, things were different. This time, it wasn’t just some old rusty blade that he’d swiped out of an armory or smithy. No! This time, it was a brand new battle-axe forged by one of the finest blacksmiths in all of Thac. The axe’s name was “The Blade That Shakes the Earth.” It was so named because its blade was made entirely from adamantite, which could cut through any material known to man. And even better, it came with a +3 magic bonus.

So why would Gork steal such an amazing weapon? Because he was a thief. A real lowdown, scummy little thief who took advantage of others’ misfortunes. Like when someone left their house unlocked at night or forgot to lock up their valuables after they went into town for the day. Or when someone didn’t bother putting a security system on their home.

Gork knew how to find these opportunities. He also knew how to take advantage of them. And more often than not, he’d get away clean. Unfortunately, there were some people in Thac who weren’t as understanding. There were those who wanted to do something about thieves like Gork.

It started with a few complaints to the local constable, but nothing happened. Then it escalated to several complaints to the mayor, but again, no action. Finally, the citizens decided to hire a group of adventurers to come down and deal with Gork. They were going to pay these adventurers a lot of money, too!

But before that could happen, Gork stole another valuable item from the village.

Places to Go on Vacation

After thinking about the best vacation from my childhood, I remembered that it’s time to start planning the next one.

Here is a list of a few places I have been thinking about going on vacation. As you can tell, I want to stay in a cabin.

• mountains
• beaches
• the ocean
• hot springs
• a cabin in the mountains
• a cabin in the mountains near the ocean
• a cabin in the mountains near hot springs
• the desert
• a cabin in the desert
• a cabin in the desert near the ocean
• a cabin in the desert near hot springs
• a cabin in the desert near a national park
• a cabin in the desert near a national park with hot springs
• a cabin in the desert near a national park with a hot spring
• a cabin in the desert near mountains
• a cabin in the desert near mountains with a hot spring
• a cabin in the desert near mountains with a hot spring and a national park
• a cabin in the desert near mountains with a hot spring, a national park and beaches

I like the idea of relaxing on vacation in a cabin. It doesn’t have to be completely remote in the wilderness, but I like the idea of having a simple vacation with access to the outdoors.

The cabin would be big enough to have some extra bedrooms for when I invited people over. I can’t help but think that my family would enjoy having their own space, and it would give them a break from me.

I could invite my parents, who I’m sure would want to see my new home. And my sisters would be excited to visit, as well.

I can imagine my mom cooking, my dad doing some woodwork, and my sisters and I doing crafts. We’d all be having a good time, and we’d never need to leave the cabin.

But what if the cabin didn’t have electricity? What if it was in the middle of the woods, but there was no running water or electricity?

I couldn’t exactly ask for an upgrade at the last minute.

Coffee in Cartala

Just the first chapter of a story I’m working on called Coffee in Cartala. Hope you enjoy!

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Coffee had been illegal in Cartala for over five years now, and a burgeoning smuggling operation had grown. I should know, because I was responsible for establishing both the smuggling ring and the black market operation that supported it. The citizens of Cartala wanted coffee, and I wanted their money.

My name is Bailis. I am the youngest of three children born to a merchant family in the city of Cartala, on the planet of Shur’tugal. My older brother, Jerin, was the eldest, followed by my sister, Karsin.

We lived on a small estate in the city, with our parents, two older brothers, and our servants. We had the best food, and we all dressed in the finest clothes. My father made a great deal of money, and so we had more than we could possibly need. It was not a bad life.

But then the government banned coffee, and our life changed.

Coffee had been the mainstay of the Cartalan economy for almost a thousand years. It was grown and harvested on plantations in the mountains, and shipped downriver to our port. But then the government banned coffee as part of an effort to promote native products instead of imported ones, and our entire economy began to crumble.

The people of Cartala were forced to buy things from other planets, and trade became very difficult. Many lost their jobs, and many lost their homes. Those that were able fled to other countries, looking for work.

Our family’s finances started to suffer. My father tried to keep his business afloat, but he was only one man, and it was too much for him. He went bankrupt. He had to sell our land, and my mother took in laundry. She worked day and night, and she got sick often, but she kept working. She kept us alive.

We were lucky enough to get some money from an old uncle of my father’s. But it wasn’t enough, and it was never enough. It was never enough to live on.

Karsin found work as an assistant to one of the city’s merchants. She tried her hand at writing, hoping to find a new job. But she was only able to get a few small contracts here and there. Jerin tried to get a job as an artist, but he could only manage to sell two pieces in his lifetime. I tried my hand at the black market, selling coffee, tobacco, and sugar smuggled in from other planets. I made more than enough to keep us fed and clothed, and I was able to send Karsin some money.

But my family could not afford anything else. And every time we were able to afford something, the government banned it again.

When I was seventeen, I started to meet with other smugglers. I learned how the system worked, and what products were being banned and why. I began to realize that the government was using coffee as a way to control the population, and force people into a life of poverty.

I began to use my family’s contacts to send things in from other planets. Sugar and tobacco were banned in Cartala as well, but people still wanted them. They wanted their coffee, even if the government wouldn’t let them have it.

My smuggling operation grew quickly. We started small, but it did well, and we kept growing. We ran shipments of tobacco and sugar from different planets on the same routes, using the same ships. We bribed officials, gave bribes to people in power, and did whatever else it took to keep our shipments safe and make our customers happy. We began to move larger shipments of coffee and tobacco as well, but we still ran our primary trade in sugar.

As I grew older, my friends began to leave me behind. I was not an easy person to get along with, and my work was becoming increasingly dangerous. Some of my friends decided it was safer for them to leave me alone, rather than risk my anger or my vengeance.

But I didn’t let that stop me. I kept running my smuggling operation, even after my friends left me behind. I worked harder than ever, making sure my shipments got to where they needed to go. I was making enough money now that we could finally eat and have a little bit of luxury in our lives.

But then my father died, and my mother took sick. There was nothing left to do but wait for the inevitable.

Karsin was still working as an assistant for her old boss. Jerin was working on another piece. He was never really any good at art, but he kept trying, hoping that one day he might find his talent. I was running my smuggling operation, but I couldn’t run it forever. I couldn’t run it forever, because eventually I’d be caught by the authorities, and they would destroy my family.

And so I left it behind. I told my family I was going to travel across the sea to visit an aunt on an island, and that I would be back in a year’s time. I would have been back sooner, but I had to take care of some business first. I had some contacts in another country who owed me a favor, and I had to help them out with a little bit of work.

I was supposed to meet them on my trip to the island. I was supposed to give them some information they needed. But then I received a message that my contacts were dead, killed by the government’s agents, and that my help would not be needed. And so I returned home.

I returned home to my mother lying in bed, coughing up blood, with nothing to offer her but some rye bread and water.

I returned home to my sister, weeping in her bedroom while I held her in my arms.

I returned home to my father lying in a pile of his own filth and vomit in the corner of our home, surrounded by flies and rats.

I returned home to my brother, kneeling over our father’s corpse with tears pouring down his cheeks as he prayed for him to be given entrance to the afterlife.

I returned home to find Karsin and Jerin waiting for me at the door of our home, holding bags full of things they had gathered for us. Their eyes were red from crying, their faces were pale from grief, but their eyes were filled with love.

My brother and sister loved me so much that they had left their jobs, their futures, their dreams behind in order to care for their mother and me. They had given up everything for me.

And I knew then that I had failed them.

I was the eldest son in our family, the one that was supposed to take care of them. I had failed them. And so I swore to myself that I would do everything in my power to fix our broken world.

I was not the only one to feel that way. Many others felt the same way. Many felt betrayed by the government and by the other nations in our system, who used our system to benefit themselves. They saw our problems clearly, and they were doing everything in their power to fix them.

They had started by focusing their efforts on the cities closest to our port, hoping to inspire people there to start organizing into groups that might be able to oppose our government and change our system from within. They called themselves The Revolutionary League, and they hoped they could bring about change from below.

They were planning something big, something big enough to get the government’s attention and get their attention. They were planning an uprising, one that would hopefully inspire the rest of our system to follow suit and throw off the chains of their oppression.

It was a dangerous idea. It was a terrifying idea. It was a brave idea. And it was an idea that I could not stand idly by as someone else took credit for my ideas and accomplishments.

So I joined The Revolutionary League. I started by giving them money so that they could buy weapons and food to distribute to the poor of our society. I tried to raise awareness, but it didn’t seem like much was going to change for a long time yet. The government’s control over our people was too strong for change to come quickly, so it was up to me to help make change happen at all.

The government had begun their attack on our people slowly, bit by bit, so that our society would grow dependent on their support before they removed that support and left us all with nothing. They began by banning the coffee we all loved so much. They began by taxing the products that we needed in order to survive in the first place. They began by using our fear of change against us.

I worked for weeks on end, helping The Revolutionary League build up their network of supporters in the slums of Cartala. It was hard work, and it was dangerous work, but I didn’t mind it. I was determined to change the world for my family.

And then a government official came to visit our house.

My Favorite Teacher

Everyone ha a favorite teacher from their childhood, and I’m no exception. My favorite teacher was Mrs. Woolard from second grade.

She was the coolest teacher in the history of cool teachers. She was always wearing jeans, sneakers, and a tank top, even though the rest of the teachers all wore dresses, heels, and makeup.

Her classroom was decorated like a junkyard: a beat-up old wooden desk with a green cloth covering it for a table and some beat-up old metal chairs that were really comfortable.

Mrs. Woolard would walk into the classroom like she was in charge and knew everything. Then, she’d spend the rest of the day in the back of the room, sitting on her desk while students took turns doing whatever they wanted. She would just watch the kids, with her feet up on the desk and her eyes half-closed, like she was totally relaxed.

Mrs. Woolard had no idea what we were supposed to do. We never did anything. She didn’t assign work, but when it got around to time for class to be over, she’d take out some worksheets and make everyone fill them out. It was all about filling the blank spaces with numbers or letters, or doing some sort of boring math problems. It was the most boring shit ever.

I can’t even remember anything I did in second grade. I think we made cookies, or something like that. It’s all a blur.

Mrs. Woolard taught us how to do long division, and how to add and subtract, but that was it.

When I told my mom about Mrs. Woolard, she was so happy.

“Oh my god, she sounds incredible! What a cool woman!” She said. “What did you learn from her? Did she tell you about the birds and the bees?”

“No, but I learned about the bees from another teacher,” I said.

My mom got a look on her face that she gets when she knows that I’m messing with her. She loves talking to me, but she also knows how annoying I can be.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” she said with a laugh.

When I told her about Mrs. Woolard again, she said that she should be a teacher herself.

“She’s so good at everything!” my mom said. “She can teach anything to anyone.”

“She’s amazing!” I agreed.

“You’re going to be amazing someday, too,” my mom said. “When you grow up, you’re going to be an incredible teacher.”

Then my mom went into a story about how she had been an incredible teacher when she was younger. I could tell that she liked talking about herself. She told me about how she used to give her students little assignments to make them pay attention to what she was saying. She’d tell them, “If you’re paying attention, I’ll let you have dessert at the end of the day.” Then she’d have them write their names on a piece of paper and put it in a bowl. She’d pick one student at random and give them free dessert. If they weren’t paying attention, they didn’t get to have any dessert.

I was in elementary school before I realized that my mom was just telling this story to be nice, so I didn’t understand what it meant when she said that “when you grow up, you’re going to be an incredible teacher.”

My mom’s stories about teaching were always funny, but not always true. She once told me that she was so good at her job that when she was younger, she started teaching her mom how to be a teacher. My mom laughed and said, “I don’t know why I was so good at teaching. I don’t know if I was born to be a teacher or if I was just born lucky.”

A Disagreement Between Friends

Steven and Lyle were friends. Not the best friends ever, but friends nonetheless. Today, they were having a disagreement. The disagreement was over something trivial, like foreign language poetry. It devolved quickly.

“You’re a real nerd,” Steven said.

“And you’re a dumb-ass,” Lyle replied.

Steven wasn’t a dumb-ass. He was just a little slow. That’s what made him such a nerd. And Lyle? Well, he was a dumb-ass, which is to say, a dork.

“You guys are such dorks,” said Mindy, Lyle’s girlfriend.

Mindy was not a dumb-ass. She was just a little slow. Which is what made her such a nerd. But it wasn’t fair for Steven and Lyle to be called nerds or dorks when they were really just dumb.

“I am not a nerd!” Steven said.

“You are!” said Mindy. “You’re so dumb it’s not even funny.”

“I’m not dumb,” Steven said. “I’m just a little slow.”

“That makes you even dumber,” said Lyle.

“No it doesn’t,” said Steven. “It makes me a nerd.”

“Whatever,” said Lyle. “I’m gonna go watch TV.”

“I’m going to play Call of Duty with my friends,” said Mindy.

Mindy was going to do something that was completely different from watching TV or playing Call of Duty.

Lyle and Steven went to their bedrooms. Lyle closed his door. Steven shut his door. But neither of them actually meant for their doors to lock. That would be dumb. But the fact that they didn’t even mean for their doors to lock is the proof that they are both dorks.

Lyle and Steven opened their doors and peeked through the crack to see what Mindy was doing in the living room. She was sitting on the couch, chatting on her laptop.

“What are you doing?” asked Lyle.

“I’m looking up stuff on the Internet,” Mindy said.

Lyle and Steven were both suspicious. Mindy wasn’t like them. She didn’t have an iPad or a computer or a phone. She couldn’t even use the Internet very well. She always had to ask her parents how to use things. That’s why she couldn’t just go on the Internet by herself like the other kids.

“Why are you looking up stuff on the Internet?” asked Steven. “You’re not doing your homework.”

“I’m looking up stuff on the Internet because I want to find out if you’re telling the truth about being a nerd or if you’re just a dumb-ass,” Mindy said.

Mindy’s parents weren’t home right now, so she was allowed to do things without supervision. And she had access to the Internet. She knew that the best way to find out if Steven was a nerd or a dumb-ass was to look it up on the Internet.

Lyle and Steven both agreed that this was a good idea. Lyle said he would watch TV, and Steven agreed to go to his room. Lyle would then go to his room and watch TV with Mindy, so she could keep an eye on him. That way she would know that he wasn’t watching porn on his computer. She could also see if he was lying to her about how he played Call of Duty, because he would lie about that too.

So Lyle went into his room, and Mindy went into the kitchen.

Lyle’s parents were at work, so he was able to use the computer without getting in trouble. Lyle quickly logged in and started searching for information on the Internet about Steven.

Mindy made herself a sandwich and then sat down on the couch to watch TV.

Lyle used Google to search for “Steven.” The search results gave him the definition of the word “Steven” as well as the definition of the word “Steven.” It also gave him some information about how many results it found for that definition. It didn’t matter if it was 10,000 results or 1 result. Lyle was only interested in finding out what he could learn about Steven.

Lyle looked at the definition of Steven. It said:

Steven: A person who is a little slow.

“Oh yeah?” asked Mindy. “What does that make you, then?”

Lyle’s search results came up on his screen, so he ignored Mindy and continued reading.

The search results included links to Web pages that had been visited thousands of times, as well as Web pages that had been visited hundreds of times and even Web pages that had been visited dozens of times. There were even some that had been visited only a few times. Lyle’s parents didn’t monitor his Internet usage very closely, so there were plenty of links for him to visit.

The first link was titled “Is Steven a Nerd?” It was an article from a magazine called “TeenBeat,” which was written by someone named “Ken.” It talked about how Steven had a friend named “Lyle,” and the two of them had started arguing on Facebook over which was smarter: Steven or Lyle? Steven had been posting articles on “TeenBeat” about foreign language poetry, and Lyle had been posting articles about Call of Duty on “TeenBeat.” Then they started arguing over which one of them was smarter, and it escalated from there.

Don’t Forget the Eggs

This is a fictional story that I wrote based on a writing prompt that suggested you write a short story based on the last text message you received. This is the last message I received but the story is completely fictional. I hope you like it and if you don’t…well, go suck an egg.

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“Don’t forget the eggs.”

That was the last text I got from her. It was a gentle reminder, so common that it was almost cliché. I was wrapping up a weekend trip to the grocery store and I had promised to cook her breakfast on Sunday morning. This didn’t happen that often, and she really wanted to be sure I didn’t try to back out of that promise.

If I had known what was about to happen 20 minutes after that text, I would have left the shopping cart where it was and raced out the door, jumped into the car, and driven home as fast as I could.

But oblivious to the horror that was about to unfold, I concentrated instead on the eggs.

When I arrived home a little under an hour later, I didn’t immediately see or sense anything wrong. I grabbed the groceries out of the car, walked through the front door, and headed straight for the kitchen. That’s where I first saw her body. She was in the corner of the kitchen, lying on the floor. For a moment, I was confused. I thought she was asleep, or perhaps just pretending to be — a silly prank or joke. She liked to joke around.

“Karen?” I said. “What’s going on?”

But there was no response from her lifeless body. In just a few seconds, I realized that something was horribly wrong. My beloved Karen was dead on the kitchen floor.

I ran over to her side and knelt down to check her pulse. She wasn’t breathing. Her heart had stopped beating, and she was cold and still. She had been dead for at least a half hour.

“Oh, God!” I screamed. “What happened to you? How did this happen? What happened?”

I cried out for my wife as if I had been the one that had suffered a violent and tragic death. But that wasn’t true. I was just as devastated as she was, and I had no idea why she had been killed.

The police and investigators didn’t have any answers for me either. There wasn’t too much bleeding, although there were signs of a struggle. She had defensive wounds on her hands and arms. But no one ever found any forensic evidence. No one ever caught her killer, and we never learned who was responsible.

She had been a healthy, vibrant woman who took care of her health. She never smoked, drank, or used drugs. She was always very fit and active, and she never complained about her weight or appearance. She loved sex and enjoyed the things she did together with my penis.

I never understood why she would leave me like that.

I realized that I would be a suspect, although I had an alibi. The text messages we exchanged for one, plus plenty of eyewitnesses who saw me at the store. A neighbor would also vouch for me, having seen me pull into my driveway.

I couldn’t understand why anyone would want to kill my beautiful wife.

She had been a happy person who loved me and our life together. She had no enemies, no reason to be attacked, and no reason to die like that. She just went to the store for a little while, and then she was murdered on the kitchen floor.

She had been alive, talking with me by text, only 20 minutes before she died. The phone she was using that morning was sitting right on the kitchen table.

“Oh, God,” I cried again. “What happened? What was done to you?”

My mind was racing as I waited for the police to arrive.

I tried to think about every person that I knew. It seemed as if everyone must have some kind of motive. It didn’t matter that we had been happily married for years. Everyone had their secrets. Everyone had something to hide.

But that didn’t mean they were guilty.

As I sat in the house, waiting for the police, I began to wonder how this could have happened. We had just come home from the store and she had been perfectly healthy when I left her. Then I returned home to find her body. There was no sign of forced entry or anything like that. It seemed as if someone had been hiding in my home and had waited patiently until I was gone before they attacked her.

“But how could anyone do that?” I wondered aloud. “How could someone possibly kill her and escape without anyone noticing anything? And how did they get away without leaving any trace behind?”

I had no idea what could have happened to my wife.

The Silliness of Student Life

Getting into College is a rite of passage for many, but it can also be a frustrating experience due to bureaucracy and process. At least for the last few years that I have been attending college, I have noticed that things seem to be changing a little bit, and for the better.

The biggest change that I have noticed has been with the student IDs. As far back as I can remember, when a student wanted to use their student ID to go to a club or a bar, they had to have a special student ID card with their picture on it. It was usually a white card with black lettering and their name at the top.

I know that it is only a piece of plastic that you have to pay a small fee to have, but the thought of having a piece of plastic with my picture on it seems ridiculous to me. I just can’t get my head around why students had to go through all this trouble to have this card. It is not like the clubs that we went to were going to give out free drinks or let us in for free.

A couple of years ago, a friend of mine got into a bar and had her student ID card, but the bouncer told her she needed a different ID because she didn’t have a black card. So, she went home and got her regular driver’s license and used that to get in the bar. She had no problems and the bouncer never mentioned it.

Since this happened, I started to wonder about why the bouncers cared so much about what kind of ID I had, since I had never really been asked about my student ID before. Then, last year I read an article on the internet about how a woman named Kristi Williams was banned from the state bar and Supreme Court of Georgia. It said that she had a fake ID card and used it to enter the bar that was owned by one of the Supreme Court Justices.

So, I thought to myself, “What the heck is a fake ID card? And why do they care if I have one?” This thought led me to thinking about how easy it would be to get a fake ID, and why would I want to get a fake ID?

I am not talking about a fake driver’s license either. I am talking about a completely fake identity. Why would anyone want to get a fake ID? To my knowledge, there is no way to get something for free. Every time that I get something for free, someone pays for it. For example, if you have a job and get paid for doing work, someone has to pay you to do your job. If you want something for free, you have to work for it.

So, why would someone want to go through the hassle of getting a fake ID just so they can go out to a club once in a while? I understand the appeal of drinking at bars and going to parties, but why would someone want to spend all their time just going out to drink?

This got me thinking about other things that I don’t understand why people would do. For example, I see people who smoke all the time. I understand that they enjoy smoking, but I don’t understand why they would smoke in a car or even around other people. I mean, you have to inhale the smoke that comes out of your mouth. Why would anyone want to breathe in something that could hurt them?

In some cases, like smoking, people have tried to explain to me why they smoke. But I think it is just an excuse. They say that they smoke because it makes them relax or because they are addicted to it. But the truth is that they enjoy it too much. I can’t understand how someone can enjoy something that can hurt them.

Another thing that people do that doesn’t make any sense to me is when they drink alcohol too fast. In some cases, people will drink alcohol straight from a bottle or from a beer keg. But then they will start drinking so fast that they will throw up within five minutes of drinking. I know that it can get you drunk faster than drinking it straight, but still, it seems like a bad idea to me.

The last thing that I don’t understand is how people can be addicted to drugs and still continue to use drugs. When I first started college, I knew a lot of people who used drugs like marijuana or cocaine. A lot of these people were very intelligent and they were able to do a lot of good things in their lives. But then, after some time, they would stop doing things that were important to them. For example, they might quit going to class because they were too hungover or they would stop going out with their friends because they were too high.

I also know a lot of people who use drugs like marijuana or cocaine. These are people that I know personally and they are good people who I consider friends. But I just don’t understand why these people would keep using drugs. They seem to have it together enough to get through college and graduate without having to use drugs to do so.

I don’t think that drugs should be legalized. I think that if drugs were legalized then it would become normal to use drugs. I have heard that people who do drugs say that if drugs were legalized, then more people would not get hooked on drugs. But I don’t believe that. People can still get addicted to drugs if they use them. The only difference is that if drugs were legalized then there would be less of a chance to get help for addiction because doctors would be afraid of losing their licenses by treating addicts.

So, why would anyone want to get addicted to drugs or why would anyone want to use them if they don’t need to use them? To me, it seems like it is only a big problem when people try to avoid their problems by using drugs.

It seems like some people want to hide their problems by using drugs.

My Favorite Childhood Vacation

I would be lying if I said it wasn’t my family’s yearly pilgrimage to Walt Disney World. This trip is still a special one for me. I was ten years old when my family took that trip and we spent every waking minute there. My dad always said the magic of Disney was in its ability to let everyone in the family enjoy the same experience at the same time without interfering with each other. That was what I remember most about the trip.

My parents and two younger brothers were with me. We stayed in one of the smaller rooms of Disney’s All-Star Sports Resort. The room had four bunk beds and was painted blue and yellow. The bedspreads were yellow with blue stars and a large Mickey Mouse was stitched onto each bed. A large flat screen TV hung from the wall, and it looked like a movie was playing in the background as I tried to go to sleep. My father said he didn’t want to miss the opening of the Disney movie so we got up early to see Cinderella. We had a great breakfast at the All-Star Sports Resort and headed over to the Magic Kingdom.

We got off the monorail at the Tomorrowland stop and headed to Main Street. We were in line to meet Goofy. He had a show on the castle stage where he introduced all of the Disney characters. I was too young to be allowed on stage, but I could stay and watch. While I waited in line, I saw an announcement for the Frog Prince. It was a show about a prince who was turned into a frog. My dad said it would be a good show to take my brothers to see.

When I got inside, it was just a normal theater. There was a single row of seats in front of a stage with a curtain drawn across it. The curtain opened and a frog appeared on the stage. It was an animatronic, not an actor. The frog started to talk about his life being a prince and his meeting a beautiful princess named Anastasia. He asked her to dance and then told her he would have to leave. She begged him to stay, but he disappeared into a small door.

Then the princess’ younger sister appeared. She was supposed to be a frog, but she was too beautiful to be one. The frog prince was so smitten by her beauty, he agreed to stay with her until her older sister returned and would dance with her instead. Then the older sister came in and pleaded with the frog prince to leave her younger sister alone. He agreed to do so, but only on the condition that he could come back and dance with her later.

The show ended with the frog prince kissing the princess and her turning into a beautiful princess with golden hair, just like her older sister. The younger sister, still a frog, jumped in the air and kissed the frog prince back. When it was over, we filed out of the theater. The place was packed and we had to wait in another line to meet Peter Pan. My dad had us meet him in Fantasyland at the Casey Jr. Splashin’ Safari. We all got into a boat and were driven around on the safari track for about fifteen minutes.

When the ride was over, my brothers got out first, but I stayed in the boat while my mom and dad talked to Peter. Peter told us he’d like to fly with me, but I had to be quiet and not move while he did it.

He flew me to the top of the mountain and then lifted me up and flew away with me on his back. The ride lasted only a few seconds, but I loved it. Afterward, we rode Splash Mountain. We were all soaked by the time we got off, but we all agreed it was worth it. We were hungry so we went to Pinocchio’s Village Haus to eat dinner. When we walked in, a man with a thick Italian accent said, “Welcome, you must be the Riccio family!” He was right, of course, but I didn’t know my name back then.

We ate our pizza and pasta and had some really good drinks before heading back to the All-Star Resort for a good night’s sleep.