SB(n)F gambled on a trial and his parents lost.
“Sam Bankman-Fried loved risk, and he loved to gamble. He knew that if he went to trial, there was a chance, however small, that he might walk away a free man. Pleading guilty meant guaranteed punishment, and probably prison time. And so he chose to gamble, not only with his own life, but with his parents’. . . . There is a reason most people won’t flip that coin: they aren’t selfish enough to gamble with other people’s lives.”
Sometimes you get an amazing student from Ethiopia by way of Turkey. Who says he’s never been asked to be introspective or write personal essays about existential questions. A student who explains that where he comes from people are preoccupied with food, shelter, and clothing. That there’s no context or momentum for what I’m asking.
Maslow and all.
He’s quiet in class. As in silent.
But, as it turns out, he’s listening closely and reading with an open mind. And oh, what a mind. As a result, he takes to being introspective like a duck to water.
And so he writes personally and beautifully about his family’s struggles and his own in a way that belies his youth. And starts to think that maybe he can help Ethiopians, and others in developing countries, start thinking about existential questions in ways that will benefit them.
A computer science major with serious math chops, he asks to talk after class.
“How can I improve?” I tell him, “Keep doing exactly what you’re doing—reading our texts closely, being introspective, and writing honestly about what you’ve overcome.” And “don’t deprive us of your insights during class discussions.”
He doesn’t think other students will relate to or understand his experiences since they’re so different. I suggest he might be surprised by the exact opposite, that they’ll be especially interested in his life experience because it’s so different.
He smiles at the thought and commits to contributing more. Meaning some.
I tell him he’s talented, that he could be a writer, that he has unique and compelling stories to tell.
And then, he says it. “I want to be a writer.”
My guess, he’ll travel the world; knock the technology ball out of the park; and become a popular, widely read writer.
To have played a small part in his journey is pretty damn cool.
“George Santos will be leaving Congress to spend more time with his other personalities.” —Darrin Hall for the win
Demos turn. Paging Senator Menendez.
Postscript. Never mind.
I enjoy reading a lot of periodicals, but quite a few not enough to pay for regular, unlimited access. Given the limits of time, even if they cost less, in many cases I’d still pass.
The Guardian takes an interesting, Wikipedia-like approach of saying, “Hey, we notice you’ve read this many articles lately, how ’bout ponying up a little you cheap son-of-a-bitch, and you know, enable our journos to feed their families.” Well, something like that.
There’s one pub, Slate.com, that I’m uncharacteristically quite conflicted about not having access to. All because of Slate’s ‘Dear Prudence’ advice column. And it’s all because of their steady diet of seriously clickbaity headlines.
I am weak, so I wanna click, click, click these.
Help! My Sister Insists I Invite Her Disastrous Husband to My Bachelor Party. Oh No.
Help! My Husband Interprets Every Little Thing as “Evidence” of an Affair.
Help! My Wife Thinks She’s Great at Socializing. Yikes.
Help! My Priest Told Me He’s Leaving His Priesthood for Me.
You are right! My life would be enriched by a steady diet of ‘Dear Prudence’ exchanges of this nature.* So I should just pay up.
Thank you for listening.
*unless the Good Wife is responsible for the first
Pressing Pause 