The Monopoly Metaphor: Ethical Non-Monogamy and Playing by Our Own Rules

When I first learned how to play Monopoly, it was from people, not the instruction booklet. Let's say for the sake or argument it was my parents, or perhaps even my aunt and uncle who like to recall a particularly silly game during which I said I was "property poor" and eventually degraded to wearing my headband across my forehead, shouting, "RAMBO!"

Yeah, let's say it was them. 

When Aunt and Uncle taught me to play Monopoly, I knew the basics - I could buy properties and if someone landed on that property, awesome! I got money. (By now you've realized that little me sucked at buying properties.) I enjoyed Monopoly for about as long as anyone who can play longer than an hour enjoys Monopoly. Life was good.

And then my friend Molly from next door filled me in: How had I not known about the Free Parking rule, and if you landed there you got ALL THE MONEY people had been paying for luxury tax, or getting out of jail? So when I played with Molly, we played Free Parking. I was still horrible at it, but happy to realize there were other rules. It was like a whole new game!

Apparently, there are many variations to the rules of how to play Monopoly, and since it's been around a long time, different families and friend groups have probably always made up their own rules to make the game a little more interesting (or, you know, not take five hours).

I like to explain ethical non-monogamy (or in my case, polyamory) by talking about Monopoly. When I played with family, I played differently than when I played with Molly. But in neither case did anyone cheat at the particular rules we played by. Everyone agreed to the rules, so everyone had fun. Relationships can be the same way.

There's this societal idea (for the sake of this metaphor, the official Monopoly instruction manual) that two people have to be monogamous to be committed, to have a healthy relationship, and to be a family (not contingent upon having a family, but that's a discussion for another time). But what if we want to play by our own rules? What if we want to toss the manual and make up something new? And, as long as everyone playing (i.e. everyone in the relationship) is playing by the same rules, why do we have to feel we shouldn't be able to enjoy the game just as much as those die-hard official Monopoly rule-followers?*

In any given game, I might have slightly different rules with each other player. For example, maybe when I land on Boardwalk, I don't have to pay the owner the full rent but rather half-rent and also stand up and do a little jig. But when I land on Indiana Avenue, I have to pony up the full amount. This silly example translates into real things: maybe I share every detail with X about Y, but Y and Z would rather not know about the details of each others' "turns." It sounds like a lot to keep track of (and trust me, it can be), but that's why being very clear and consistent about communicating** our rules is vital to everyone's happiness. 

My intention with this metaphor is not to say we should treat our relationships as games. But rather, to say we should think of the camaraderie we feel with each other when we're all having fun and following the same rules. Being clear about what rules we're playing by is the first step, and after that...well, this is where my Monopoly metaphor breaks down. Because unlike the frustration I felt from losing game after game of Monopoly as a child, the ideal objective of ethical non-monogamy is that everyone wins. 

*Who are, in fact, perfectly wonderful people and I'm sure are also having fun. What works for you works.

**Dear god do we poly people talk a lot. We probably talk more than anyone else, because we have to. But this is a more in-depth discussion for another time.

Brussels in Five Hundred Words

Enjoying some trappist ales at La Lunette

Our trip to Brussels was waylaid due to train delays and cancellations, which I hear is not that common in Europe, so lucky us. We spent a random night in den Haag (The Hague), though thankfully not because we were in trouble with the United Nations. Though we didn't visit any political buildings of interest, we did find an Indonesian restaurant that stuffed us to the gills with delicious food I’ve never had before. (If you ever pass through The Hague, eat at Warung Bude Kati, order the rijsttafel, and leave feeling more full and happy than you’ve ever been before.)

Our first stop upon finally arriving in Brussels the next morning was a café near the Grand Place that served frikandel, which is sort of between a hamburger and a hot dog, frites (fries), and of course beer. We’d been drinking Belgian beer our whole trip and finally we were in its homeland. My Leffe came out of a bottle, just as it would have back home, but it still tasted better.

Frikandel and frites

Leffe Brown, my love.

After lunch we wandered a bit, ducking into chocolate shops. Following a commandment from Joel’s Belgian coworker Geraldine, we had our street waffles sans-sauce or whipped cream on top, and enjoyed the sugary dough by itself. We bought giant syrup-filled gumdrops and wandered the Grand Place, was accosted by mussel vendors, and found the famous Mannekin Pis fountain, which was smaller than I expected. We enjoyed one last beer with Emily and Roger at Poechenellekelder, which is filled with hilarious figurines, pictures, and comics of the peeing little boy.  

Hot, sticky street waffles

Mannekin Pis

We bid Emily and Roger adieu at the train station and treated ourselves to a hotel room instead of a hostel, where I took a nap (I’m not used to day-drinking) while Joel planned our evening. Again thanks to recommendations from Geraldine, we set out through the comic book district to La Lunette, a bar featuring trappist ales and giant beers. We talked with a lovely couple from the UK who used to live in Brussels, who gave us recommendations on neighborhoods to visit. He was not a fan of Belgian fries, which he described as akin to worms. Proper chips, he said, are flat.

Rochefort 8º

After our new friends took their leave we found another Geraldine-recommended bar, A la Morte Subite, where I discovered my love for kriek, a sweet cherry lambic. We indulged in frites from a cart on the way home – they are a perfect drunk food.

Our last day in Brussels had a pretty loose schedule – we had breakfast at a Parisian-style bakery in Old Brussels, walked to the Royal Palace, and spent a few hours with the iguanadons at the natural history museum. Our final dinner was spent at Le Petit Boxeur, where we celebrated our four-year anniversary, and we had some final Belgian beers at The Greenwich.

Poor iguanadons. Scientists used to believe they stood upright, but since these were displayed it's been discovered they walked on all fours. The bones here are too fragile to fix.

Verdict: Our time here was not long enough. Need to come back to Belgium, if even for the beer alone. 

A Poem for Spring

From Under a Pile of Kleenex
(with apologies to Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

How do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways.
I loathe thee with each sniff and cough and sneeze
my lungs do make, when pollen asks its fees
at the end of April and into May.

I loathe thee to the level of every day’s
most loathsome hate, from grass and leaves and trees.
I loathe thee freely, as a toddler hates his peas;
I loathe thee purely, as vampires hate sun rays.

I loathe thee with the passion put to use
in my old griefs, and with my childhood’s whines.
I loathe thee with a loathe I seem to lose
only when Ben’dryl’s strength I use in time.

Hours, sneezing, for all the year!—as seasons move,
I shall but hate thee moreso in July.

Amsterdam in Five Hundred Words

Before I get to Amsterdam, some words about European train travel: it’s heaven on a track. Clean, efficient, fast, on time (mostly, but I’ll get to that in another post), the trains were just about my favorite overall thing about the trip. From the windows of our car from Copenhagen to Hamburg to Amsterdam, we saw farmland, countryside, deer, and hares while sipping coffee and munching croissants. The best part came while crossing the Baltic Sea from Denmark to Germany. Instead of a tunnel or bridge, our minds were blown as the whole train rolled onto a ferry: we rode a train on a boat. (Okay technically, we had to exit the train during the crossing, but still. It was pretty damn cool.) It started snowing in Germany, and we watched the big flakes stream down outside the train car as we sped along.

Roger, Emily, and Joel. WE'RE ON A TRAIN. ON A BOAT.

Snowy Hamburg

After a quick connection in Hamburg, where we purchased and bolted down currywurst (yum) and schnitzel (yum), we arrived in Amsterdam. The first thing one can’t help but notice about Amsterdam, at least the central portion, is that it’s all canals – I can now see why, back before climate change ruined all the fun, it used to be quick to ice skate to get around in the winter. From the vast front window of our apartment (Yeah off-season traveling in the middle of the week!) we looked down on the Amstel Canal and the houseboats that line it. The apartment was a traditional canal house, which means it was three stories high with a stairwell that could very well have been classified as a ladder. We tried not to ever have to go down the stairs after a considerable amount of drinking.

Just a bit steep.

The view from our apartment. Off-season travel's the way to go!

We mostly wandered - across the Amstel Canal that first night to the Red Light District (surreal at nighttime but even more so at noon on a Tuesday), through the narrow streets and across bridges, dodging tiny European vehicles and bikes, bikes, bikes. We saw myriad shops, places to get coffee and traditional Dutch Pancakes, and a central flower market where The Netherlands’s biggest exports can be purchased: tulip bulbs. We skipped partaking in another famous product of Amsterdam (weed), though did take advantage of their more liberal stance on sexuality and walked through their sex museum – quite amusing.

Bikes! Canals!

One of many stalls at the bulb market

The sex museum toilets were only vaguely sexual.

Corny tourists, HO!

On our last day, we visited the Anne Frank Museum, which brought to life a book I read in elementary school, and the story sunk in. I’m glad we made it a priority to visit. After the museum we had lunch at one of Amsterdam’s oldest cafes, Café Kalkhoven, where we ate mini Dutch pancakes with butter and powdered sugar. We ended our visit with a boat tour of the canals, which perhaps offered the best views of the city.

Verdict: Definitely my favorite city of the trip. I’d fight tourists to go back in the summer and rent bikes. Many thanks to my friend Madeleine for great activity recommendations.

Copenhagen in Five Hundred Words

The first stop of the journey was the one my father was the most envious of: Copenhagen, Denmark, the land of his ancestors. After some travel headaches involving Joel’s missing bag (come on, Germany, you checked it at the gate), we got on a train to have dinner in Malmo, Sweden. (Think someone in NJ grabbing dinner in Manhattan.) We met up with some friends, Em and Roj (who are documenting their crazy months-long European adventure here) and some of their Swedish friends, who helped us greatly in the translating of our menu at the strangely-named Mrs. Brown. We ate charcuterie, ox, and I officially decided I no longer hate mushrooms. Dessert was the most interesting – it was like someone flash-froze apple puree and served it on a glob of homemade whipped cream. Back to Denmark after dessert.

Yes, Steig Larssen fans, they DO have 7-Eleven everywhere in Scandinavia - this one was between tracks at the train station in Copenhagen. There were two more upstairs. The presence of Billy's Pan Pizzas was not confirmed, however.

The next morning, celebration ensued when we found Joel’s bag at the hostel desk. We ate a classic European breakfast (rolls with meat and cheese, yogurt with muesli). After some planning, we met up with Emily and Roger in the hostel lobby and set out. Our first stop: the National Museum of Denmark, where I would surely photograph some fabulous Viking artifacts for Dad. I did, and in addition we found an impressive collection of Egyptian mummies, Iron-Age artifacts and remains, runestones, and the skeleton of a large, extinct cow-like creature whose likeness was painted in the caves at Lascaux.

A very small fraction of Viking hoard. A sign in this room said, "It does not look as if the Vikings tried to make contract with foreign peoples in peaceful ways." However, they did set up a vast network of towns in Northern Europe, so trade-off?

Joel was not so sure about this dude.

The National Museum thought visitors might recognize and appreciate Hercules relics more if they included a likeness of Disney's Hercules.  I was slightly insulted but mainly amused.

Early dinner was next. After wandering around the mostly-empty squares of Copenhagen, our hungry stomachs decided on Bof & Ost, where we sat by an open hearth and stuffed our faces with bread and butter, steak, Carpaccio, and crispy guinea fowl: fuel for more wandering in the cold. (Did I mention it was cold? No, I wasn’t surprised – it’s Scandinavia in early March – but they’d just had a warm spell and the cold had come back just for us. How nice of it.) Hot chocolate and coffee helped.

Yep, it was cold. I also got the sense that I was very small in Copenhagen, because all the buildings seemed enormous.

The last stop was the strange area of Christiania, which felt a bit dangerous at night (but most likely wasn’t dangerous at all). Heeding warnings about not taking pictures of Pusher Street, where marijuana is sold openly*, we strolled down the wide path of barrel fires and dealer’s kiosks. We pulled the cameras back out for some shots of street art outside the walls. 

The outer walls of Christiania were covered in tags and street art.

Shockingly, Bob Marley. Who would have guessed?

The walk back to the hostel was frigidly windy, but some two-for-one beers at the hostel warmed us up (even if it was only Carlsburg, Copenhagen’s famous and sadly flavorless brew). After some planning, ticket-buying, and thawing out, we turned in early to catch at 7:40 train to Amsterdam the next morning.

Verdict: Should come back when it’s warmer and bring my parents, especially on to northern Denmark to visit the Gammel Estrup Castle and agricultural museum.

*Cannabis is illegal in Denmark, yet tolerated in Christiania, though its sale is mostly controlled by pushers connected with gangs. Another good reason not to take pictures.

Facebook Break Results

My pre-vacation Facebook break was not only helpful, it was most likely the biggest reason that I was actually able to get everything accomplished without losing too much sleep. I will admit that I got back on once or twice because I was scheduling some meetings with people who primarily contact me there, and didn't want to neglect a message. However, as planned, I didn't touch my notifications or news feed. When my vacation started Friday morning, since we ended up having a two-hour snow delay at an airport with free wi-fi, I got back on. A week had passed.

I had 50 notifications, but only 10 or so that were actually directed at me. It took me 30 minutes to reply to comments and catch up. After that, I kind of idly scrolled through my news feed and something strange happened: instead of feeling the rush of a fix, I was bored. It wasn't that I didn't care about my friends anymore, I just became antsy for something else to do. I surfed some news sites and eventually settled in with a new book. Time passed more slowly than it might have while under the internet's spell, but I felt more relaxed, like I was actually on a break rather than procrastinating from doing something else.

I've been in Denmark for a day and a half and checked here and there, on downtime, but it still doesn't pull me in like it use to. Could it be that I've cured myself of something I didn't know I had? (Or more likely, wasn't admitting I had?) My thoughts might change as break continues, but right now I'm hoping that my new productive, Facebook-limited life will continue at home as well.

Two Weeks Facebook-Free

            

Facebook is useful. Not always for things that are ultimately productive, but useful all the same. For example, on Facebook I have:

• Sold a present that both me and my boyfriend's mother bought him for Christmas (oops)
• Found a home for a shirt said boyfriend bought me that I already had (also oops)
• Successfully elicited ideas for an article on gun control to have my students read 
• Spread the work about new issues and submission periods of Printer's Devil Review
• Gotten advice about things to do when out-of-town relatives visit Boston
• Gotten delicious advice about where to go (eat) when going out of town 
• Given my friends a laugh about the silly things that my students write (obviously without sharing the students' names)
• Attempted to find a home for my ex's dog
• Promoted writer friends' publications (here, here, and here)
• Scheduled and organized events

But as useful and wonderful as Facebook is, it's also sometimes my worst enemy. And this, my most stressful week of the semester, is why I'm quitting for two weeks: one week to get everything finished for midterm so I can actually have a spring break, the next week because I will be in Europe. As much as I love my family and friends, I would rather be producing photographs, drawings, journal entries, and memories as I travel through Denmark, Sweden, the Netherlands, and Belgium than spend time checking up on what they all had for breakfast.

(I'll of course post as much to Facebook as I can when I get back.)

While I'm gone, I'll try to post here and there on this blog, which will not tempt me with endless status updates about what funny videos are out there, what people are listening to on Spotify, and what parties people are inviting me to. I'll have more time for travel, and for my friends, and for life. That's, at least, the goal.

When I get back, I'm sure I'll be right back on the Book of Faces, checking out to see what you are all eating for breakfast. Here's something for while I'm gone: I had a ham and cheese omelet and three cups of coffee.