Age of Renaissance (Avalon Hill, Wikipedia)
While reading the cereal sections of Structures of Everyday Life, I could not help thinking of the board game Age of Renaissance. In a friendly-ish game—one in which, for example, Genoa and Venice come to an agreement wherein one takes Italian cloth and the other Italian stone, and where Genoa does not, say, press north into French territory*—it is not at all uncommon for grain to be evenly distributed among players, thus no one is disproportionately hit when Famine comes out. I am somewhat ashamed at the number of times in general that I will use Age (or other games) as markers for real world events. When I walk through the Room of Pointy Things in the Art Museum, I am mindful of the various crit ranges and do try to mentally correlate those stats to intended use.
* For the record? This ends very badly for Genoa, and increases the real life misery of all the players.
A few weeks ago I took The Daughter to the APS museum, as part of a Day of Fun in Philadelphia. (Other aspects of Fun included playing in the park with a similarly-aged, ball-enabled girl and saying hello to Billy, a very nice horse who gives carriage rides.) The exhibit du jour (du mois) is Of Elephants & Roses, focusing on natural history in post-revolutionary France. The Daughter was a big fan of the taxidermied birds, particularly Empress Josephine’s black swan, and raced around yelling “Bird bird bird.” (We were the only ones in the exhibit space, near to closing time; otherwise a little more restraint would’ve been in order.)
I was personally more interested in the elephant side of the equation. More specifically, I got a big kick out of the mastodon tooth on display. As I’d just been reading Thomson’s chapters on Big Bone Lick, it was rather neat to see one of the fossils in the flesh, as it were.
The tooth on display is big. On a visceral level, it encourages one to fear the mouth that it fit into. (Carnivore, herbivore, whatever.) Looking at that tooth, my inner six-year-old was on the exact same page as Thomas Jefferson: the mouth that held that tooth was big and it probably wanted to eat me. Jefferson was gleeful because he wanted North America’s fauna to do it proud in comparison to Europe; my inner six-year-old just thought ravening herds of carnivorous mastodons would be cool.