Eusebio Camachos Autobiography Essay Example for Free

Eusebio Camachos Autobiography Essay My name is Eusebio Camacho. I am still in high school, I am a senior and I plan to go to Texas AM International University. One thing that I want and that also is part of my goals is study something that has to do with criminal justice, a lawyer. Since I was a kid, I always thought that in the future I will be one of the best lawyers, and now I am a teenager I still want that. That is the only career that I am interested now. I like to fight for the right thing, so that is why I want to be a lawyer, to fight for the right thing always. Another goals that I had in mind but that I am almost for achieve is go to the university, I will be the first one in my family who will go to university, that is why I am excited to go to college. I really hope that I can achieve my goal which is being a lawyer and if that comes true, I want to help all the innocent people who are in jail. I want to fight for the rights of all the people who does not have money and that the justice accused them for something that they did not do it. Thanks to my family now I am the person who I am. I really do not know what I will do without them. They supported me and they still do it, they are always there for me, teaching me what it is good and what not. Now I am a person who is responsible for all my obligations, I appreciate that they give me the opportunity to study, which is why i am grateful now. I appreciate all the opportunities that are in my way. I am an honest person; they taught me that lies do not bring you good consequences. I also am the kind of person who never gives up until I get what I want. My parents taught me that if I really want something, I should fight for it. I like to be super organized, because that way I can always know where I leave my things. I love to make new friends, I am super friendly. I can be shy all the time, but when a person really knows me they will say that from shy I have nothing. I absolutely am a good listener, maybe I do not give the best advice but I do my best. I love to hear people, not matter if what they are going to tell me is boring or not. I do not like be sad for negative comments from other people, I love myself and that is never going to change, I am good with myself. I always do what I want to, I do not like to depend from other people. That is who I am and what are my goals in the future, which hopefully i will achieve.

Strategic Planning Paper -- essays research papers

The history of strategic planning begins in the military. According to Webster's New World Dictionary, strategy is "the science of planning and directing large-scale military operations, of maneuvering forces into the most advantageous position prior to actual engagement with the enemy" (Guralnic, 1986). Although our understanding of strategy and applying strategic planning in management has been transformed from a point of military maneuvering to one that aim’s to achieve and gives a structured framework to reach a competitive advantage. Taking its name and roots from the military model, early models of formal strategic planning "reflected the hierarchical values and linear systems of traditional organizations. Undertaken by planning functions at the top of the organization, its structure was highly vertical and time-bound. A certain period would be set aside to analyze the situation and decide on a course of action. This would result in a formal document. Once this was done, the actual work of implementation, which was considered a separate, discrete process - could begin" (Wall & Wall, 1995). Although individual definitions of strategy vary between each author, traditionally, theorists have considered planning an essential part of organizational strategy. â€Å"Strategic planning in organizations originated in the 1950s and was very popular and widespread between mid-1960s to mid-1970s, when people believed it was the answer for all problems, and corporate America was obsessed with strategic planning. Following that boom strategic planning had fallen off and was cast aside for over a decade. The 1990s brought the revival of strategic planning as a process with particular benefits in particular contexts† (Mintzberg, 1994). In Here is a brief account of several generations of strategic planning. â€Å" Analysis model dominated strategic planning of the 1950s. The 1960s brought qualitative and quantitative models of strategy. During the early 1980s, the shareholder value model and the Porter model became the standard. The rest of the 1980s was dictated by strategic intent and core competencies, and market-focused organizations. Finally, business transformation became a requirement in the 1990s† (Gouillart, 1995). Newer models of strategic planning were f... ...s, and action steps to address identified issues. However, having noted some of the benefits that strategic planning can produce, it is important to note that it is not a cure-all. Strategic planning is a time-consuming, labor-intensive process that is not for every organization. It is simply a tool that can be used to help a committed entity work toward becoming more effective. Strategic planning should never be considered an end in itself or a one-time deal. It is not simply a written document that details the activities and results of the planning process. It is also more than the process of analyzing, strategizing, implementing, and benchmarking. No planning process, strategic or otherwise, can succeed without the commitment of key stakeholders and organizational leaders. Strategic planning, to be truly effective, means organizational staff or community residents must think and act strategically each day. Through such daily strategic thinking and acting, "planning" and "process" can be transformed into indivi dual and collective strategic actions that enhance organizational value and effectiveness. This is what makes the strategic planning process valuable.

Bloodsucking Fiends: A Love Story Chapter 4~5

Chapter 4 Blooms and the City of Burned Clutches C. Thomas Flood (Tommy to his friends) was just reaching red-line in a wet dream, when he was awakened by the scurry and chatter of the five Wongs. Geishas in garters scampered off to dreamland, unsatisfied, leaving him staring at the slats of the bunk above. The room was little bigger than a walk-in closet. Bunks were stacked three high on either side of a narrow aisle where the five Wongs were competing for enough space to pull on their pants. Wong Two bent over Tommy's bunk, grinned apologetically, and said something in Cantonese. â€Å"No problem,† Tommy said. He rolled over on his side, careful not to scuff his morning erection on the wall, and pulled the blankets over his head. He thought, Privacy is a wonderful thing. Like love, privacy is most manifest in its absence. I should write a story about that – and work in lots of geisha girls in garters and red pumps. The Crowded Tea House of Almond-Eyed Tramps, by C. Thomas Flood. I'll write that today, after I rent a post-office box and look for a job. Or maybe I should just stay here today and see who's leaving the flowers†¦ Tommy had found fresh flowers on his bed for four days running and they were beginning to bother him. It wasn't the flowers themselves that bothered him: gladiolas, red roses, and two mixed bouquets with big pink ribbons. He sort of liked flowers, in a masculine and totally non-sissy way, of course. And it didn't bother him that he didn't own a vase, or a table to set it on. He'd just trotted down the hall to the communal bathroom, removed the lid of the toilet tank, and plopped the flowers in. The added color provided a pleasant counterpoint to the bathroom's filth – until rats ate the blossoms. But that didn't bother him either. What bothered him was that he had been in the City for less than a week and didn't know anyone. So who had sent the flowers? The five Wongs let loose with a barrage of bye-byes as they left the room. Wong Five pulled the door shut behind him. Tommy thought, I've got to speak to Wong One about the accommodations. Wong One wasn't one of the five Wongs with whom Tommy shared the room. Wong One was the landlord: older, wiser, and more sophisticated than Wongs Two through Six. Wong One spoke English, wore a threadbare suit thirty years out of style, and carried a cane with a brass dragon head. Tommy had met him on Columbus Avenue just after midnight, over the burning corpse of Rosinante, Tommy's 74 Volvo sedan. â€Å"I killed her,† Tommy said, watching black smoke roll out from under the hood. â€Å"Too bad,† Wong One said sympathetically, before continuing on his way. â€Å"Excuse me,† Tommy called after Wong. Tommy had just arrived from Indiana and had never been to a large city, so he did not recognize that Wong One had already stepped over the accepted metropolitan limit of involvement with a stranger. Wong turned and leaned on his dragon-headed cane. â€Å"Excuse me,† Tommy repeated, â€Å"but I'm new in town – would you know where I can find a place to stay around here?† Wong raised an eyebrow. â€Å"You have money?† â€Å"A little.† Wong looked at Tommy, standing there next to his burning car with a suitcase and a typewriter case. He looked at Tommy's open, hopeful smile, his thin face and mop of dark hair, and the English word  «victim » rose in his mind in twenty-point type – part of an item on page 3 of The Chronicle: â€Å"Victim Found in Tenderloin, Beaten to Death With Typewriter.† Wong sighed heavily. He liked reading The Chronicle each day, and he didn't want to skip page 3 until the tragedy had passed. â€Å"You come with me,† he said. Wong walked up Columbus into Chinatown. Tommy stumbled along behind, looking over his shoulder from time to time at the burning Volvo. â€Å"I really liked that car. I got five speeding tickets in that car. They're still in it.† â€Å"Too bad.† Wong stopped at a battered metal door between a grocery store and a fish market. â€Å"You have fifty bucks?† Tommy nodded and dug into the pocket of his jeans. â€Å"Fifty bucks, one week,† Wong said. â€Å"Two hundred fifty, one month.† â€Å"One week will be fine,† Tommy said, peeling two twenties and a ten off a thinning roll of bills. Wong opened the door and started up a narrow unlit staircase. Tommy bumped up the stairs behind him, nearly falling a couple of times. â€Å"My name is C. Thomas Flood. Well, actually that's the name I write under. People call me Tommy.† â€Å"Good,† Wong said. â€Å"And you are?† Tommy stopped at the top of the stairs and offered his hand to shake. Wong looked at Tommy's hand. â€Å"Wong,† he said. Tommy bowed. Wong watched him, wondering what in the hell he was doing. Fifty bucks is fifty bucks, he thought. â€Å"Bathroom down hall,† Wong said, throwing open a door and throwing a light switch. Five sleepy Chinese men looked up from their bunks. â€Å"Tommy,† Wong said, pointing to Tommy. â€Å"Tommy,† the Chinese men repeated in unison. â€Å"This Wong,† Wong said, pointing to the man on the bottom left bunk. Tommy nodded. â€Å"Wong.† â€Å"This Wong. That Wong. Wong. Wong. Wong,† Wong said, ticking off each man as if he were flipping beads on an abacus, which, mentally, he was: fifty bucks, fifty bucks, fifty bucks. He pointed to the empty bunk on the bottom right. â€Å"You sleep there. Bye-bye.† â€Å"Bye-bye,† said the five Wongs. Tommy said, â€Å"Excuse me, Mr. Wong†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Wong turned. â€Å"When is rent due? I'm going job hunting tomorrow, but I don't have a lot of cash.† â€Å"Tuesday and Sunday,† Wong said. â€Å"Fifty bucks.† â€Å"But you said it was fifty dollars a week.† â€Å"Two fifty a month or fifty a week, due Tuesday and Sunday.† Wong walked away. Tommy stashed his duffel bag and typewriter under the bunk and crawled in. Before he could work up a good worry about his burning car, he was asleep. He had pushed the Volvo straight through from Incontinence, Indiana, to San Francisco, stopping only for fuel and bathroom breaks. He had watched the sun rise and set three times from behind the wheel – exhaustion finally caught him at the coast. Tommy was descended from two generations of line workers at the Incontinence Forklift Company. When he announced at fourteen that he was going to be a writer, his father, Thomas Flood, Sr., accepted the news with the tolerant incredulity a parent usually reserved for monsters under the bed and imaginary friends. When Tommy took a job in a grocery store instead of the factory, his father breathed a small sigh of relief – at least it was a union shop, the boy would have benefits and retirement. It was only when Tommy bought the old Volvo, and rumors that he was a budding Communist began circulating through town, that Tom senior began to worry. Father Flood's paternal angst continued to grow with each night that he spent listening to his only son tapping the nights away on the Olivetti portable, until one Wednesday night he tied one on at the Starlight Lanes and spilled his guts to his bowling buddies. â€Å"I found a copy of The New Yorker under the boy's mattress,† he slurred through a five-pitcher Budweiser haze. â€Å"I've got to face it; my son's a pansy.† The rest of the Bill's Radiator Bowling Team members bowed their heads in sympathy, all secretly thanking God that the bullet had hit the next soldier in line and that their sons were all safely obsessed with small block Chevys and big tits. Harley Businsky, who had recently been promoted to minor godhood by bowling a three hundred, threw a bearlike arm around Tom's shoulders. â€Å"Maybe he's just a little mixed up,† Harley offered. â€Å"Let's go talk to the boy.† When two triple-extra-large, electric-blue, embroidered bowling shirts burst into his room, full of two triple-extra-large, beer-oiled bowlers, Tommy went over backward in his chair. â€Å"Hi, Dad,† Tommy said from the floor. â€Å"Son, we need to talk.† Over the next half hour the two men ran Tommy through the fatherly version of good-cop-bad-cop, or perhaps Joe McCarthy versus Santa Claus. Their interrogation determined that: Yes, Tommy did like girls and cars. No, he was not, nor had he ever been, a member of the Communist party. And yes, he was going to pursue a career as a writer, regardless of the lack of AFL?CCIO affiliation. Tommy tried to plead the case for a life in letters, but found his arguments ineffective (due in no small part to the fact that both his inquisitors thought that Hamlet was a small pork portion served with eggs). He was breaking a sweat and beginning to accept defeat when he fired a desperation shot. â€Å"You know, somebody wrote Rambo?† Thomas Flood, Sr., and Harley Businsky exchanged a look of horrified realization. They were rocked, shaken, crumbling. Tommy pushed on. â€Å"And Patton – someone wrote Patton.† Tommy waited. The two men sat next to each other on his single bed, coughing and fidgeting and trying not to make eye contact with the boy. Everywhere they looked there were quotes carefully written in magic marker tacked on the walls; there were books, pens, and typing paper; there were poster-sized photos of authors. Ernest Hemingway stared down at them with a gleaming gaze that seemed to say, â€Å"You fuckers should have gone fishing.† Finally Harley said, â€Å"Well, if you're going to be a writer, you can't stay here.† â€Å"Pardon?† Tommy said. â€Å"You got to go to a city and starve. I don't know a Kafka from a nuance, but I know that if you're going to be a writer, you got to starve. You won't be any damn good if you don't starve.† â€Å"I don't know, Harley,† Tom Senior said, not sure that he liked the idea of his skinny son starving. â€Å"Who bowled a three hundred last Wednesday, Tom?† â€Å"You did.† â€Å"And I say the boy's got to go to the city and starve.† Tom Flood looked at Tommy as if the boy were standing on the trapdoor of the gallows. â€Å"You sure about this writer thing, son?† Tommy nodded. â€Å"Can I make you a sandwich?† If not for a particularly seedy television docudrama about the bombing of the World Trade Center, Tommy might, indeed, have starved in New York, but Tom senior was not going to allow his son to be â€Å"blowed up by a bunch of towel-headed terrorists.† And Tommy might have starved in Paris, if a cursory inspection of the Volvo had not revealed that it would not survive the dampness of the drive. So he ended up in San Francisco, and although he could use some breakfast, he was more worried about flowers than about food. He thought, I should just stick around and see who's leaving the flowers. Catch them in the act. But he had been unemployed for more than a week, and his midwestern work ethic forced him out of his bunk. He wore his sneakers in the shower so his feet wouldn't have to come in contact with the floor, then dressed in his best shirt and job-hunting jeans, grabbed a notebook, and sloshed down the steps into Chinatown. The sidewalk was awash with Asians – men and women moving doggedly past open markets selling live fish, barbecued meat, and thousands of vegetables that Tommy could put no name to. He passed one market where live snapping turtles, two feet across, were struggling to get out of plastic milk crates. In the next window, trays of duck feet and bills were arranged around smoked pig heads, while whole naked pheasants hung ripening above. The air was heavy with the smells of pressed humanity, soy sauce, sesame oil, licorice, and car exhaust – always car exhaust. Tommy walked up Grant and crossed Broadway into North Beach, where the crush of people thinned out and the smells changed to a miasma of baking bread, garlic, oregano, and more exhaust. No matter where he went in the City, there was an odoriferous mix of food and vehicles, like the alchemic concoctions of some mad gourmet mechanic: Kung Pao Saab Turbo, Buick Skylark Carbonara, Sweet-and-Sour Metro Bus, Honda Bolognese with Burning Clutch Sauce. Tommy was startled out of his olfactory reverie by a screeching war whoop. He looked up to see a Rollerblader in fluorescent pads and helmet closing on him at breakneck speed. An old man, who was sitting on the sidewalk ahead feeding croissants to his two dogs, looked up momentarily and threw a croissant across the sidewalk. The dogs shot after the treat, pulling their cotton-rope leashes tight. Tommy cringed. The Rollerblader hit the rope and went airborne, describing a ten-foot arc in the air before crashing in a violent tangle of padded limbs and wheels at Tommy's feet. â€Å"Are you okay?† Tommy offered a hand to the skater, who waved it away. â€Å"I'm fine.† Blood was dripping from a scrape on his chin, his Day-Glo wraparound sunglasses were twisted on his face. â€Å"Perhaps you should slow down on the sidewalks,† the old man called. The skater sat up and turned to the old man. â€Å"Oh, Your Majesty, I didn't know. I'm sorry.† â€Å"Safety first, son,† the old man said with a smile. â€Å"Yes, sir,† the skater said. â€Å"I'll be more careful.† He climbed to his feet and nodded to Tommy. â€Å"Sorry.† He straightened his shades and skated slowly away. Tommy stood staring at the old man, who had resumed feeding his dogs. â€Å"Your Majesty?† â€Å"Or Your Imperial Highness,† the Emperor said. â€Å"You're new to the City.† â€Å"Yes, but†¦Ã¢â‚¬  A young woman in fishnet stockings and red satin hot pants, who was swinging by, paused by the Emperor and bowed slightly. â€Å"Morning, Highness,† she said. â€Å"Safety first, my child,† the Emperor said. She smiled and walked on. Tommy watched her until she turned the corner, then turned back to the old man. â€Å"Welcome to my city,† the Emperor said. â€Å"How are you doing so far?† â€Å"I'm†¦ I'm†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Tommy was confused. â€Å"Who are you?† â€Å"Emperor of San Francisco, Protector of Mexico, at your service. Croissant?† The Emperor held open a white paper bag to Tommy, who shook his head. â€Å"This impetuous fellow,† the Emperor said, pointing to his Boston terrier, â€Å"is Bummer. A bit of a rascal, he, but the best bug-eyed rat dog in the City.† The little dog growled. â€Å"And this,† the Emperor continued, â€Å"is Lazarus, found dead on Geary Street after an unfortunate encounter with a French tour bus and snatched back from the brink by the mystical curative scent of a slightly used beef jerky.† The golden retriever offered his paw. Feeling stupid, Tommy took it and shook. â€Å"Pleased to meet you.† â€Å"And you are?† the Emperor asked. â€Å"C. Thomas Flood.† â€Å"And the ‘C' stands for?† â€Å"Well, it doesn't really stand for anything. I'm a writer. I just added the ‘C' to my pen name.† â€Å"And a fine affectation it is.† The Emperor paused to gnaw the end of a croissant. â€Å"So, C, how is the City treating you so far?† Tommy thought that he might have just been insulted, but he found he was enjoying talking to the old man. He hadn't had a conversation of more than a few words since he arrived in the City. â€Å"I like the City, but I'm having some problems.† He told the Emperor about the destruction of his car, about his subsequent meeting of Wong One, of his cramped, filthy quarters, and ended his story with the mystery of the flowers on his bed. The Emperor sighed sympathetically and scratched his scruffy graying beard. â€Å"I'm afraid that I am unable to assist you with your accommodation problem; the men and I are fortunate enough to count the entire City as our home. But I may have a lead on a job for you, and perhaps a clue to the conundrum of the flowers.† The Emperor paused and motioned for Tommy to move closer. Tommy crouched down and cocked an ear to the Emperor. â€Å"Yes?† â€Å"I've seen him,† the Emperor whispered. â€Å"It's a vampire.† Tommy recoiled as if he'd been spit on. â€Å"A vampire florist?† â€Å"Well, once you accept the vampire part, the florist part is a pretty easy leap, don't you think?† Chapter 5 Undead and Somewhat Slightly Dazed French people were fucking in the room next door; Jody could hear every groan, giggle, and bed spring squeak. In the room above, a television spewed game-show prattle: â€Å"I'll take Bestiality for five hundred, Alex.† Jody pulled a pillow over her head. It wasn't exactly like waking up. There was no slow skate from dreamland to reality, no pleasant dawning of consciousness in the cozy twilight of sleepiness. No, it was as if someone had just switched on the world, full volume, like a clock radio playing reality's top forty irritating hits. â€Å"Criminal Presidents for a hundred, Alex.† Jody flipped onto her back and stared at the ceiling. I always thought that sex and game shows ended at death, she thought. They always say â€Å"Rest in peace,† don't they? â€Å"Vas – y plus fort, mon petit cochon d'amour!†* * â€Å"Do it harder, my little love pig!† She wanted to complain to someone, anyone. She hated waking up alone – and going to sleep alone, for that matter. She had lived with ten different men in five years. Serial monogamy. It was a problem she had been getting around to working on before she died. She crawled out of bed and opened the rubber-lined motel draperies. Light from streetlights and neon signs filled the room. Now what? Normally she would go to the bathroom. But she didn't feel the need to. I haven't peed in two days. I may never pee again. She went into the bathroom and sat on the stool to test her theory. Nothing. She unwrapped one of the plastic glasses, filled it with water and gulped it down. Her stomach lurched and she vomited the water in a stream against the mirror. Okay, no water. A shower? Change clothes and go out on the town? To do what? Hunt? She recoiled at the thought. Am I going to have to kill people? Oh my God, Kurt. What if he changes? What if he already has? She dressed quickly in her clothes from the night before, grabbed her flight bag and the room key and left the room. She waved to the night clerk as she passed the motel office and he winked and waved back. A hundred bucks had made them friends. She walked around the corner and up Chestnut, resisting the urge to break into a run. Outside her building she paused and focused on the apartment window. The lights were on, and with concentration she could hear Kurt talking on the phone. â€Å"Yeah, the crazy bitch knocked me out with a potted plant. No, threw it at me. I was two hours late for work. I don't know, she said something about being attacked. She hasn't been to work for a couple of days. No, she doesn't have a key; I had to buzz her in†¦Ã¢â‚¬  So I didn't kill him. He didn't change or he wouldn't have been able to go to work at all in the daylight. He sounds fine. Pissed, but fine. I wonder if I just apologize and explain what happened†¦ â€Å"No,† Kurt said into the phone. â€Å"I took her name off the mailbox. I don't really care, she didn't fit the image I'm trying to build anyway. I was thinking about asking out Susan Badistone: Stanford, family money, Republican. I know, but that's why God made implants†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Jody turned and walked back to the motel. She stopped in the office and paid the clerk for two more days, then went to her room, sat down on the bed and tried to cry. No tears would come. In another time she would have called a girlfriend and spent the evening on the phone being comforted. She would have eaten a half gallon of ice cream and stayed up all night thinking about what she was going to do with her life. In the morning she would have called in sick to work, then called her mother in Carmel to borrow enough money for a deposit on a new apartment. But that was another time, when she had still been a person. The little confidence that she had felt the night before was gone. Now she was just confused and afraid. She tried to remember everything she had ever seen or heard about vampires. It wasn't much. She didn't like scary books or movies. Much of what she could remember didn't seem true. She didn't have to sleep in a coffin, that was obvious. But it was also obvious that she couldn't go out in the daylight. She didn't have to kill every night, and if she did bite someone, he or she didn't necessarily have to turn into a vampire – an asshole, maybe, but not a vampire. But then again, Kurt had been an asshole before, so how could you tell? Why had she turned? She was going to have to get to a library. She thought, I've got to get my car back. And I need a new apartment. It's just a matter of time before a maid comes in during the day and burns me to a crisp. I need someone who can move around during the day. I need a friend. She had lost her address book with her purse, but it didn't really matter. All of her friends were currently in relationships, and although any of them would offer sympathy about her breakup with Kurt, they were too self-involved to be of any real help. She and her friends were only close when they were single. I need a man. The thought depressed her. Why does it always come to that? I'm a modern woman. I can open jars and kill spiders on my own. I can balance a checkbook and check the oil in my car. I can support myself. Then again, maybe not. How am I going to support myself? She threw her flight bag on the bed and pulled out the white bakery bag full of money and emptied it on the bed. She counted the bills in one stack, then counted the stacks. There were thirty-five stacks of twenty one-hundred dollar bills. Minus the five hundred she had spent on the hotel: almost seventy thousand dollars. She felt a sudden and deep-seated urge to go shopping. Whoever had attacked her had known she would need money. It hadn't been an accident that she had turned. And it probably hadn't been an accident that he had left her hand in the sunlight to burn. How else would she have known to go to ground before sunup? But if he wanted to help her, wanted her to survive, why didn't he just tell her what she was supposed to do? She gathered up the money and was stuffing it back in the flight bag when the phone rang. She looked at it, watched the orange light strobing in rhythm to the bell. No one knew where she was. It must be the front desk. After four rings she picked up. Before she could say hello, a gravelly calm male voice said, â€Å"By the way, you're not immortal. You can still be killed.† There was a click and Jody hung up the phone. He said, be killed, not you can still die. Be killed. She grabbed her bag and ran out into the night.

Health Risks of Tobacco Use Today Essay - 1238 Words

Tobacco Use Tobacco is a tall plant with wide leaves. The leaves are dried out and grinded up into little shreds and rolled up in paper making cigarettes. However, while cigarette companies are creating their product, they add many harmful chemicals, which are generally called tar, and toxic gases are added as well. Cigarettes are highly addictive because of a natural chemical in tobacco called nicotine. Though tobacco is harmful, you have to be 18 years old to purchase them from a store. In the past 10 years, there has been more tobacco laws created. Now, nobody can smoke inside any business, there’s a no tobacco policy at all school systems, and if you’re caught smoking underage, there could be some consequences with the police. Even†¦show more content†¦In Florida, a study by the Bureau of Economic and Business Research at the University of Florida found that the statewide smokefree law, which took effect July 1, 2003, has not hurt sales or employment in the hotel, rest aurant and tourism industries.† (Chastain) More and more health risks caused by tobacco are being discovered every day. Some risks are that you can get blood clots and aneurysms in the brain, blood clots in the legs, coronary artery disease, high blood pressure, poor blood supply to the legs, decreased ability to taste and smell, harm to sperm, loss of sight due to an increased risk of macular degeneration, tooth and gum diseases, wrinkling of the skin, and many more. (Zieve) A lot of people stop smoking, but go to the most popular alternative; smokeless tobacco. The people who switch from cigarettes to smokeless tobacco actually have more risks than just continuing to smoke. They have increased risk of mouth cancer, gum problems, tooth wear, cavities, and worsening high blood pressure. Individuals who smoke, assume smokeless tobacco is safer than cigarettes due to the fact nothing is being inhaled through their lungs, however smokeless tobacco, often known as dip, has fiberglass in the tiny pieces. While smoking, you’re damaging your lungs, while ‘dipping,’ you’re damaging your mouth. Almost every school system in the United States do not allow tobacco products on school premises. If aShow MoreRelatedThe Dangers Of Tobacco And Smoking1584 Words   |  7 Pagesupsides to smoking are never discussed. Tobacco and smoking were not always used how they are today. Back around 600 to 900 A.D. many cultures grew tobacco and Native Americans would smoke and use it within religious ceremonies and for medical uses (History of Tobacco). Toward the middle of the 1800’s American’s started to smoke tobacco occasionally either from a pipe or a cigarette; not like people smoke today was very occasional stated in the History of Tobacco. The first main stream production ofRead MoreEssay about Electronic Cigarette Legalization Analysis982 Words   |  4 Pagesobvious health benefits the long term health effects of â€Å"smoking† electronic cigarettes are still unknown to researchers today. Electronic Cigarettes are the answer to a safer method of consuming nicotine despite its more popular tobacco products. Even though the effects of consuming large amounts of nicotine in a persons’ system is unknown, the unbanning of electronic cigarettes in Los Angeles decrease the h arm second-hand smoke causes as well as the health risks associated with toxic tobacco productsRead MoreSmoking Tobacco Is The Leading Cause Of Death Worldwide880 Words   |  4 Pagesarteries. People that smoke are often at a greater risk of having heart related and respiratory issues than nonsmokers. Tobacco products such as, snuff and chewing tobacco also contribute to similar health issues and risk. The idea of banning smoking and tobacco products is great because it could prevent millions of deaths yearly. There are many different negative side effects that come along with the use and smoking of tobacco. Smoking tobacco is often referred to as a â€Å"slow death†, becauseRead MoreTobacco Industry : Make Tobacco Products Illegal1009 Words   |  5 Pages Make Tobacco Products Illegal Ellen Gossett Trevecca Nazarene University Abstract It can be argued that tobacco products are one of the deadliest legal drugs in the history of mankind. Most of the countries around the world are making progress to ban the sale of tobacco products and reduce smoking. Over the years, there has been a steady decline in global tobacco use; however, their needs to be steeper taxation on tobacco products, bans on smoking advertisements, incentives towards reducedRead MoreTobacco s Burden Of Disease Essay979 Words   |  4 Pagesâ€Å"burden of disease† Tobacco use is widespread and has a heavy â€Å"burden of disease†. According to the U.S. department of Health and Human Services [HHS], tobacco use is related to over 443,000 Americans death each year and has caused approximately 8,860,000 related illnesses (2016). Thus causing it to have a higher mortality rate than â€Å"HIV, illegal drug use, motor vehicle injuries, suicides, and murders combined. Tobacco use is thus one of the Nation’s deadliest and most costly public health challenges† (HHSRead MoreTobacco Products And Its Effects On The United States876 Words   |  4 PagesThey can be found in almost any store, right behind the register after a grocery list has been completed. Tobacco companies are multi-billion dollar industries that thrive on the addiction of its consumers. The United States government should take control of tobacco companies and ban the marketing, production, and sales of tobacco. This is because health issues contributed to the use o f tobacco products are overwhelmingly high; they’re very addictive; the effects of second-hand smoke are as harmfulRead MoreThe Health Behavior Of Tobacco Use Among Adolescents1656 Words   |  7 PagesTobacco Use Among Adolescents Karah Brasher National University Abstract This paper addresses the health behavior of tobacco use among adolescents. There are many risk factors that contribute to this health behavior, as well as risk factors that contribute to the morbidity and mortality of tobacco use among adolescents. Tobacco Use Among Adolescents Over the last decade of two there has been a huge push to end the use of tobacco products such as cigarettes and chewing tobacco. These tobacco productsRead MoreTobacco Substance And Its Effects893 Words   |  4 Pagesoil like liquid that is colorless or yellowish, it is the active component of tobacco. This chemical acts as a stimulant when given in a small portion, but in larger amounts blocks the activity of autonomic and skeletal muscle cells. Nicotine has stimulant and calming effects. Tobacco substance is also a legal product that is used remarkable by a number of people. Nicotine is a chemical that is produced inside of a tobacco leaf, it is also known as Nicotiana Tabacum, which was native to South AmericaRead MoreWhy You Should Quit Smoking Essay1150 Words   |  5 PagesTopic: Smoking in Society Goal: I want to persuade my audience that smoking is a health risk to all of society and that smokers should be encouraged to quit. Thesis: It is imperative for smokers to quit, benefiting society as a whole a well as themselves. Introduction Attention Material: I am from a family where both of my parents dont smoke. There is although a person of my circle who smokes a lot everyday and that is my unlce. All my life I can remember him smoking and trying to quitRead MoreTobacco Companies And Responsibility Of Tobacco1446 Words   |  6 Pages Tobacco Companies and Responsibility Tobacco companies should be held responsible for any smoking related illness or death. The use of tobacco is the leading preventable cause of disability, disease, and death in the U.S. About 1 in every 5 deaths in the United States is tobacco related and an additional 16 million people are currently suffering with a serious illness or disease due to smoking. For every one person who dies from smoking, about 30 others suffer from at least one serious tobacco related