My name is Caleb, and I’m addicted to board games.
I realize this claim is trite, but I mean it, with all it’s implications: no other phrase could explain the suffocating bleakness I feel when starved of new material; the tumultuous rise and fall of my pulsing need; the intolerable want, sated only by the purchase of another incremental stone along my hopeless path to finding a better—easier, denser, fresher, truer, grander, newer—jumble of cubes and rules and boards and cards to unleash, unforgiving, upon my friends and family. I hope, with this blog, to find a justification spending so much of my limited everything on this, my least lucrative of hobbies.
The quest begins at the end of my senior-year summer. Goaded on by guilt, horror stories, and unadulterated apathy I have chosen to postpone college in favor of a gap year, a portion of which will be spent abroad in the most remote of continents: Australia.
But first, a test-run foray: a month with my Grandmother, Judy Tuwaletstiwa.