In my previous posting, "The Rip-Off", I described how I won — along every conceivable parameter, really — while making the most loser-ish real estate move possible. I claimed that this changed everything. But I just remembered that I learned this move ages ago.
A dysfunctional girlfriend who constantly complained about everyone in her life being out to destroy her accidentally sent me an email intended for her best friend, in which, to my non-surprise, she described me as out to destroy her (when, in fact, I'd spent years working strenuously to fill her with the same vitality and love as I was lavishing on my young web site). Coming after a long series of hair-raising indignities, my patience was exhausted and I severed contact.
Some time later, I mentioned on Chowhound how sad I was that butterscotch had become an endangered flavor, and a package arrived shortly afterwards containing butterscotch candies. I don't remember if there was a note or return address, but it was obvious who'd sent them.
The normal thing to do would have been to snidely throw them in the trash. "Good riddance!" That's the movie scene, right?
But that seemed like a waste of perfectly good butterscotch, so I kept the candy, I ate the candy, and I enjoyed the hell out of the candy noncontextually. It was pretty easy, really. You can choose this outcome, though you’ll never see it in movies. It's a reframing thing.
The moment of realizing my freedom to reject the conventional movie script was similar to another time I recognized that I'm not compelled to play out cinematic clichés at fraught junctures.
I'm free to frame as I'd like. The candy was delicious. My apartment is great. I suppose this sounds selfish, like I always go for high-testosterone wins regardless of circumstance. But nothing like that. If I can win without creating losers, and the movie script says I'd lose by "giving ground", I'll gleefully give all the ground in the world...and take my win. Consideration for others ought to be reserved for generosity, not haughty gamesmanship — and certainly not haughty gamesmanship that leaves me needlessly worse off. Why not just eat the damn candy?
Friday, October 2, 2026
Thursday, October 1, 2026
The Rip-Off
I'd planned to spend my first months in Portugal renting a room from two of my dearest, oldest friends, but they turned out to be late-stage alcoholics who flipped between two modes:
1. "We hate that you're here and hope you drop dead", and 2. "Why are you so skittish around us? What's wrong with you? We're your friends and we love you!"
I found every excuse to get away: travel, chowhounding (familiarizing myself with every restaurant south of Lisbon and north of Alentejo), park visits and cafe hangs, but I discovered (this is actually useful information!) that you cannot fill up all 168 hours of a week like that. So I spent 6-8 hours a day sitting in my car. There was a tree I liked, so I parked in front of it. Good times!
I had to accelerate efforts to find my own place, so I auditioned a series of realtors, each worse than the last. As ditzy as they may be in USA, here it's worse. They're like used car salesmen. There's no code of conduct local realtors even pretend to uphold. I settled on a French guy, a moody chainsmoker who, once I'd signed on, didn't conceal his contempt. His cracked phone screen showed how desperately he needed his commission. At every gross place he showed me, he'd stare at me, willing me via psi-powers. Please buy. Please. You want this.
My living situation had become unlivable, so Frenchie found me a rental which turned out to be adjacent to a marble cutter, who started at 7am, the whole house shaking and fine stone dust pluming, triggering asthma that hadn't recurred in decades. This is how you force a client to buy ASAP. Clever Frenchie!
In my haggard state, I managed to mess up my ankle and could barely walk. And just around then began a series of food-borne illnesses (I'd developed an inability to fight off campylobacter) which eventually stripped 45 pounds off of me, leaving me dehydrated to the point where my kidneys filled with tiny stones.
Half-dead — and inclined to use my remaining energy to drown the realtor — we walked quite unexpectedly into a soulful, super-nice, perfect apartment. But it was 70,000€ too expensive, and the owner shrewdly noticed that I was geared up about it and refused to budge. For weeks. I actually begged at one point, but no dice. My realtor was so galled that he actually counseled me—against his own interest!— to keep looking. Everyone in my life begged me to tell the owner to go to Hell. There are other apartments, after all!
Nope. I bought it.
The owner couldn't stop grinning at the closing as I limped around coughing and making bathroom detours. But I bought, moved in, and swiftly began recovering, and it was one of the best decisions I ever made. I now live in a soulful, utterly comfortable apartment which, after three years, has appreciated above its sale price. A win by any standard. Asthma's better, stomach is mostly sorted, and Señora Vanessa is making great progress on my ankles.
I don't know many people who'd have bought. They'd keep viewing properties with the contemptuous Frenchman, limping, coughing, and faint from a diet of white rice and toast. The price was WAY too high, the owner was WAY too much of a prick, and this was a scene you'd have been delighted to walk away from...even though it was a really great apartment.
But that last part was the only part that mattered, under the circumstances.
I can't say it involved any high-mindedness. I didn't forgive anyone, or keep a "positive attitude". I merely followed my self-interest — like everyone does all the time! — in the presence of considerable gall. The ultimate example of not cutting off one's nose to spite one's face.
Now, having discovered the massive rewards of losing face (it's like a superpower!), I'm a changed person. In such scenarios, I deny myself nothing on principle. I'm not normally selfish, but this is my sole exception. I garland myself with the luxury of doing what's best for me even when the situation calls for haughty self-denial.
The best revenge is living well, though it may take forbearance to get through the initial degradation. It absolutely made sense to shower money at a seller who wouldn't stop grinning because he'd made a killing by killing me...because it was my best shot at living. He won, but I won more!
Here's a follow-up
1. "We hate that you're here and hope you drop dead", and 2. "Why are you so skittish around us? What's wrong with you? We're your friends and we love you!"
I found every excuse to get away: travel, chowhounding (familiarizing myself with every restaurant south of Lisbon and north of Alentejo), park visits and cafe hangs, but I discovered (this is actually useful information!) that you cannot fill up all 168 hours of a week like that. So I spent 6-8 hours a day sitting in my car. There was a tree I liked, so I parked in front of it. Good times!
I had to accelerate efforts to find my own place, so I auditioned a series of realtors, each worse than the last. As ditzy as they may be in USA, here it's worse. They're like used car salesmen. There's no code of conduct local realtors even pretend to uphold. I settled on a French guy, a moody chainsmoker who, once I'd signed on, didn't conceal his contempt. His cracked phone screen showed how desperately he needed his commission. At every gross place he showed me, he'd stare at me, willing me via psi-powers. Please buy. Please. You want this.
My living situation had become unlivable, so Frenchie found me a rental which turned out to be adjacent to a marble cutter, who started at 7am, the whole house shaking and fine stone dust pluming, triggering asthma that hadn't recurred in decades. This is how you force a client to buy ASAP. Clever Frenchie!
In my haggard state, I managed to mess up my ankle and could barely walk. And just around then began a series of food-borne illnesses (I'd developed an inability to fight off campylobacter) which eventually stripped 45 pounds off of me, leaving me dehydrated to the point where my kidneys filled with tiny stones.
Half-dead — and inclined to use my remaining energy to drown the realtor — we walked quite unexpectedly into a soulful, super-nice, perfect apartment. But it was 70,000€ too expensive, and the owner shrewdly noticed that I was geared up about it and refused to budge. For weeks. I actually begged at one point, but no dice. My realtor was so galled that he actually counseled me—against his own interest!— to keep looking. Everyone in my life begged me to tell the owner to go to Hell. There are other apartments, after all!
Nope. I bought it.
The owner couldn't stop grinning at the closing as I limped around coughing and making bathroom detours. But I bought, moved in, and swiftly began recovering, and it was one of the best decisions I ever made. I now live in a soulful, utterly comfortable apartment which, after three years, has appreciated above its sale price. A win by any standard. Asthma's better, stomach is mostly sorted, and Señora Vanessa is making great progress on my ankles.
I don't know many people who'd have bought. They'd keep viewing properties with the contemptuous Frenchman, limping, coughing, and faint from a diet of white rice and toast. The price was WAY too high, the owner was WAY too much of a prick, and this was a scene you'd have been delighted to walk away from...even though it was a really great apartment.
But that last part was the only part that mattered, under the circumstances.
I can't say it involved any high-mindedness. I didn't forgive anyone, or keep a "positive attitude". I merely followed my self-interest — like everyone does all the time! — in the presence of considerable gall. The ultimate example of not cutting off one's nose to spite one's face.
Now, having discovered the massive rewards of losing face (it's like a superpower!), I'm a changed person. In such scenarios, I deny myself nothing on principle. I'm not normally selfish, but this is my sole exception. I garland myself with the luxury of doing what's best for me even when the situation calls for haughty self-denial.
The best revenge is living well, though it may take forbearance to get through the initial degradation. It absolutely made sense to shower money at a seller who wouldn't stop grinning because he'd made a killing by killing me...because it was my best shot at living. He won, but I won more!
Here's a follow-up
A Marginally Better Presbyterian
I was recently musing that a lot of people supported Trump because "he's a pugnacious shithead just like me."
Liberals would smirk at that. They'd nod their heads ruefully. So true!
But they support that sort of thing to their very core. After all, what screams Democratic Party more than a soft-focused video of a minority child entranced by a speech proclaiming in voiceover, "I want a president who looks like me!"
Yeah! That's the stuff! Beautiful!
Most people in this binary of binaries (well, Palestine/Israel is still marginally worse) have trouble parsing what, exactly, centrism even means. Here's a taste:
If a terrific Jewish presidential candidate were to run, I'd vote for them enthusiastically...but only because they were "terrific", not because they were Jewish. But if a Presbyterian candidate were only marginally better, I'd support that one even more enthusiastically. And I find it very hard to empathize with any other view. To me, you'd need to be so completely adrift in storybook bullshit and pure narcissism that you'd lost all sense.
Liberals would smirk at that. They'd nod their heads ruefully. So true!
But they support that sort of thing to their very core. After all, what screams Democratic Party more than a soft-focused video of a minority child entranced by a speech proclaiming in voiceover, "I want a president who looks like me!"
Yeah! That's the stuff! Beautiful!
Most people in this binary of binaries (well, Palestine/Israel is still marginally worse) have trouble parsing what, exactly, centrism even means. Here's a taste:
If a terrific Jewish presidential candidate were to run, I'd vote for them enthusiastically...but only because they were "terrific", not because they were Jewish. But if a Presbyterian candidate were only marginally better, I'd support that one even more enthusiastically. And I find it very hard to empathize with any other view. To me, you'd need to be so completely adrift in storybook bullshit and pure narcissism that you'd lost all sense.
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