Fireworks are exciting, but also hard to control. The Chinese artist Cai Guoqiang, though, has developed a way to harness the visual and physical power of fireworks to make art He recently used them to create a burning sculpture that stretched high into the sky. Guoqiang fittingly named the work Sky Ladder.

    Guoqiang built Sky Ladder by making a frame out of metal. He coated the frame with gunpowder, the main chemical material in fireworks.

    The artist tried one end of the frame to the ground and attached a large weather balloon to the other end. The balloon was filled with helium — a gas that is lighter than air. When released, the balloon floated upward, pulling the top of the ladder 500 meters into the sky. That's higher than the top of the Empire State Building.

    Guoqiang set fire to the bottom of the ladder, and the crackling（啪啪作响） flames raced skyward up the frame. The sculpture burned for two-and-a-half minutes before its flames began to die out from the bottom up.

    Dealing with explosive (炸药）is challenging, and conditions had to be perfect for Guoqiang to achieve his desired effect. He first attempted Sky Ladder in 1994, but bad weather prevented him from successfully completing the work. Guoqiang put Sky Ladder aside so that he could work on other projects, perhaps most famously the fireworks display that opened the 2008 Beijing Olympic Games.

    Finally, after two more failed attempts, Guoqiang successfully sent his flaming ladder skyward last year. He presented Sky Ladder in his hometown, a quiet fishing village near Huiyu Island, Quanzhou. He offered the work as a gift to his 100-year-old grandmother, other family members, his friends and his town.

    “Behind Sky Ladder lies a clear childhood dream of mine, "Guoqiang explains. “Despite all life's twists and turns, I have always been determined to realize it. The ladder rose toward the morning sun, carrying hope. For me, this not only means a return, but also the start of a new journey."

    "Mom, what is that?" asked my son. "The Bride of Chucky?"

    The old doll I was holding was pretty scary. Her glass eyes were especially horrible, closing when she stood upright and flying open when she lay flat. Once she had been loved, but she had been stored in an attic (阁楼) for decades, where the extremes of heat and cold can be hard on a girl's looks. Throw her in the waste bin? Maybe. But first, let's check eBay.

    I clicked, supplied the required information about condition, including defects (i.e., "Only a miracle could save this doll"), and uploaded its photos. I sold it for $5.

    The buyer was happy: "As described!" he wrote on my feedback page. "Super seller!" The doll found a home and, I hope, a new life. Maybe she was used to repair other dolls. Perhaps those strange eyes got fixed and once again can inspire a child's love. It's a win-win, if you ask me.

    I also sold lots of other stuff. None of them brought in a lot of money, though I have been surprised at the occasional bidding war, like, for example, the one over an old swimsuit that would have made Brigitte Bardot look bad. And some customers, let's face it, are strange. Recently I had a hard time convincing an Australian would-be buyer of an Irish souvenir bell that I don't shop internationally; it's just too much trouble. He could have flown to Ireland and bought his own bell for the price he was willing to pay. Another time, a buyer complained that the electric wire on an old radio was dirty. Really? Dirty? The wire was black. But I aim to please, so I offered a refund.

    So why bother with the dealing and small profits? Because I don't like abandoning the past. All these treasures once had stories. They meant something. But the people who gave them that meaning are gone, and I simply cannot rescue everything. I can't even sew. So I find it satisfying that a new owner, discovered via eBay, will continue the story in his or her own way.

    When I got home after dropping out of college in my junior year because of depression, I didn't want to get out of bed. But my parents wanted me to, so I just transferred myself to the couch in the living room. Sometimes I would turn on the TV and watch marathons of Chopped, but mostly I just sat there, lost in thought.

    One day when I was lying on the couch, not knowing what to do, I wondered since I had been out of school for a long time, I might as well do something productive with my life. I looked at my options. I could attend some kind of online college class, go to in-person events just to get out of the house, or take up a hobby. But none of these things made me happy, and my depression seemed to keep me drowning under the waves.

    There was something that was my thing—entrepreneurship. No matter what kind of day I'm having now, the mere mention of start-ups still perks me up. I have been starting business in some kinds of forms ever since I was a kid, and despite everything, this passion has never changed.

    So I started thinking of ideas, seeing which one could become practical business. I spent my days glued to a wide purple notebook, a pen in hand, sometimes moving from the couch to the table on our back porch in the mornings. If I got up early enough, I'd watch the sun come up. It was there, in the still mornings, that I learned about life and started to look back on mine.

    With time going on, the depression started to lift. I was making more progress in my recovery, and the good days were more frequent than the bad. I started a couple of different businesses, eventually settling on a web design business, and did a lot of experiments and changed my ideas, and after a while, things started to work.

    My college experience included this life-skill lesson: Drink alcohol on a full stomach. Or you will get inebriated too quickly. Of course, most college students shouldn't be drinking at all, but we know from the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism that close to 60 percent of college students aged 18 to 22 do consume alcohol, which makes harm-reducing approaches important.

    Unfortunately, campus authorities and researchers are reporting a practice that turns the full-stomach drinking strategy on its head: rather than filling up before a night of partying, significant numbers of students refuse to eat all day before consuming alcohol.

    This is a high-risk behavior called "drunkorexia," which is one part eating disorder, one part alcoholism—a very dangerous combination for college-age students. The term drunkorexia, which can also include excessive exercise or purging before consuming alcohol, was coined about 10 years ago, and it started showing up in medical research around 2012. Drunkorexia addresses the need to be the life of the party while staying extremely thin, pointing to a flawed mind-set about body image and alcoholism among college students, mostly women.

    Imagine this scenario: A female college freshman doesn't eat anything all day, exercises on an empty stomach, then downs five shots of tequila in less than two hours. Because there's no food in her system to help slow the absorption of alcohol, those shots affect her rapidly, leading to inebriation and possibly passing out, vomiting or suffering alcohol poisoning. That's drunkorexia.

    Tavis Glassman, professor of health education and public health at the University of Toledo in Ohio, researches drunkorexia and worries about scenarios such as the one described above: "With nothing in her system, alcohol hits quickly, and that brings up the same issues as with any high-risk drinking: getting home safely, sexual assault, unintentional injury, fights, hangovers that affect class attendance and grades, and possibly ending up in emergency because the alcohol hits so hard," he says.

    "Alcohol can negatively affect the liver or gastrointestinal system, it can interfere with sleep, lower the immune system and is linked to several types of cancers," Hultin says.

    One day after school, Bill walked past the shop on the street corner as usual. He stopped to look at the front row of shoes, and he felt sorry for himself.

    He really wanted to have a new pair for his birthday. He sadly walked away and

    thought of how to tell his mother. He knew she would give him anything if she could. But he also knew she had little money. He decided not to go home at once, because he looked worried and he didn't want his mother to worry about him. So he went to the park and sat on the grass. Then he saw a girl in a wheelchair. He found that the girl moved the wheels with her hands. Bill looked at her carefully and was surprised to see that the girl had no feet.

    He looked down at his own feet. "It was much better to be without shoes than without feet," he thought. It was not right for him to feel so sorry and sad. He went away and smiled, thinking he was luckier in life.

    My teacher held up a piece of broken glass and asked, "Who broke this window?"

    Thirty boys tried to think about not only what they had done, but also what our teacher may have found out. She seldom became angry, but she was this time.

    "Oh," I thought. I was the one who broke the window. It was caused by a naughty throw of a baseball. If I admitted guilt, I would be in a lot of trouble. How would I be able to pay for a big window like that? I didn't even get an allowance. "My father is going to have a fit." I thought. I didn't want to raise my hand, but some force much stronger than I was pulled it skyward. I told the truth. "I did it." It was hard enough to say what I had.

    My teacher took down a book from one of our library shelves and I had never known my teacher to strike a student, but I feared she was going to start with me.

    "I know how you like bird," she said as she stood looking down at my guilt-ridden face. "Here is that field guide about birds that you are constantly checking out. It is yours now. It's time we got a new one for the school anyway. You will not be punished as long as you remember that I am not rewarding you for your misdeed, I am rewarding you for your truthfulness."

I couldn't believe it! I wasn't being punished and I was getting my own bird field guide—the very one that I had been saving up money to buy.

    All that remains of that day is my memory and the lesson my teacher taught me. That lesson stays with me every day, and it will echo forever.