The Author Of This Blog Has Been Working On This Piece For Some Time And It Is Still Not Nearly Complete | Exploring Markets

The Author Of This Blog Has Been Working On This Piece For Some Time And It Is Still Not Nearly Complete

i used to triple jump, and i remember the first day a girl beat my mark -- boy, what a feeling -- and the next day when a freshman beat my mark -- imagine that. i played a lot of basketball growing up -- camps, clinics, youth leagues -- and i could never figure out why my years of dedication to basketball did not carry onto the track.


towards the end of my career, during my last event ever, i was paired to jump against a Northern California kid from the boones. From way up north. he was tiny, stocky, and had dark blue dyed hair. i did not doubt for a second that this would be a battle between two forces who jumped like 14 year-olds in middle school. “We will make each other look good, each jumping low marks,” i thought. "35 feet! 36 feet! 36 feet 2 inches!"... and back and forth we would go. Such fierce competition, but such low marks, and the crowd would think we were jumping up hill, or on some ultra high resistance track. brilliant.


On an overcast day, the kid with the dyed blue hair jumped two personal records. First in the low 40s, and then in the mid 40s. I jumped like a 14 year old in middle school. i walked over to my coach, shoulders sunk, and paces shortened.


under the blue mosque in turkey, my friend nick and i sat. muslim men dumped their head in a fountain and cleaned their hair. nick and i sat in silence for some 15 minutes watching. then, out of complete spontaneity i began to sing a song by an artist with a title that i cannot remember to this day. I do know it goes like this, “all around me are familiar faces, worn out places,” and the singer plays a solemn piano chord on loop and that is it. it's sort of a sad one, and i say now neither nick nor I are even half-decent singers. but shit, i was crushed with each note. Nick started to clap his hands, i kept singing the chorus, the Muslim men washed themselves.

In Vienna, i walked by a wiener schnitzel hut and it all fell into place. On one side of the street was a wiener schnitzel cart and on the other side was the OPEC headquarters. the juxtaposition was dizzying. the institutions of two different worlds. the night before max and i had polished off two schnitzels under a flickering street light. i had no idea that OPEC, that entire night, was nearby. power, money, oil, and... wiener schnitzels. “fucking opec. fucking wiener schnitzels.”

cutting through the traffic on steamy day in egypt the human condition shined bright. Bikes, trucks, goats, scooters, carts, people, cars, and somehow, it worked. somehow, it survived. from point A to point B was the goal; enter into the choatic system. ugly? pretty? people got around.


In Vienna, i walked by a wiener schnitzel hut and it all fell into place. On one side of the street was this wiener schnitzel cart and on the other side was the OPEC headquarters. the juxtaposition was dizzying. the institutions, i thought. power, money, oil, and... wiener schnitzels. i bit into a wiener schnitzel and smiled. “fucking opec. fucking wiener schnitzels.”


cutting through the traffic on steamy day in egypt the human condition shined bright. Bikes, trucks, goats, scooters, carts, people, cars, and somehow, it worked. somehow, it survived. from point A to point B was the goal; enter into the choatic system. ugly? pretty? people got around.


cutting through the traffic on steamy day in egypt the human condition shined bright. Bikes, trucks, goats, scooters, carts, people, cars, and somehow, it worked. somehow, it survived. from point A to point B was the goal; enter into the choatic system. ugly? pretty? people got around.


in a counselor's office, we talked about a career. about money, and the stages after graduation. "One word: Plastics." she couldn’t stress enough how important a resume was for finding a job. it had be clean, clear, and impressive. "let it shine!" "look polished!" "be the best you can be on paper!" "list your school, list your experience,  list your clubs, list your hobbies!"  


In Itacha, we bought a mini Heiniken keg, proud of our legal age. We couldn’t get the top of the keg off, and no one wanted to read the instructions. they were in Greek, for pete's sake! I cracked the tap off with my hands. What came was 10 pounds of beer, spraying 7 feet in the air, lighting up our room like the 4th of July. I had never something so disappointing, yet so beautiful. The spent money, the golden beer, the smell, the newfound “legal” age; all of it, littering itself over a hotel room’s ceiling and carpet.


in a cafe outside of the Egyptian national museum; bustling and tussling, sun and sand, sweat and exhaustion. The tour guy guide was an Egyptian guy with a really close buzz cut and deep dark glasses. He chained smoked cigarettes. Each one lit under his mustache. the whole scene wasn’t very pretty. in the middle of a conversation between him and coach, they talked about Mubarak. Cigarette under mustache, he called him a dictator. frazzled. education taught Hitler and Stalin with the word, “dictator.” What country was I in?  

When I was asked to go on the trip, I was lucky. The group had already gone through about a month or so worth of meetings. according to my understanding, max ran a savvy political campaign to vote me on. he orchestrated several votes, made a political pact with nick, and by the next meeting, i was in. I had no place being at that meeting that night. My triple jump was weak, and my grades the worst in the group. How would I last? The kid with the dyed blue hair, i thought.  

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