Forbidden: Collecting Sets and Weather

The announcer keeps breaking into the music to announce a plague of storms stomping across the state, but well to the west of us. The scale of Nebraska is such that wild weather in, say, Cherry County, means that only thirteen-striped ground squirrels, prairie chickens, grasshoppers, and one human being per square mile. This is a solitary county that is, by itself, larger than Connecticut, Rhode Island, or Delaware. And you thought there was nothing to do in Delaware? My friends, you can run a string of tornadoes through there and only rustle the grass—and maybe blowout the top of a sandhill.

On the other hand, it’s beautiful country.

Here at the house, the evening chirrs along to the throb of cicadas who must be as uncomfortable as we are in the unusually high humidity. It feels more like being back in Georgia. But we have our aging AC to keep us moderated, and sequence of fans to move the air in cooling patterns. Cooling enough that we could set our elbows on the felt and not feel scratchy.

We sat down tonight with a light card game, Forbidden. The game was designed by Philip Orbanes, an author, game designer, and generally shrewd dude of the games industry (I recommend his book on Parker Bros.). Orbanes was clearly under the influence of Mahjong when he put this set-collecting game together—or maybe he’d just had a lot of Chinese take-out and green tea. Either way, the game features characters from the Chinese zodiac, the classic red envelope, and a few of the traditional characters of Chinese myth and folklore (e.g., Monkey—another book well worth reading).

I mention set-collecting because it’s one of the basic mechanics of games that shows up in many different games and guises. Needs runs of named cards in Thurn & Taxis? Need all of one kind (or some pattern) in Set, Abracadabra, Falfalia…. Oh the list is too long. But if you’ve played Gin or Rummy, you know what I’m describing.

Raise your hand if you know how to play Gin or Rummy… That’s what I thought. So it’s curious to the point of dumbfounded silence that Dana didn’t play either of those games until we met. My family, though with a strong religious background, had several decks of cards and enjoyed set-collecting games. Dana’s family didn’t play cards much at all. Her brothers played War, a sorry excuse for a game (though you can use the basic mechanism of “my numbers beat your numbers” in interesting ways). She confessed that she doesn’t even know how to deal out a basic game of solitaire.

My own confession: I can’t play poker. I understand the mechanics, but the hands make no particular sense to me. If I sat down and thought about them—I’m guessing that ranking them by rarity and not by type would help—I could get it, but it’s not a game my family played. Still, I understand the “I don’t want these, I’ll see what’s left in the deck” mechanic, and I understand how betting works (or, if you will, auction).

In other words, we come back to literacy. What do you know? What do you have experience with? How can you bootstrap those skills or that knowledge

—weather alert: tornado and baseball-sized hail… baseball-sized… I’ll let that sink into your imagination—

or that knowledge into a new situation? So, for me, the rules and play of Forbidden made sense almost at the intuitive level. You have three suits with four of each number 2-5, 7 & 8 and a total of four of a 6/9 card (the yin-yang card—worth extra points). Sets and runs, yes, and a couple of special cards that affect play and scoring. Going out on your turn scores you extra, those not going out don’t get penalized except with a few special cards. Play a new hand until someone hits a certain number of points—150 in a two-player game. I sped to 100 points in two hands, and then Dana scored 90 in the last hand to win the game. Forbidden is light, a bit chaotic, and well worth the price.

I also learned, in addition to the dearth of card games in her past, that Dana’s “I’m uneasy” and her “I’m deeply concentrating” affects bear a strong resemblance to each other. I have been misreading her moods, and that misreading has colored my own experience the last few nights. It’s hard to underestimate how fatigue at the end of a day can set your Spidey-sense tingling just because there’s baseball-sized hail three hundred miles away. I’ll make one last painfully obvious observation: it would be a hell of a lot easier to watch TV for thirty days. Somehow, I think I’d know a lot less about Dana, though I would have something to add to the conversation about Lost.

NB: If you’d like to hear a detailed discussion of Forbidden, go check out the episode of The Spiel’s podcast in which they take a look at the game. In fact, just go check out The Spiel.

Another weather update. Tell me about gaps in your gaming experience while the rain pounds down?

Comments

[Ellen]

On this extraordinarily dry day in Seattle, I know neither Gin nor Rummy. I couldn't even tell you the basic rules. I've never seen them played.

I can play 5 card Poker, but Texas Hold 'Em confuses me. I love Chess and Go, but have never played Checkers.

War, yes, but it gets boring fast, and lots of Old Maid.

Dominoes, are as discussed.

[Ellen]

thoughts on Gin and Rummy -

Perhaps this is a knowledge transmission issue. My parents did not teach me how to play games. I never even observed them playing games. I learned Solitaire and Poker from neighbor kids. The other games I learned at school/as an adult. If parents either a. don't use games as a social activity at all,(your parents clearly did) or b. don't consider their children to be worthwhile gaming partners, then it would make sense that this would affect the kinds of games learned. You scrape up knowledge where you find it. This certainly was the case for me. I daresay Dana may fit in that category too.