Post One: Wherein a trader declares himself as such

This is the very first post for yet another blog about the markets, speculation and how it relates to the life of said blog creator. After a period of skirting the issue of whether or not to be a content provider (or “imposer”), it took a few friends (as it usually does in life) to prompt an earnest start on a desired venture. My struggle has been about answering the question of what will I bring to the table and share with you.

I’m a trader, and it took some time to come out of the closet, so to speak, as a Trader, to declare myself a speculator in a variety of investment instruments, which include equities, options and futures, all the readily accessible exchange traded instruments most people have heard of via their sleepy 401K meetings or on CNBC. Many of us were spoon fed and trained by an educational system designed to create compliant, game playing good little soldiers in the industrial factory model that once dominated the United States. This has changed, unless of course you’re one of the factory owners or live under a rock. (If so, carry on and don’t mind me.)

While I’m the first in my family to declare my mercantile ambitions as a full time asset flipper, I’m certainly not the first. Apparently, my grandmother, who was born into comfort among the higher social strata of Chinese society a century ago, also dabbled in the markets, much to my surprise, after fleeing the birth of the Peoples Republic of China in 1949. It did not result in a life long love, as it culminated, from what I gather in disappointing results during the post “Go Go” 1960s market bust. My father would pick up the mantle of speculator, while working two to three jobs, trading via pay and rotary dialing phones (!!!) to call in orders and meet margin calls, managing to make enough to buy a house for cash. In that house was forged another trader, weaned on telephone calls to brokers, reading articles with my unbroken PBS-trained english and asked to read red herrings, starting at the tender age of twelve.

Soon enough, I took a small account barely past 4 figures and grew it to 6, and rode the tiger, playing telecoms, exiting by march 2000 to value tobacco and defense plays, into raw material companies, and gold miners in 2001 and gold itself at 325 an ounce, matching the market beat for beat. The transition to futures trading began with an badly executed short-selling foray in a post 2002-bottom internet commerce stock, which proved to be healthier than my bank roll, prompting an acquaintance with risk management. Here, I would begin to really learn about trading, beyond getting ideas and themes “right”.

And here I end this first post. What follows will be my ideas, speculative and otherwise, as well as links and images to what dominates my attention. As a trader, what I do is straightforward enough. It is the metaphorical equivalent of waiting on the shore with a nice board, waiting for the right wave, realizing I have no guarantees of what is to follow. Sometimes a great ride, sometimes a false start, with the remaining balance of time spent avoiding wipeouts and taking in the sun while sitting on my hands.

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