Rottenchester

I know y'all have been waiting breathlessly for my new rant. I've had a hard time getting it posted, but here it is, in all its glory. Thanks for waiting. Hugs to everyone, btw, even the stinky hippies.

My rant today is about the upsell we have to endure when completing almost any transaction with a large corporation, and how it sucks a little bit of humanity out of our daily lives.

I'll start with eating out. Whether it is a fast-food restaurant or a mid-priced chain, there's always an attempt to get you to buy more.

Arby's, for example, has three sizes: medium, large and giant. (Which is nuts, but that's fuel for another, unrelated rant.) The staff is trained to ask you whether you want large or giant when you order - medium isn't offered as a possibility. So if you want a medium, there's an uncomfortable moment when you stop, look at the menu, determine that medium is actually a choice, and then tell the person behind the register, "medium".

I saw this little scene play out almost every time someone ordered at Arby's yesterday, because medium is already huge and who wants to even contemplate the fat ass that they'd have after eating "giant" for lunch? Of course, the person at Arby's HQ who came up with this plan doesn't care that his little ploy alienates the customer and makes the Arby's employee feel like a tool. The only thing on this corporate droid's brain is the small percentage of customers who will upsize because they're too shy or intimidated to say "medium".

Mid-priced chains (Outback Steakhouse, Red Lobster, etc.) are the same. The first interaction with your server is usually a speech: "Welcome to [chain], my name is [name], would you like to start with [greasy overpriced appetizer]?" There's also usually some other point during ordering where the server has another point of upsell (such as adding shrimp to a salad). Instead of viewing the server as someone who can help me understand the menu and who might actually recommend something that's good, I spend my time fending off their attempts to get me to buy the high-margin items that management wants to promote.

Retail is just as bad. There's always the "extended service" warranty at the electronics stores, which is invariably a bad deal. And there's the "club" that you pay to join to get a discount, or the store's special credit card. All of these items are shilled by the minimum wage help manning the cash registers.

Target's a great example. The clerks are trained to ask if you want to apply for a Target Visa before every transaction. The other day, I had to buy two sets of items, one for home and one for my business. I paid for them using different credit cards. Before each transaction, the clerk asked me if I wanted to sign up for the Target Visa card. Hey, I'm the same person I was two seconds ago, and like everyone else, I don't want or need another fucking credit card.

I realize this rant sounds a bit like Andy Rooney whining, but my point isn't just to bitch. I'm actually mourning the loss of positive human interaction that used to occur when ordering a meal or purchasing an item. Instead of having to put up my guard and say "No", I would rather just smile and exchange a pleasantry with the person working behind the counter. Plus, it pains me to see an 18-year-old kid have to act like a tool because his boss at Target will fire him if he doesn't say the same thing every time he opens the cash register. It shouldn't be so hard for him to make enough scratch to buy beer and condoms.

So, this rant is dedicated to the marketing drones at these companies, who are denying me a few tiny human moments in their never-ending quest to add a couple of percentage points to this month's gross. May you all be sent to a special corner of hell where you are forced to wear polyester uniforms and ask "do you want fries with that" to an endless line of pissed-off customers.

I'm all for any institution that will result in more pictures of girls kissing, so of course I put my full support behind homos getting hitched. Plus, the religious conservatives get pissed off when girls kiss, so whenever two lesbians get married, its double-fresh, double-good fun: I get to see pictures of both kissing women and red-in-the-face Jesus Freaks.

But, aside from the big dose of self-gratification that Gay Marriage brings to your pal Rottenchester, I'm afraid that, once I calm down, I have to admit that my homosexual friends are fighting the wrong fight. They should forget about "marriage" and concentrate on civil unions and spousal rights.

The problem with "marriage" is that it is such a loaded term. Every discussion of gay marriage conflates two different notions of marriage: the religious and the secular.

Every religion has their own definition of marriage. Catholics, for example, think that marriage is forever (unless you're rich and/or a Kennedy) and don't even recognize the validity of divorce. Protestants are more middle-of-the road. Some Mormon sects will still let you marry multiple wives, as if one weren't an immediate surplus.

From a secular point of view, marriage is simply the recognition of a special obligation between two people. The happy couple are telling the state, and their friends and neighbors, that their lives are intertwined, and that they have assumed certain special obligations for each other.

This bare-minimum, secular commitment is far less than what most religions expect from marriage, so calling it that just confuses the issue. "Civil Union" or "Pledge of Spousal Rights and Responsibilities" are better descriptions, even if they don't roll of the tongue or conjure up a vision of a teeny-tiny bride and groom (or bride and bride, or groom and groom) on a white cake.

Why does this difference matter? Well, in the past few months, I've been surprised by the number of otherwise tolerant people who get bent out of shape when they hear about gay marriage. I think this is because they think about marriage as something sanctioned by their church, and they have a visceral, irrational reaction to the state legislating what their church can do. Even if they are generally tolerant of homosexuals, "marriage" conjures up pictures of two guys kissing at the altar of the neighborhood church, and that just puts
them over the edge.

I think a lot of people who freak out over gay marriage are probably OK with some kind of social contract between gay couples that is sanctioned by the state. And what's wrong with that? If it leads to more girls kissing, I'm all for it.

One interesting fact: the boy's mother called a lawyer - not a psychologist or minister - when she first heard that her son had been molested.

Another juror remarked that the boy "was brought up in an environment where he was taught to lie".

If anything good comes out of this ridiculous circus trial, perhaps it will be a re-examination of our attitudes toward child molestation. The world of molestation is more complex than a simple "innocent victim, horrible monster." There's always a third party involved: the parents.

In the Jackson case, it appears that the parents used their cancer-stricken child as bait for a celebrity with a history of settling molestation cases.

For most victims, simple neglect is the ingredient that the parents add to the mix.

In the rare circumstances when a child molester talks honestly about victim selection, they mention picking the child who seems most hungry for adult attention, as well as the child who is least likely to tell an adult about the molester's actions.

The simple fact is that a strong child, one who is showered by the love and attention of his or her parents, is less likely to be molested, and more likely to tell if he or she receives unwanted attention from a molester.

We live in a hysterical nation. One of the common elements of all of our "wars" - on terror, on drugs, and on child molestation - is a simple "victim/villain" oversimplification. For drugs, it is the pusherman and the hapless, innocent addict who somehow falls into his clutches. The war on terror has the evil terrorists who attack us with absolutely no provocation. For child sex crimes, all of the responsibility rests on the offender.

In each of these cases, the reality is more subtle, and the causes more complex. What's so hard is that child molesters are indeed evil, terrorists are rotten, and drug dealers are no saints either. So it is easy and convenient to rest all the blame on these bad actors and go on with life.

But, every so often, we get a public reminder that it just ain't that simple. MJ's acquittal was one of those reminders.

Yes, you are lovely. So lovely, in fact, that I would like to have a short, meaningless relationship with you.

Don't worry, not a lot of work, or even physical contact, is involved on your part. I merely desire to gaze upon and admire your classic form.

I'm sad to report, however, that there is something keeping us apart: namely, your attire. Yesterday you chose, wisely I might add, to dress sparingly. Your black spandex sports bra was fetching indeed, and it made a pleasing counterpart to your alabaster skin and shiny navel piercing. Bravo to you from the middle up.

Unfortunately, there was a teensy-weensy issue below the middle: those little yellow short-shorts you were wearing. They really didn't flatter you at all. Perhaps some visual aids will help me explain.

Below is an idealized version of the midsection of the female form. Note the hourglass proportions.

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For purposes of illustration, I've added a blue line to indicate the traditional location of the waist in the second graphic below. The red line indicates the early 21st century mislocation of the waist. As you can see, they are in quite different positions.

Finally, this last illustration shows the effect that I observed today, exaggerated for emphasis. As you can see, the elastic waist of those shorts dug into your gorgeous hips and made it look like you have "back fat" or "rolls".

This appearance of back fat is only an illusion, one which can be quickly corrected by wearing shorts that are positioned closer to the blue line pictured in the second illustration.

Based on this evidence, I humbly submit that, for the good of our potential relationship, you should get some higher-cut shorts.

I realize that such shorts are currently out of fashion. Today's ugly, low-cut shorts favor women who are shaped like a board. Like most "high fashion", this look can be pulled off only by a select few - in this case, women without curves. The rest of the world, including you and every other woman with hips, must squeeze themselves into ill-cut clothing that creates an artificial and unattractive bulge, all for the sake of the au courant.

Though current fashion would have you think otherwise, hips are beautiful, and most men find them attractive. In fact, men are hard-wired to find them attractive, since they indicate that you are able to mother healthy children, and men's sexual preferences are inextricably linked to your suitability for procreation. (Sorry, we're just built that way.) Your hips are the product of millenia of evolution. For hundreds of generations, women with broad hips were
able to have larger babies, and therefore survived and multiplied.

So, rejoice in your hips. Sport them proudly. Buck the trends and wear clothes that accentuate them. Our future together depends on it.

Shallowly yours,

Rottenchester

While riding in this morning, the weather got me thinking about great beginnings. One of my favorites is from an old mystery novel:

A perfect morning in a city of perfect mornings; an artist would have worked, a god would have rested.

Another is from the first song Aimee Mann's latest album:

Cotton candy was king
on the midway that Spring
When I saw you standing in the ring on the lawn
Dear John
throwing kisses so Richmond's unfortunates could go on

Other beginnings that I love: the first sip of an ice-cold martini at the end of a day. The first kiss. The first sniff of pine on a drive to the mountains.

So, even if it clouds up later, or the humidity returns, remember that it all began well, and try to appreciate that for what it is.

As one of my old professors used to say: "Anything worth doing is worth doing badly." I think his words sum up the joy of being an amateur, versus the drudgery of being a pro.

Professionalism is overrated. Being a pro is work, in the most negative sense of that accursed four-letter word. Professionalism is writing the required book report after reading the book you love. Professionalism is spitting the wine you just tasted into a bucket so you'll be able to taste the next one with a clear head. Professionalism is a blowjob with a condom on.

As an amateur, you can pursue your chosen interest without fear of failure, and without strapping yourself to a schedule. You can take a break whenever you want, loiter in blind alleys, and defy convention.

Don't get me wrong: I love my job and I'm a professional when I'm at work. But that's enough - the rest is for fun, and, for me, being an amateur is a lot more fun than being a pro.

In my experience, it is the women who have a real primal response. Anything but traditional monogamy is bad, bad, bad. One episode of cheating, lasting a few days or weeks, will end years of marriage, no matter what. In a group where every other issue has many shades of grey, this one is black-and-white.

This "one strike and you're out" mentality is especially interesting because it puts the lie to the notion that even the meekest housewife is powerless. Maybe she doesn't have the traditionally recognized forms of power, but she can choose to withhold sex. This puts her husband in a position where he chooses between risking everything to satisfy his desires, and being sexually frustrated. I call that real power.

Obviously, husbands can withhold sex, too. In my experience, however, women are more likely to play this card and to react violently to the idea of a more open marriage. It is no coincidence that societies where women are truly powerless (such as some Muslim countries) allow men to divorce at will without giving the women community property rights. These societies recognize the power held by women in a traditional marriage.

The institution of marriage leads to a lot of good things: security for children, pooling of resources, and delicious sugary frosting on big white cakes. But the cost--a lifetime of monogamy--is huge. And suggesting an alternative to monogamous marriage will get you the mother of all stink-eyes from every woman in the room.

What they all have in common is that they're weeds growing in a ditch. By convention, they are all ugly and should be mowed down or doused in herbicide.

What beautiful things have you passed by today and failed to notice because they're conventionally ugly?

If these, or hundreds of other, stranger passtimes appeal to you, maybe you're a completist. If so, you're in luck. In prehistoric time, say the 80's, your strange hobby could only be inflicted upon your friends and family. Maybe you'd mount your beer bottle caps in a handsome album and trot it out at Christmas and Easter. Your quest to walk every street in your city would be relegated to the dim recesses of your mind and to anecdotes told by your children and neighbors.

Back then, it was hard to share your labor of love with others. Today, your private obsession can be a public one. Just build yourself a website devoted to your strange hobby and enjoy!

The Internet is a paradise for freaks, and completists are a huge part of it. Everybody should spend a few minutes today checking out someone's collection.

Except this fucking Hoodia shit.

Every day, like a turd that just won't flush, there are a couple of Hoodia ads. They want me to "l0se weight." A noble goal, and 1337 as well. Unfortunately, there's a strict embargo on Hoodia. It is "not available in stores until February 28, 2006." But for me (and me only!) a link to purchase it is thoughtfully included in every one of the ten emails they send me every day.

Naturally, I'd rather stick my dick into a wood chipper than click on a Hoodia link. But I'm thinking that someone here might have clicked the link, or even purchased, Hoodia.

If so, do the world a favor: tell us about it. Animal? Vegetable? Mineral? Cheap? Expensive?

Please post your experiences - but don't mail them. I've got a new, second spam filter set up just for "Hoodia" and everything with that word is going straight into the trash.

Did it occur to any of you geniuses that with increased income, we qualify for larger mortgages and need the increased mortgage interest deduction in order to limit tax liability?

Let's do a little back-of-the-envelope math. He's in DC. I'm in Rochester. We both have some cash to buy a similar house. Assume we can both afford to put up 1/3 of the equity of comparable house. I buy a $150K house, and get a $50K mortgage. He buys a $450K house (since, according to the Washington Post, property values in DC are 3X those in Rochester). He carries a $300K mortgage.

After one year, at 6%, for a 15 year mortgage, he's paid $17K in interest and $12K toward principal. I've paid $3K in interest and $2K in principal.

Even though he makes more than me, we're both rich by government standards, so we're taxed at the highest rate. To make the math easy, let's say we're both taxed at 33%, roughly 1/3 of our incomes.

Because of the mortgage deduction, the $17K in interest he paid reduces his adjusted gross income by $17K, which means that he pays roughly $5,600 (1/3 of $17K) less in taxes. My income is reduced by $3K, so I pay about $1K less in taxes.

Bottom line: after taxes, he still paid $12,400 in interest, never to be seen again. I paid $2,000 in interest. He paid $10K more in interest alone than I did for an equivalent house for one year.

The mortgage deduction did not mitigate this at all - it is really irrelevant and a poor reason to buy a house in the first place. Tax deductions, in general, are rarely a reason to make a financial move. But since people hate taxes so much, financial planners and bankers make a big deal about tax deductions when they're selling financial products.

The other fact our friend from DC ignores is that that taxes for people making more than $150K/year fall under AMT - Alternative Minimum Tax - which limits deductions. When you make the kind of bread you need to make to live in DC, you're also going to be paying a hell of a lot of taxes.

So, who's the "genius" in this picture, DC? There's no magic bullet. If it costs 3X more to buy an equivalent house in DC than it does in Rochester, then you either have to make 3X more, or settle for less.

It started out great between us. Back then, your fantasies made me hot -- big guy in a red coat, baby in a manger, three guys following a star. And, man, did they pay off. I couldn't keep my hands off the presents under your tree, if you know what I mean. We had a lot of good years when I was young and you were younger. It all made sense back then.

But lately, Chris, things between us haven't been so good. You know, you're quite a materialist. Do we really need to shop for a solid month? And the constant nagging ("buy, buy, buy") is getting really old.

Plus, you're a little bit two-faced. If I'm supposed to feel good about buying all this stuff, why are you always reminding me about your "true spirit" and how I need to "remember your genuine meaning"?

I could have put up with listening to the same music all the time (do you ever buy anything new?), if your new fantasies were any good. But I'm afraid they aren't doing much for me. Screaming "Santa" at the top of my lungs used to be a big turn-on. I only feel silly yelling "Kwanzaa".

So I think it might be over between us. But don't take it personally: it's about me, not about you.

Christmas, I'm just not that into you anymore.

Any guy who thinks those fish jokes are funny is an asshole. Unfortunately, there are a lot of assholes around. Women on here probably know the type: they have swamp ass and skidmarks, expect regular bjs yet treat your vag like the forbidden planet of mystery, and make comments about your fat ass even though they have a beer gut.

I'm a man and I can spot that kind of asshole a mile away. It doesn't take any special talent other than a little common sense and life experience. So, naturally, you'd expect those guys would be spending most of their time without female company after, oh, 10th grade.

But you know what's funny? Those guys all end up with women who will bitch and bitch and bitch about them to their friends, to their family, and even on anonymous forums like this one. And those women will stick with them. Apparently, it's better for them to inhale the moist aroma of sweat and poop while giving unreciprocated bjs, and then complain about it to their gal pals, than it is to dump the motherfucker already (DTMFA) and look for someone better.

And fuck that "low self esteem" bullshit - let's call this what it really is: fear and laziness. It's just easier to stay in a shitty relationship and let off some steam by bitching than it is to risk rejection by a guy who knows how to wash his ass and can string together a few sentences that don't include stale old misogynistic jokes.

So if your boyfriend has swamp ass and skidmarks, and you haven't called him out for it, then have a word with him. If he doesn't clean up his act, he's an asshole: DTMFA. If your boyfriend laughs at fish jokes, and refuses to go down on you, do the finger sniff test. If you don't stink: DTMFA. He doesn't even deserve a second chance, because he's an obvious asshole.

But whatever you do, don't fall into the deadly trap of bitching about him to your friends, family or Craigslist. Then you're the asshole, not him, because you know goddam well that you should DTMFA and you just don't have the guts to do it.