I love chess. It’s a beautiful game of war. The pieces move with order, so much so that computers can beat humans.

Even more than chess though, I love Go. I started playing Go in college. My friend Michael introduced me to the game. We used to play chess for hours, drinking coffee manically, smoking cigarettes manically (or at least I did), Michael would eat bean and chess tacos. Michael read books about chess, and was in general a much stronger player. He won most of the games. Then, one day, he brought in a Go board. The rules are simple, much simpler than chess: a gridded board, black and white stones, it’s a game of domination. But the point, unlike chess, is to gather territory. It’s a different way of conceptualizing the board. It’s less about taking pieces and gaining points (if you’re a point-counter in chess, which I am, always counting, though I’ll gladly sacrifice a 10-point piece for a pawn. This is probably why I lose so often. Also, my end game is a wreck.) and more about visualizing territory.

Writing is a game to me, my books are games. The books I enjoy most are games, which is why I read so much OuLiPo stuff. I have no point to make. I just like games, that’s all.

My mom thinks Alzheimer’s is “old timer’s” because that’s the demographic.  When she says Blockbuster really quick it sounds like “black bastard,” though she rarely says it anymore because she’s given up on movies.  The word “that” in Chinese Mandurin is “nigga.” Salmon does not carry salmonella. I used to think “croque-madame” (a french ham and cheese sandwich with a sunny side up egg on top) was named that way — as supposed to the sans egg “croque-monsieur” — because women have eggs and men don’t, or that the egg looked like a breast; turns out the egg resembles a women’s hat, that’s all. In Lost Boys of Sudan, the african dudes newly arrived to the United States made soup out of crackers because crackers don’t have intructions. I witnessed a therapist at a physiatric ward ask a bunch of suicidal paitents “If you had only 24 hours to live, what would you do?” She was trying to get them to think about the good things in life, though it was misphrased. She played “Everybody Hurts” by R.E.M and told us that is an example of how sad feelings are strong, and to be careful. (Don’t worry, I was not a patient there). Bastards are impossible, thanks to sperm. Asian massages are more than massages. Asian messages are more than messages. “Live as though you are already dead,” said some monk. I would, but I have to get groceries.