How much are you supposed to tip a pizza delivery driver?

Assuming you’re ordering only one or two pizzas (and pizza is ALL you’re ordering), $3 to $5 is probably a good estimate. If you ordered out because Houston is experiencing one of its “flood events” and you didn’t want to risk floating down the street in your car, you might consider hooking the guy up with a little extra.

[Note: Dilettante will continue to use “guy,” “dude” or “fella” when referring to pizza delivery drivers because I have not in my time on earth seen a female pizza delivery driver – I have no doubt they are out there, but I’ve never run across one]

I have friends (cheap bastard friends) who only tip a buck or two for pizza delivery. You’re not exactly making it worth the pizza dude’s time, especially since that barely covers the gas he has to pay for to get to you (most, if not all, pizza joints do not reimburse for gas). And while tipping inside a restaurant is often based on the entire hour or so you’re with your waiter, the pizza fella only interacts with you for a minute or two. It doesn’t matter if his hair is a bit crusty or if he smells funny. He got you your pizza, it’s hot, and you didn’t have to drag your ass off the couch to pick it up.

Of course, bad tippers are not the only prob on the job for pizza guys. “Drivers-sales workers” – the Bureau of Labor’s description of what pizza delivery drivers do for a living – is the FIFTH most dangerous occupation in America. Fifth. Because they get jacked just trying to do their jobs. There’s a website devoted to pizza delivery guy stories – they range from the no tip customer to the man-in-drag customer to the inevitable obese, sexy customer.

Isn’t that worth a few bucks? These guys are risking life, limb and libido just to bring pizza to your lazy ass. Tip accordingly.

[This column originally appeared in its entirety on Houstonist.]

Is that a magic wand in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?

Yeah, that innuendo doesn’t really work on chicks. Dilettante will forgive you because I assume you’re caught up in Harry Potter fever. Not to be confused with Welcome Back Kotter fever, which died out years ago.

I didn’t know they were still teaching kids how to read, so this weekend’s Harry Potter phenomenon was a nice surprise. Of course, a quick glance at news reports from any major city showed much more than teens and ‘tweens in line. There were plenty of adults, too. And not just pedophiles. There are tons of parents who are buying the book “for their kids” but are reading it first, before there are grape jelly fingerprints inside.

Readers are pissed at the New York Times for reviewing the book prior to its release date because they claimed it ruined the book’s surprises. For the kiddies. I don’t think even the most precocious, precious children are sitting around Starbucks slurping down caffeine, munching on a bran muffin and reading the Times. If they are, they’re begging for an ass whupping from one of their more slovenly and slow-thinking cohorts. As for the adults who are pissed about it – DON’T READ THE REVIEW if you want it all to remain a surprise. I mean, really. Turn the freaking page. Unless someone has stretched your eyelids open and is forcing you to read the printed word. Then it’s not your fault. But I would suggest that you have more pressing matters to attend to than worrying about young Harry’s fate.

And regarding your question: Yes, I am happy to see you.

Dilettante, I’m about to take off on a road trip across America. Not so much Kerouac (Jack) as Roker (Al). I’m traveling in a Winnebago and not exactly roughing it. In order to balance out the trip, I’d love some suggestions on divey places to eat along the way.

On a road trip, the best eats are usually the places in between. The greasy spoon on the side of the highway. The shaved ice stand in an otherwise unremarkable little town. The random sushi place in the middle of nowhere. Actually, scratch that last one.

Roadfood Chowhound is the best bet for mapping out your culinary journey. Bon appétit.

I live in a two bedroom apartment, but I’ve run out of space for all my stuff. Is there a mini-storage facility you could recommend?

Unless you’re about to go overseas and have to lose the apartment, you don’t need mini-storage. What you do need is to go through your shit. If there are things you can live without long enough to put them in a climate-controlled box away from your home, I will posit that you can live without those things permanently.

Why is it that homes are bigger than ever, yet there never seems to be enough room for our stuff? The self-storage industry is booming, with 1 in 10 US households renting a unit. Is it Ikea’s fault? Has our ability to purchase particleboard furniture at rock bottom prices caused us to buy a bunch of crappy furniture we don’t really need yet can’t make ourselves throw away? If so, the money saved by going Ikea is negated by the money spent having to rent a one-room apartment for your furniture. Why should you furniture have its own place? You had to wait until you graduated from high school before you got yours. If your furniture wants to live on its own, it can go out and get a job.

Other than spreading computer viruses, does spam actually do anything? Who opens those ridiculous messages?

Dilettante’s email service is pretty good about catching spam. However, a message with the subject line “Myself and you, son Harry, will towards Wales To fight with Glendower and the Earl of March” crept through this morning. I had to open it. Obviously.

The message was in two parts. The top section was a simple box with an ad for a Canadian pharmacy carrying items such as “Viagra Jelly.” Yummy on a toasted English muffin. Under the advert was what appeared to be random sentences grabbed willy-nilly from works of fiction, user manuals and math texts. It’s either experimental fiction or a way to get around spam filters. Maybe both.

Though you may not be in the market for a lotion that will enlarge parts of your body, it seems plenty of other people are. And that’s the rub. Pardon the pun. Maybe spam speaks to our greatest insecurities, offering us things that we wouldn’t actually search for on our own. Maybe you don’t realize how unsatisfied your partner is until you read a spam message alerting you to that fact. Maybe you really would like to chat up a lonely woman from another country. Maybe spam holds the key to getting your life together, if only you would open the message and accept the help being offered. For a fee, of course.

Come on, Viagra jelly?

[This column originally appeared in its entirety on Houstonist.]

I’m thinking of buying my first new car, and I’m terrified of the whole process. I just know I’m going to get screwed. Do you have any tips for me? I don’t know what undercoating is!

You need two basic items when traveling the murky waters of car buying: education and the ability to walk away. The first one is easy; the second is a little more difficult if you’re looking at a vehicle that tickles you in just the right spot.

Edmunds is a great place to start. You can look up the MSRP, dealer invoice and True Market Value (TMV = the average price other people are paying in your area) for the vehicle you’re considering. The site provides photographs and extensive reviews, and it lists any incentives that are being offered. Read this nine-part series in which a journalist goes undercover as a car salesman. It’s an eye-opening look at the pressures put on sales staff to sell sell sell and the psychology they employ to try to do the deal.

After you’ve done your research, request quotes online through Edmunds, CarsDirect, Autobytel and Cars.com. This lets dealers know that you are an educated potential customer. And you want dealers to compete against each other for your business. Most inquiries result in a phone call from a salesperson. At this point, get a ballpark price. When salespeople know you’re talking to multiple car dealers, they have to give you a fairly decent price just to get you in the door. Ask for their preliminary quote to be faxed to you so you have written proof of the conversation.

At the dealership, enjoy the test drive but don’t wear your heart on your sleeve. Even if you’ve been driving a piece of crap that belches black smoke every time you crank the engine. Even if the headliner has come loose and rests on your head while you drive. Even if the car overheats constantly and requires that the heater be run in the dead of summer. Play it cool.

After the test drive, try to keep the conversation concentrated on the cost of the car. If you are going to trade in your vehicle or apply for a loan from the car manufacturer, save that part of the discussion until after you’ve set the price of the new car. This is hard to do. A great way to keep the conversation focused on the new car is to come into the deal with a loan already secured from your bank or an online lender such as eLoan. If you have a car to trade in, take it to CarMax first to see what they’ll give you for it. They will often pay you more for your vehicle than you can get in trade, though you don’t get the tax break you do when you trade one car for another.

If the salesperson thinks they can’t squeeze money out of the loan or trade-in, they may not give you the best deal on the new car. That’s why you play it easy-breezy. Tell them that you have a loan secured, but you’re interested in seeing what they can do for you. Tell them that you have an offer for your wonderful old car, but you’d like to give the dealership a crack at it. Keep them guessing as to your intentions, and don’t let them know the APR of your loan or the amount CarMax is willing to give you. And under NO circumstances should you EVER tell them what you want your monthly car payment to be. This is an amateur mistake. A dealership can give you that $300 monthly payment you desire. But for how many months?

Walking out is the greatest negotiation tool you have. Ultimately YOU control the deal. It’s your money, and if you don’t get the price you want, move on. If you have set a realistic price target, you will find a dealer who will work with you. Stick to your guns. Salespeople who claim they’ve given you the absolute best price they can will suddenly find new options when you grab your stuff and prepare to leave.

Eyes on the prize, my friend. A little research and preparation and maintaining the ability to get up and walk will result in you not getting screwed. Oh, undercoating is unnecessary bullshit and you can Scotchgard your own upholstery for less than $10. Good luck!

[This column originally appeared in its entirety on Houstonist.]

Did you see The Police reunion tour at Toyota Center Friday night? I know you like all that old crap.

You’re only as old as you feel, sir. And yes, Dilettante saw the show. Sigh. Here’s the deal. The Police broke up before I was old enough to go to concerts. So for the past twenty-something years, I’ve regretted never having seen them live. Sure, I’ve been to more than my share of Sting concerts, but I try to keep that under my hat. And I don’t wear a hat, so you can imagine how hard that’s been.

When the rumor was going around that the Police were going to do a “surprise” performance at the Grammys, I greeted the news with cautious optimism. When I watched their performance at the awards show, the optimism turned to outright fear. Not only did they do one of their crappiest songs (Roxanne), but they didn’t sound all that great. I was not going to pass up the opportunity to see them in Houston, however, so I bought tickets the moment they went on sale. Guess they were a hot commodity because the pair of seats I purchased were behind the stage.

The seats were so shitty, a sherpa led us only part of the way there. He handed each of us a small baggie with some sort of jerky in it and told us to “stay together.” He lingered a moment longer, then left to make his way back down to ground level. After shooing off the goats that were in our seats, we each took a hit of oxygen from the tank we’d stolen from the sherpa. The crappy view ended up being not bad for two reasons: Sting’s ass (yoga) and Stewart Copeland’s drumming (wow). Andy Summers looked like a guitar teacher who had to step in at the last minute to play a student recital in a gymnasium. It was like he was embarrassed to be there yet couldn’t help but wail on the guitar, all the while wearing a disinterested look on his face so no one would think he was having fun.

As for the music part of the show, they played new arrangements of many of their songs. None were as bad as Spinal Tap’s Jazz Odyssey period, but they were certainly reminiscent. “Hope you enjoy our new direction.” If these guys had been touring for the past twenty-five years, I’d understand their desire to play old songs in new ways. But this is a reunion tour, and many people in the audience never got to hear these songs in their original form. I’ve already heard the jazzy versions during Sting concerts (back under the hat, you), so I wanted (and expected) the undiluted version at this show. Still, I’m glad to have gone. And there’s a little bit of that jerky left.

I read Houstonist religiously and Austinist when I feel like being a mainstream hipster, but I’m confused right now. Are you and your -ist friends now writing for Texas Monthly? What gives?

Q&A columns are popping up like CVS stores lately, aren’t they? Guess a lot of people have questions and a lot of other people think they have answers. At least your friend Dilettante is the only columnist (I think) who combines the snotty third person with the more regular first person. No, it’s not grammatically correct. But that’s okay. You and I understand each other. As for your question, as far as Dilettante can tell the new Texanist column has nothing to do with Houstonist, Austinist or any of the other -ist sites. Also, it looks like Texanist doesn’t make up his letters like Dilettante sometimes does (though this particular entry was sparked by a real letter). Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, right?

Thanks for the compliment, Texas Monthly.

[This column originally appeared in its entirety on Houstonist.]