Friday night fun

Ahh, to be a ruthless capitalist. There aren't many times in life when you get to really put the screws to your own kith and kin, and enjoy it to boot. By the same token, there are few opportunities to nail your own dad hard, make him squirm and feel the pain that only the helplessness of financial ruin can bring about. To the victor belongs the spoils, lessons all of us learn the easy way or the hard way.

Of course I'm talking about Monopoly. While K lay in bed under the grips of the virus that struck me down earlier this week, the kids and I resurrected the ritual game, one we haven't played in awhile. The Rangers-Pens game is on in the background featuring the pugilistic ex-enforcer of our Washington Caps wearing the colors of the Broadway Blueshirts, providing a pleasant backdrop for the main event. As always the game starts out slow, but soon the deals start rolling and we develop our properties and then the money is changing hands and suddenly someone has to mortgage everything to pay rent on Kentucky Ave for 600 clams, and then the game is over, feelings are hurt, and laughter ensues. Of course we all get over it quickly, since the next game's victor is usually this one's big loser.

Every version of this game has house rules. Besides the standard "Free Parking" jackpot that is a de facto adopted rule throughout all cultures, our unique take is that if your token so much as TOUCHES the red part of the Jail (in other words, if you literally cross the line into jail from "Just Visiting"), then you get to spend the next turn in the Big House. Veeeeery literal.

If anything is accomplished, I think I've taught the kids that being nice in Monopoly is just no fun. The guilty pleasure is knowing that raining phony monetary blows on their heads really doesn't amount to anything other than passing some time on a Friday night with the people you love, even though they'll do anything to give you the shaft if the dice rolls their way.