Chapter 5: Bohnanza (or The Addiction of the Collection Junkie)

There is something about getting more things.

I don't know when I noticed it. At first it was really just something that happened. Dad came home with a new pack of baseball cards, then hockey cards. Sports was his thing, so maybe I hadn't noticed it before, but perhaps that collection was more for him. Then I had a mind of my own and Garbage Pail Kids came out. Oh man, Garbage Pail Kids. So. Many. Cards. I couldn't get enough. But even then, I hadn't noticed it. It was just something I liked doing. It didn't feel like a compulsion. A need to get ALL THE THINGS. It was just fun to look at them and laugh.

Even later on when Garbage Pail Kids went the way of Madballs and M.U.S.C.L.E. Men, and was replaced by Marvel cards and Pokemon. With Pokemon, I'd never played the game for the story. Never collected the cards for the game. Hell, I didn't even know how to play the card game until maybe a year ago and my daughter took interest in them. It was about getting more Pokemon cards, more Marvel cards, more movies on VHS and then DVD, and more about getting more beans (more on that later).

But collecting is hard work (and rather costly - if you're reading this I'm sure you're aware. How's that board game collection going and are your kids going to be able to afford college at this rate?). So, what can you do? You can't just rely solely upon your own funds sometimes and certainly you can't simply rely on luck of the draw (ANOTHER Spider-Man?!?!). Back in the day, dad would only buy you so many packs at a time. So, you snuck that card collection book into your backpack and you brought that thing to school. Oh, you have an extra Wolverine? Well, I have a Spider-Man for that Wolverine. No? What if Thor joins the party? Deal!

Everyone was happy. The collections got bigger and no more money spent. The life of a collector.

Now what about those beans? Well, that's Bohnanza. You collect some goofy looking beans, planting them in your fields, trading unwanted beans with your friends, and harvesting them for gold (money, the mother of all collections). This game is a staple in my collection. It is my most played game (that isn't a solo game). Can't recommend this enough as a gateway / filler type.

Chapter 4: Rising Sun (or Attack of the High School Cafeteria Godzilla)

I was not a popular kid and found myself picked on quite a bit through Middle School and then some more throughout most of High School. Problem was (amongst my own shortcomings), I wasn't one of the pretty boys and I certainly wasn't a jock (seemed the bulk of my school were these types). Also wasn't one of the super smart kids or a band geek or a stoner.

"I... hurt myself today..."

First, the music. A progression from rock/grunge - Aerosmith, Nirvana - to heavier stuff - Nine Inch Nails, Marilyn Manson, which led to industrial - KMFDM. The clothes followed and I found myself with the goths (LOL - Crüxshadows and Sisters of Mercy, please). Anyway, there I was, in black, long hair, trench coat, and with my clique, vying for the corner lot of the cafeteria.

Even amongst the goths I was still a bit out. I couldn't draw or play an instrument and still wasn't top of the class in smarts. But, it was the best fit for me. I made some friends and eventually got enough self esteem to allow friendships to cross clique borders. Let me tell you, having a partner on another side, very helpful. Life went on, and years went by. It was almost time to move on from HS inanity and go on to the bad decisions of college life, but first...

My brother, several years younger, had his freshman year of HS during my senior year. So, while I
was past most of the childish stupidity (ha! there was so much more of that to come, but not for this story), he had just entered into the worst of it (or at least had rounded the apex). I'd been picked on quite a bit as a kid, whether it was from not being traditionally attractive or fitting myself into a sub culture not yet propped up by things like Hot Topic, I'd moved on, and now it seemed, it was his turn. He had it a little different than me. He was a band geek and some freshman jock kid was giving him a hard time.

Sure, as an adult looking back you realize that just maybe the better lesson might have been to have him take a stand. Learn some self respect. But, as a kid, why do that when you can hire some ronin to take care of it for you? It seemed the band geeks were going to need a partner because the big kid holding the bass drum wasn't stepping up.

Step in me. I wasn't big. I wasn't strong. Honestly, I was rather underweight and on the shorter side. But I was me - the weird looking, senior, goth kid in a rather snobby school. I was a monster. It only took a few words.

"I want to kick my brother's ass sometimes too, but as his brother, I'm allowed to think that. You're not. So you're going to stop. Now."

And so he did (thank the kami).

Why do combat on your own when you can send the Oni of Hate in to do it for you?

Rising Sun does this in such a fun way. Sure, you can send your goth kids around the map trying to get the best table in the cafeteria (by the windows, please), but when your holding is threatened by the stoners... send in the Kaiju!

This has very quickly become a top 5 game for me. Area control, negotiation, partnerships, betrayal, AND giant monsters. There are just so many moments, even when the tides turn against you, where you just think... damn, that was cool, and this game is awesome.

Chapter 3: Mr. Cabbagehead's Garden (or Show Tunes From Apartment A... And All That Jazz)

My wife and I were married back in 2005 and we had taken things on the slower side as it came to real estate. We tried to be fiscally responsible, not falling into the trap as happens with American youth of over-extending yourself for the sake of owning something (because that's what our parents say we should do - not that the economy is anything like it was for them... but that's a different subject). So, we moved into a small apartment in our hometown. All was Disney vacations and World of Warcraft and Domino's delivery for a good time. We got a cat, a dog, a rabbit. Life was good.

"Come on babe, why don't we paint the town? And all that jazz."

Did you hear that?

We all heard it. My parents, 10 miles away, heard it. It was Chicago, from the downstairs neighbor (and probably heard by people IN Chicago). Ok, it's not overly late, we can pump the volume on the laptops a bit and get on with our WoW raiding. We'd been living there some time and there hadn't been any issues up to that point, so maybe the dude was having some party with some show tune fans. Everyone's entitled to be an inconsiderate ass every once in a while. So we went on with our night, soundtrack provided by neighbor in apartment A.

"I'm gonna rouge my knees, and roll my stockings down. And all that jazz."

Hours. Later. I wasn't an early to bed type back then. WoW was a bit of an addiction, and we'd shut down for night. So, some odd o'clock in the morning, and the walls are vibrating with show tunes. Knocking (using the term gently) on the floor didn't help any. Ringing the doorbell neither. So, like reasonable people, we call the police. I mean, we didn't know the guy, and it could be any of the neighbors who called, right? We can't be the only ones suffering.

"Start the car, I know a whoopee spot, where the gin is cold, and the piano is hot."

The cops come, and they ring his bell, again and again, again and again, they use a bullhorn to try to shout into the place, and it turns out dude is SUPER drunk. He lowers the volume, and the cops leave.

"It's just a noisy hall, where there's a nightly brawl. And all. That. Jazz."

The music is back on, and it's quickly followed by a knock on the door and some slurred shouting. The wife and I, we're young, so we call our parents as backup (probably should have called the police back, but no one is hurt during this story, so don't worry). The parent arrive and drunk guy is shouting at them, at us, because how dare we call the police, and it's show tunes, it's not like he's blasting hip hop or heavy metal, so we must be some kind of uncultured swine.

Turns out drunk dude has a rep with the apartment complex for doing this every now and again, but they refuse to do anything about it (I'm sure legally they can't, or maybe they can, but I'm not about to get lawyers involved in a place I have no real ties to, so whatever). We move.

I wish that were the end of the story, but at the condo there was rap, late drunken barbecues, and corn cobs on our lawn. At the house there was the drummer. At the in-law's there was the fence-breaker. At the SC house there were fireworks. All. The. Time. Back in NJ there are ants (they're still neighbors of a sort, right?).

Constant. Neighbor. Problems.

Much like Mr. Cabbagehead of Mr. Cabbagehead's Garden. He's got some neighbor problems too. It's a fun solo (now also 2-player game) that has you planting vegetables in an attempt to win the blue ribbon (so elusive). The only difference here is, you know how Mr. Cabbagehead's neighbors are going to mess with you and part of your game plan is to try to mitigate the potential problems they will cause. Also the game is over in a few minutes and you can shuffle those pains in the butt back into a deckbox. It's thinky and puzzly and it's nice having the annoying neighbors be a part of something fun instead of a constant migraine.

This has been my go-to solo game for around a month now, to the point that it is now my most played game of 2018 already (and I have yet to win that blue ribbon - I'm looking at you Lord Carrotbody of the Doughty-Chesterfield Carrotbody's). Recommended.