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After the RNC Convention failed to greatly increase the support of the Romney/Ryan ticket, they have taken to holding a counter convention outside of the DNC Convention this week. I expect this counter convention to be just as useless as the RNC's actual convention, and is surely just a media stunt in which they hope to solicit images of angry reactions from Democrats  to feed the Republican narrative. However, their actions are once again ridiculous. More below the orange Etch-A-Sketch shake up.

At this counter convention they plan on displaying a Romney/Ryan Nascar, plenty of tissues for the imaginary crying Democrats, "You Build It" Legos, and "You Build It" Monopoly games. This last one is the most hilariously uninformed action. They obviously believe that the Monopoly game is a true testament to American capitalism and American success. This idea ignores the initial intent of the game.

Monopoly was an offshoot of a game called "The Landlord's Game." It was invented by a Elizabeth Magie, a political activist and Quaker during the Great Depression. the original purpose was to illustrate how monopolies take advantage of the poor and eventually give wealth and power to a few individuals. It was not a testament to our economic system, rather, it was a dire warning. It did not seek to elevate the "successful" on a pedestal of virtue, but instead teach Americans that doing just that was detrimental to our freedom and happiness. While these two games are strikingly familiar, there are small differences. Charles Darrow patented and sold Monopoly after being introduced to Magie's version. While his version is more closely aligned with the virtues of Randian philosophy, the original intent cannot be ignored.

Since this diary is so short, I will leave you with an excerpt from Pastor John Ortberg's book It All Goes Back In The Box.

There is an analogy that comes from the world of games. It was used quite some time ago by a psychologist named James Dobson. I first learned it from my grandmother. My grandmother taught me how to play the game monopoly. Now, my grandmother was a wonderful person.  She raised six children. She was a widow by the time I knew her well.  She lived in our house for many, many years. And she was a lovely woman, but she was the most ruthless Monopoly player I have ever known in my life. Imagine what would have happened if Donald Trump had married Leona Helmsley and they would have had a child. Then, you have some picture of what my grandmother was like when she played Monopoly. She understood that the name of the game is to acquire.

When we would play when I was a little kid and I got my money from the bank, I would always want to save it, hang on to it, because it was just so much fun to have money. She spent on everything she landed on. And then, when she bought it, she would mortgage it as much as she could and buy everything else she landed on. She would accumulate everything she could. And eventually, she became the master of the board.

And every time I landed, I would have to pay her money. And eventually, every time she would take my last dollar, I would quit in utter defeat. And then she would always say the same thing to me. She’d look at me and she’d say, “One day, you’ll learn to play the game.” I hated it when she said that to me. But one summer, I played Monopoly with a neighbor kid–a friend of mine–almost every day, all day long. We’d play Monopoly for hours.

And that summer, I learned to play the game. I came to understand the only way to win is to make a total commitment to acquisition. I came to understand that money and possessions, that’s the way that you keep score. And by the end of that summer, I was more ruthless than my grandmother. I was ready to bend the rules, if I had to, to win that game. And I sat down with her to play that fall.

Slowly, cunningly, I exposed my grandmother’s vulnerability. Relentlessly, inexorably, I drove her off the board. The game does strange things to you. I can still remember. It happened at Marvin Gardens. I looked at my grandmother. She taught me how to play the game.  She was an old lady by now. She was a widow. She had raised my mom. She loved my mom. She loved me. I took everything she had. I destroyed her financially and psychologically. I watched her give her last dollar and quit in utter defeat. It was the greatest moment of my life.

And then she had one more thing to teach me. Then she said, “Now it all goes back in the box–all those houses and hotels, all the railroads and utility companies, all that property and all that wonderful money–now it all goes back in the box.” I didn’t want it to go back in the box. I wanted to leave the board out, bronze it maybe, as a memorial to my ability to play the game.  

“No,” she said, “None of it was really yours. You got all heated up about it for a while, but it was around a long time before you sat down at the board, and it will be here after you’re gone. Players come and players go. But it all goes back in the box.”

And the game always ends. For every player, the game ends. Every day you pick up a newspaper, and you can turn to a page that describes people for whom this week the game ended. Skilled businessmen, an aging grandmother who was in a convalescent home with a brain tumor, teenage kids who think they have the whole world in front of them, and somebody drives through a stop sign. It all goes back in the box–houses and cars, titles and clothes, filled barns, bulging portfolios, even your body.

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