PayPal

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If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. 

That adage works for things like your favorite lasagna recipe, but does it really work for an online transactional site like PayPal? I want their engineering team to be constantly upgrading security measures and improving their user interface so they never are in a position to fix anything. 

I will admit that PayPal did finally—after decades of a crappy site that looked like something designed for $500 by a self-taught web designer—retool the site. So there’s that. 

However. 

As a seller, it’s still a pain in the ass to navigate your way to saved buy buttons or to create new buttons for products or services. For providing this service, PayPal takes 3 percent for every online payment. I saw Office Space; those pennies add up every time PayPal transfers money from someone’s bank to yours. 

But the real reason to punch PayPal in the face is, as a buyer, I could be providing detailed financial information to a hacker in a remote North Korean village. Like He-Man, PayPal has the power. And they often wield it indiscriminately, locking accounts for no reason and providing terrible to nonexistent customer service. 

Do I really want to trust my checking account or credit card info to the likes of PayPal? No, but the real burn is that I have no choice in the matter. PayPal is the only game in cybertown and I have to PayPal to play.

Concert ticket prices


I’m looking into seeing some Jovi. Things aren’t looking good. Sure, you live for the fight when it’s all that you’ve got. What I don’t got is the 75 clams for a shitbox seat behind the stage that should come with an oxygen tank. Oh, I could get better seats…if I coughed up $670. Maybe I could cough up a lung and sell my organs to pay for a ticket.

I have loved JBJ ever since I saw him and his tousled hair swing over me in Cobo Arena during the Slippery When Wet tour. The last time I saw Bon Jovi (the Crush tour), I prolly forked over $100 or so for my ticket, when all was said and done. But I don’t know if JBJ and the boys are worth two months of health insurance, which I’ll need after I harvest my organs. If I actually plunk down my card for the ticket and 83 miscellaneous service and handling fees, I will be kicking my uninsured dumbass from here to Key Arena, which isn’t a MENSA-worthy idea. So I’ll pass and turn up my iPod instead, because, truth be told, I’m a little sick of livin’ on a prayer.

What’s the most you’ve ever shelled out for a concert? Was it worth it?

People who never carry cash

I understand the appeal of the debit or credit card. It’s a lot easier to track on Quicken. You can travel light. Believe me, I get it. I use my debit card…a lot. But there’s a time and a place to whip it out, and it’s not when you’re splitting a bar tab ten ways. If you know you’re going out with a large group of people, for the love of all things holy, stuff a wad of bills down your pants.

And believe it or not, there are still a few places that only accept cash and checks. I choke back my two cents every time I find myself at one of these joints with someone who doesn’t have a lick of cash on them. My choices are few: I wait for them to go to an ATM or I float them the cash and then I wind up looking like a dick three weeks later when I ask for the money back and they don’t remember—and they still don’t have any coin on them. Asking for the third or fourth time, I sound like a tightwad tool. And more often than not, I forget that I loaned them money and I’m just hosed.

The only thing to do is to gather up my change in a sock and float one last loan. Just let me know where on your body you’d like me to deposit this hefty sum. And don't worry about repayment. This one's free of charge.

(photo: baserinstincts.com)