Doctors categorize me a genius. Apparently I could be a millionaire too if I’d like. That is if I put my mind to something, like playing poker or shorting currencies or solving equations in sparse echoing rooms. At the very least, they say, I should join Mensa and be with the like-minded. Find a partner, a female to whom I can relate. But I don’t see the appeal. I prefer to eat my peanut butter cups and watch my shows. They’re always on, reliable yet forever changing and never boring. I’m a Milanese Casanova for an hour and Capote for the next. Shooting outlaws in the Wild West then slamming gavels on wood grain. Eating truckstop waffles then atop an Olympic podium circa 1968, my right hand clenched to a fist and raised high, my head down. It’s exhilarating just to list all of my lives, let alone live them. I don’t know why anyone would settle for a singular narrative. Continue reading


For the past seven years I have played Dance Dance Revolution every day at the local arcade. I am 93 years old now and somewhat of a local legend. Everybody knows who I am. I am the 7th top rated tourist attraction in my town on TripAdvisor. Or so I have been told. I don’t know how to access TripAdvisor. I don’t know how to use the Internet. I didn’t jump on that train when it was leaving the station, and by the time I’d thought about getting on, it was moving too fast. It boggles my mind every time one of the kids at the arcade tells me a story about something that happened ‘online’. Who could have ever imagined this? Everything in the world is growing exponentially except for my ability to keep up. Even Dance Dance Revolution leaves me in admiration of God’s creations and that is just a simple game of stepping on pads in time to a K-pop beat. The kids I play with do not believe in God. They believe in technology and science. I try to say to them that these are all the same thing essentially. Continue reading