Tipping. It makes no cents. See what I did there?

In December ought-five, my family and I went “across the pond,” as they say, to the country from whence America flew the coop. I’m talkin’ bout the U.K. Great Britain. One nation under the Union Jack.

England.

I was legal to drink in England, despite the fact that I had nearly 3 years left to go in my home country. So silly. I bought a bottle of gin on the airplane because I thought it was hilarious that I could do that. My mom didn’t. The bottle would later be consumed at the now defunct Go Vertical, and thinking about it makes me a little misty-eyed.

But that’s not the point. The point is, at the bars in England, you don’t tip. Seriously. The bartenders won’t accept it. Many of them even find it insulting. Some people just think to themselves, “that’s cool, I saved a dollar!” Well, for one, you saved a pound, you dumbass. At the current exchange rate, you saved $1.64.

But furthermore, the experience makes one think. What the hell is it with tipping? What the English would say when refusing a tip is “all I’m doing is my job.” And it’s true. You ask for a beer. A bartender hands you a beer. You pay for it. So why don’t we tip at convenience stores? Why don’t we tip when we take out food? Why don’t we tip at clothing stores?

That cup of coffee was so good, I'll pay for it twice.

The services for which you tip are seemingly random. You tip cab drivers, barbers, waiters, caddies, beauticians…but why? Why don’t you tip your financial advisor, or your doctor, or some contractor you hired to fix up your house?

I worked as a waiter for a few summers, and I know, of course, that in certain industries, minimum wage is lowered because tips are expected. And being the charmer that I am, that worked out quite nicely for me. But wouldn’t it make an equal amount of sense if the restaurants just paid the damn waiters more?

Tips started out as a way to thank someone for doing an exceptional job, but now they’re expected to the point of tampering with minimum wage. What the hell happened? I’ll tell you one thing; the restaurants make out pretty damn nicely with the current setup. When you’re a waiter, the diners pay your salary. How’d restaurateurs get away with that one?

It makes no goddamn fucking sense - pardon my French - and I’m sure a lot of people feel the same way. But really, you can’t refuse to tip out of principle – you’d be completely screwing a lot of people who really don’t get paid otherwise. So there’s no room for being ideological and sticking to your guns on this one.

No, my friends, when that bartender twists off the cap of that Coors Light you just ordered, you’ll give him an extra dollar for his troubles. What a weird fucking country.

Come on Down! It's Rant Day at Denim Douche!

Today’s a first on Denim Douche: I’m taking a request. Friend of the Douche Logan Peters made a suggestion for a new entry, and this is me, happily obliging.

By the way, any of you can feel free to request a topic at any time. Most will be stupid. I know this. But you may just hit a homerun. Wow, what foreshadowing.

Today, we’re talking about baseball promotions. Logan had astutely noticed the sad, sorry promotional items being offered at Yankee stadium. You know these. Something along the lines of “Come on down to Yankee Stadium on September 4th, because it’s Yankee meat thermometer night! Get ‘em while they’re hot!”

And you say, “Michael Kay, fuck off. I don’t want a meat thermometer. If you’re going to give shit out, make it cool.”

First of all, stop talking to your television. But more importantly, you’re right. I invented the Yankees meat thermometer, but truly, it’s not that far off base. Fuck, the world is loaded with baseball phrases.

When it comes to shitty promotions, the Yankees are batting .1000. Check out some of these upcoming winners:

Soup Bowl Night
Luggage Tag Day
Plush Yankees Whistle Night
Hand Sanitizer Keychain (Unfortunately, I’m missing this by 6 hours)
Limited Edition Miniature Collectible Ford Taurus Night

And some past winners:

Passport holder night
G-force trading card day
Calculator Day

Soup Bowl night? What the hell? Why not just “bowl night?” Are you required to eat soup out of it at all times? Is cereal forbidden?

How does one make a plush whistle? Plush is the shit Beanie Babies were made out of, right? I fail to see the physics of a whistle here.

Limited Edition Miniature Collectible Ford Taurus Night? Or as me and my homies call it, LEMCFTN? If you were to compile a list of miniature car figurines in order of desirability, where would you place the Ford Taurus? Somewhere in between a Gremlin and a Geo Tracker? Sounds about right.

Listen, going to a baseball game is a hell of a good time, and you usually don’t need a whole lot of extra incentive. Who the hell has ever had this conversation?

Dude: Hey, want to go to the Yankee game?
Other Dude: God, I don’t know… maybe…
Dude: It’s Luggage Tag Day!
Other Dude: LET’S FUCKING GO!!!!

There’s no way that these promotions actually boost attendance. And if they do…*angrily shaking my fist at the tri-state area*

In keeping with my intentional overuse of baseball phrases, I’d say these promotions are a strikeout, but I think that’s too exciting. They’re either a sacrifice bunt or a Jamie Moyer fastball. I can’t decide which. A balk?

Come on, where’s the good stuff? Give me Derek Jeter black book night. How about “learn Japanese with Hideki Matsui educational CD night”? CC Sabathia cookbook night? Andy Pettite fake butt-chin night? Who the fuck is Cody Ransom day?

Yankees, you’re a kajillion dollar franchise with 26 championships. Quit having promotions that look suspiciously like they came to fruition after thoughts like “what the fuck are we going to do with all these calculators?” Jason Giambi mustache night was a good start. We want more of that.

Love, America.

Engagement Rings: In the Marketing Ploy Hall of Fame.

Depending on whom you ask, a man is supposed to spend 2-3 months salary on an engagement ring for his bride-to-be.

This is seriously one of the most brilliant marketing moves of all time. I don’t know exactly how they did it, but the jewelry companies managed to convince an entire world that you don’t love your girlfriend unless you spend a fortune on a stupid fucking shiny thing holding a shinier thing.

"OOOOH, SHINY... SOOOOO PRETTY... ME WANT ONE..."

Try telling a woman that it’s stupid though. It’s romantic. It shows you care. Bullshit: it’s an egregious waste of money that could be better spent a billion different ways. Think about it; if you’re proposing, there’s a damn good chance you’re at a place in your life where it’s time to make some major purchases. A house. Cars. Not to mention the litany of expenses related to having children. So what the hell sense does it make to waste a quarter of a year’s salary on a fucking finger-adornment?

How about the wedding itself? That costs a pretty penny, don’t it? How about the honeymoon? You could buy the woman a fucking Ring Pop and then have the most incredible, memorable honeymoon in the world. Or you can give her a rock and stay at a motel 6. It’s up to you.

What is so interesting about a diamond? It doesn’t do anything. It doesn’t shoot lasers. It doesn’t sing your favorite song. All it does it sit there and twinkle. Okay, it’s pretty. But it ain’t that pretty.

And what does the guy get? A metal band. And not even a cool metal band, like Megadeth. A stupid gold circle that you put on your finger. Maybe if the tables were turned and women had to shell out upwards of ten grand for a ring, you’d hear more objection to the convention. But the way things are now suits them just fine. Pay up, or you don’t love me. Right.

Maybe this stupid rule had its place back in the day when women didn’t have rights, but in this day and age, it’s a relic. The world would be a far better place if people weren’t so image-obsessed and grinning like idiots over pretty things.

Man, whoever marries me is going to be one lucky woman.

Fashion is stupid.

Welcome to America. Welcome to a country that can justify spending a thousand dollars on a handbag. Welcome to a place where homeless people lie in city streets while women with four hundred dollar sunglasses step over them.

Why do people choose to spend their money this way? I just can’t wrap my head around it. I’m told all the time that I just “don’t get it,” but what is there to get? Why would people willingly pay 500% price markups for a brand name? Why purposely spend far more money than you have to for the same shit from a different designer?

There’s the matter of what’s “in” this season. Now, who the fuck decides that? Clearly, for something to start being “in,” it at first has to be “out.” Is there a panel that sits around in a shadowy room deciding what styles are going to fucking blow everyone’s mind this fall? No matter how goofy or retarded clothes, bags, or accessories look, if they’re “in,” they’ll be bought.

Fashion people, I ask you this: How insecure are you in your life? Why do you feel you have to keep up with the latest fashions? So people will like you better? If you fall behind on the styles, will your friends start ignoring you? Will your significant others dump you? Why the constant outpour of money on useless bullshit?

Fashion is one of the most arrogant obsessions there is, as well. People who love fashion love nothing more than sitting around talking about people who don’t care about fashion. They get really excited about the one time they picked out this cute dress for so-and-so and now that person is fashionable as well.

Call it cheap. I call it economical. I’ll buy my clothes at fucking Target and be all the happier for it. I’ll have thousands of extra dollars to save for important things. You know: a house, a car. Things that aren’t stupid.

Hey, it’s your money. Do what you want with it, by all means. But I will never, as long as I walk the Earth, even begin to understand it. Clothing was invented to serve a utilitarian purpose. They keep us warm. They keep us dry. I don’t know exactly when clothing became a comically overblown means of determining social status and rank-and-file, but you’ll never be able to convince me.

Report: Texting While Driving Greatly Increases Risk of Typos

Washington, D.C. – A new Princeton University report released Tuesday has dozens of legislators pushing for a federal ban of driving while text messaging. The startling study shows that texting while operating a motor vehicle can result in an alarmingly high rate of typographical errors.

“The logic behind the results is fairly obvious,” said Hal Sutherland, the study’s lead researcher. “This type of multitasking makes it impossible for citizens to keep their eyes on the phone. The grammatical and syntactical results can be absolutely devastating.”

Sutherland

According to the study, driving has a substantial negative effect on a myriad of common texting typos. “You’re 31% more likely to hit “send” before finishing a message when behind the wheel,” says Sutherland, “and 28% more apt to mistakenly leave a number in the middle of a word.”

Other shocking observations include a 52% boost in sending messages to the wrong recipient, a dramatic rise in T9 users sending “in” instead of “go,” and a 100% increase of the word “flggbdaoaug.”

“If the practice of texting while driving goes unchecked, who knows what could happen?” lamented Sutherland. “People will get confused, messages will be misunderstood, wrong directions will be given - if texting and driving continues, people could get hurt.”

The scientific community is abuzz with news of the report. “It’s really shocking,” says Martha Vaughn, famed text-message researcher at Cornell. “It’s the most breakthrough research since our study last June, which showed that drinking while texting causes a 627% upswing in telling your ex-girlfriend you love her at 3 in the morning.”

Separate Church and State, for F-word’s sake.

So my mom is in Maine, and needed me to mail her something. I couldn’t do it before noon on Saturday, because I was hungover and enjoying the absolutely phenomenal Brunch menu at Bull’s Head Diner.

The brunch menu is a choice of breakfast or lunch food from a list of a dozen or so selections, served with coffee or tea AND a brunch cocktail (Mimosa, Bloody Mary or Pina Colada)…all for 12 bucks…Complete with the diner’s trademark absurd serving sizes. I am convinced they’re losing money on this deal. And wouldn’t you know it, it even helped my hangover. Thanks, more booze!

So Sunday rolls along…and as we all know, the post office is closed. This is where I began to think and experience one of my fits of rage that you’re all privy to at this point. How the hell, in 2009, are post offices, banks, liquor stores, and a whole host of other things that I’m surely forgetting, legally required to shut their doors on Sundays?

Of course, these outdated traditions date back to the day when America truly was a Christian nation and the Sabbath was the day of rest. But for a country that purports to be nondenominational, we sure do things with a distinctively Christian flare, don’t we?

For a country with no religious affiliation, isn’t it funny that gays can’t get civil unions? A totally political ceremony with no religious connotations attached, and yet it somehow ruins the sanctity of marriage. Isn’t it fun that everyone has to swear on a Bible in a court of law? What if they aren’t Christian? Doesn’t that give them spiritual license to lie like crazy? Again, this is a leftover from our God-fearing roots, in which the political consequences of perjury still weren’t quite as bad as the eternal damnation of hellfire that would surely follow.

I find this shit so silly, and yet politicians don’t want to touch it with a hundred foot pole. Too many crazies and fundamentalists still out there. To challenge the now-absurd remnants of religious piety, even in this day and age, is a pretty risky political move. Maybe even a death sentence, depending on which nutjob you offend.

Remember, kids. It says “In God We Trust” on your dollar bill… and that’s why you can’t take them out of the bank on Sundays.

ATMs don’t count, asshole.

The Great Mighty Ducks Debate

In the great Dorito debate, I consider myself captain of the Cool Ranch side, and archnemesis Dave is the head honcho over at team Nacho Cheese. This argument continues to rage on, as chronicled months ago here on the Douche (consult the archives if you don’t remember this). The poll results were inconclusive, which I find exciting. A definitive answer to such a burning question shouldn’t come so easily.

But last night, I found myself engaged in a debate nearly as pressing as Dorito Wars. I speak, of course, of the great Mighty Ducks debate. No, the debate isn’t which Mighty Ducks movie is the best. That’s D2 by a country mile. The debate is this:

The Ducks in D2 have two girls on the team. Julie "The Cat" Gaffney (left), and Connie (right).


Which one is hotter?

Now, it may be a weird question to compare two underage girls’ looks, but remember that we grew up with this movie and the debate rages on from the days in which it was appropriate to think these girls were cute.

I am the staunch leader of the Connie camp, and face strong resistance from rival Alex Romansky, an uncompromising “The Cat” man.

Julie “The Cat” Gaffney, all-world goalie from Bangor, Maine, is a much more pivotal character. When coach Bombay makes the insanely ballsy decision to put an ice cold Gaffney in the goal against scoring machine Gunner Staal, you break into a cold sweat.

Connie is a less interesting character, but a much more slammin’ hottie. Goldberg knew it, the Bash Brothers knew it, shit, Julie “The Cat” Gaffney knew it. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.

But this is a Democracy. Take a trip back to the mid 90s with me. A time in which Happy Meals reigned supreme and people listened to Ace of Base. An era in which Michael Jordan ruled the world and Pogs happened. Put yourself in 1994 and cast your vote. Because at Denim Douche, we ask the tough questions. The answers come from you.

DUCKS FLY TOGETHER!

P.S. Ladies, don't be shy to chime in. Everyone can appreciate foxy 12 year old hockey players.