If you ever want to ostracize yourself from a social group, I recommend agreeing to play Euchre while being a little shaky on some of the rules. I’ve actually learned and forgotten how to play Euchre over twenty times, because my brain refuses to permanently remember any details of this wretched game. But Euchre is very popular in lame places such as Michigan, so I’m constantly finding myself beginning a game with the naive presumption that I’ll remember how to actually play before I make an embarrassing mistake. The problem is that in Euchre you’re paired with a teammate who expects an unrealistic level of competence and nonverbal communication, and this pressure causes me to freak out and trump him or volunteer to play a hand alone with the crappiest cards imaginable. I usually don’t make it ten minutes before being forcibly removed from the Euchre table, but by that time I don’t care. I know they’ll always be another opportunity to play Euchre, and I’d never pass up a match with a group of hardcore super-serious Euchre players. That’s because my favorite thing in the world is to put an insane emotional investment in shitty 19th century card games I don’t know how to play.