In contrast with games like Mafia, which lives and dies upon its players’ intuition, Secret Hitler introduces a mechanic that brings reason (or maybe reason’s bastard, hunch-prone son) to the table.
Since moving to Ann Arbor, I’ve encountered more panhandlers in two years than I’d seen in the preceding twenty-three. And every time, no matter how bedraggled or desperate they appear, I always truck right past.
How much further from home is the 40-year old tailor from Afghanistan who lacks the native words to ask for his family’s daily bread?
I’m twenty-four and should move somewhere far away and then move again once I’ve grown familiar enough to know exactly where to find packets of yeast in the store.
One of the pleasures of listening to a new band is creating an image of who the singer is. What do they look like? What kind of life do they live when they’re not playing?
But where do our clothes actually come from? Before they get to the mall or the boutique or the bargain bin, before we buy them for their comfort, style, or perceived necessity in our wardrobe. Sure, the tag lists a country, but what does that really mean? Who are the people who make them? What are their working conditions like? Are they paid a living wage?
It’s Saturday morning and I’m back at my old high school, preparing for a day full of those meta sort of moments when you get to sit on the other side of the table. Those times when you get a totally new perspective on something you’ve done a hundred times.
There is power in naming our fears, so here it is: I fear that sort of adulthood. The knowing sort. I fear it because it is a foolish and finite sort of adulthood.
February 21, 2016, 4:15 p.m. Crate & Barrel, 777 Boylston St, Boston, Massachusetts. We are standing in front of a flatware display with an iPod scanner, bickering about the price of forks.
There’s beer in the fridge and it doesn’t say, “Kirkland Signature.” (No hate.) There’s bourbon in the liquor cabinet. There’s a liquor cabinet. There’s a cabinet. I’ve never lived in a cleaner place. I’ve never used more sturdy cutlery.
