On tyranny and birthday presents
I turned forty-six last week. Everything went great. Christina took me to one of those fancy brunch places where they check your credit score before serving you avocado toast.
That night, we had some friends over to eat pizza and play a game called Monikers. The New York Times called Monikers “the perfect party game.” I didn’t know The New York Times wrote about party games, did you?
Monikers is a team game. Before our guests arrived, I told Christina I didn’t want the teams to be gender-based. “It’s a boring and stupid way to pick teams, and it always leads to bickering, which might’ve been interesting the first eight million times humans pulled this bullshit, but fucking-A, honey, it’s the twenty-first century, and it’s my birthday, and damn it, I just want to do better.”
Christina took a deep breath, and smiled. “It’s your birthday, babe. You’re the boss.”
We picked teams by going around the table and counting off in ones and twos. I was team two, or maybe team one. I’m not sure. I’m forty-six, and my memory isn’t what it was when I was forty-five. But I know that I was either on team one or team two.
Monikers is played in the three rounds. Both teams use the same deck of cards. Each card contains an answer, and some text to help you help your team guess the answer.
In the first round, you can use any words, sounds, or gestures, or even read the clue, but you can’t use the answer itself. In the second round, you use the same cards, but this time you can only use a single word to help your team guess the answer. In the third round, you return to the deck one last time, but you can’t say anything. Instead, you must help your team guess the answer by doing charades.
I love this game because it involves creativity, listening skills, and silliness. But like all games, Monikers also brings out the worst in people. At one point, there was a dispute over the rules. And by dispute, I mean some people said they were right, and other people said those people were wrong.
“Michael, it’s your birthday,” someone said, “you decide.”
To my surprise horror, everyone immediately thought this was a good idea. There was no vote putting me in charge, no democratic process. The mob spoke, and because it was my birthday, they spoke my name.
“Guys, there’s a rule book,” I said. “Let’s just read the rule book.”
There were boos. Actual boos. The mob had made me their king, but when I refused the king life, they booed.
“Rule of law, guys, it’s important.”
A few people giggled.
“I’m not kidding. These are dangerous times. Rule of law is under threat everywhere.”
Again, people laughed. Again, I insisted that I was serious.
“One minute, you’re playing games with an authoritarian, the next minute a real authoritarian is in charge and it’s game over.”
Christina opened the rule book and read the rules. The mattered was settled, but I think my birthday is a good reminder that authoritarianism is always coming for us, and often times, it comes from unlikely vectors. Also, even those who insist on democracy and rule of law can be problematic. Case in point: me! When it came to the guest list, the way teams were picked, and the menu, I was a tyrant.
Presents. I had a good haul this year!
Christina pulled out all the stops this year. I got Big Lebowski t-shirts, Warren Zevon t-shirts, Warren Zevon records, and a Warren Zevon book. Clearly, Christina knows her husband.
My friend Gina bought me a Japanese snack box. Since all the labels on the snacks were in Japanese, and since I don’t speak or read Japanese, it was impossible to figure out what I was snacking on. I think of it as Japanese Snack Roulette, which is way more fun and tasty than the Russian version.
My friend Anna bought me something called “fake coffee,” which I’m curious about, but haven’t worked up the nerve to try. She also took a photo of me from a trip to Disneyland and gave it the Lebowski treatment, plus a little Jerry Garcia for good measure.
I got some other presents, which I’ll write about later, maybe. But I brought up the subject of presents to talk about what my mom got me.
Yup. Mom got me a check. This is typical of my mom. Actually, I think it’s typical of a lot of moms (and dads). On one level, a mother sending her adult son a check is a little silly because money is fungible, which means Mom’s gift made a dent in our DWP bill, or it contributed to my retirement plan, or it bought me some weed gummies. But on another level, a check is real power.
I chose real power this year. I’m using my birthday money to buy subscriptions to newsletters I really enjoy.
I bought annual subscriptions to Brent and Michael Are Going Places and Kurt Vonnegut Radio by Gabe Hudson. I enjoy both of these newsletters for different reasons, and because I enjoy them, I want to help Brent, Michael, and Gabe keep on doing what they’re doing.
Happy birthday to me, and thank you, Mom!
A little housekeeping
Longtime Situation Normal readers know that I used to publish twice a week. At the start of the summer, I announced that I was putting the Wednesday post on hiatus. Now it’s back, maybe.
Without getting too into the weeds of what it takes to put out Situation Normal, I need to tell you that the Wednesday post was becoming a real motherfucker. I’m trying to streamline this process, so that I can keep bringing you a great story every Sunday, keep working on a sequel to Not Safe for Work, keep up with my day job, and keep working on a creative project I’m not ready to tell you about. It’s a lot!
Which is why my plan is to write the Wednesday post on Wednesday mornings. I literally set a timer for an hour this morning, and when the timer goes off, I’m posting. OK, I’m might scan it once or twice for typos, but the point is, I’m doing this live-ish.
I’m also going to restrict comments on the Wednesday to paying subscribers after this week. That’s an experiment, and honestly I don’t know I feel about that move. I don’t know how you feel about that move either—but please tell me in the comments, which I’ll keep open for this post.
Like all experiments at Situation Normal, doing Wednesday live-ish and restricting comments may become normal things, or they may end up in the trash can. Only time will tell…
Stick around and chat!
What’s your go-to game night game?
Do you use gender-based teams for game night, or are you on the cutting edge of modernity?
It’s good to be the king, but it’s also bad to have a king, right? Discuss.
Are you an adult child who receives birthday checks, or a parent who sends their adult children birthday checks? Tell your story!
Thoughts on the changes to Situation Normal’s Wednesday post? No wrong answers.
Want more Michael Estrin stories? I’ve got two books!
Ride/Share: Micro Stories of Soul, Wit and Wisdom from the Backseat is a collection of my Lyft driver stories🚗🗣
Not Safe for Work is a slacker noir novel based on my experiences covering the adult entertainment industry💋🍑🍆🕵️♂️
*If you bought one of my books, thank you! Please take a moment to leave a review. It helps a lot💪🙏
Very happy to see that my Japanese snack box made it into the newsletter, and I demand to be allowed to poll your readers about whether or not they know the (perhaps camping, perhaps Girl Scouts, perhaps Girl Scout Camp) song, "Old Mother Leary's Cow," in which a cow is responsible for burning down Chicago.
I didn't think this newsletter could recover from the flames erupting from the pig rectum, but not only did you make me laugh, you caught me off guard by giving us a plug! Never have I been so wrong about my initial impression.
However, please no more animals with flames erupting from their rectums. I'm a sensitive soul....