Hello again. The midterm races are heating up so, at first, I thought I’d write about my all-time favorite crazy-pants, ex-cokehead, adulterous and blind governor, my home state’s David Paterson — or, as I like to call him, good time Davey.

You know the old story. He’s the consummate underdog: a strange, drug-addled loon with an aide scandal facing off against some wicked threat. Oh but wait, little loon’s got three million bucks compared to evil Cuomo’s bazillions. Oh well Dave, we’ll blow up the club scene after you lose. BLOW IT UP!

So, seeing little of interest in the exploits of good-time Davey, I found myself in the weeds topic-wise. But then there appeared on my television the most evil of threats: PATTI … effing ... STANGER. I’m coming for you Patti — through the Internet. Run.

For those of you lucky people who have never heard of this woman, you may want to turn back now. Patti Stanger is the CEO of Millionaire Matchmaker, an expensive but, nonetheless, trashy dating service based in L.A. The L.A. operation and CEO Patti Strange-face are featured in a televised show on Bravo.

To be frank, Millionaire Matchmaker is genius reality TV. The other day, I sat up to realize I had watched four hours of it in a row.

The concept is simple: Patti and her cohorts take on some poor lady or man who, despite their mad monies, is having a hard time finding love. They are exposed to a group of potential-dates — both of their preferred type and Patti-chosen — in a “mixer.” They whittle down their options, selecting a few candidates for a handful of mini dates and then, finally, choosing one man or woman for a single “master date.” Accompanying the millionaires through this process are various life coaches, yogis and, most recently, a truly horrific etiquette coach.

Patti does a lot of crazy things. She likes to use the words and phrases “spread,” “popped cherry” and “find the chupacabra” a lot. She thinks girls will most enjoy a date if they’re dolled up in stilettos. (Although I find a rousing joust or a paintball outing to be more fun.) However, she seems to understand what a guy needs to do to bag an L.A. biddy: spend a lot of money, not to be overtly nuts, occasionally listen to your date and look okay. These millionaires and million-heiresses usually have something pretty wrong with them. There’s even a crazy drug addict with a monkey. (I’d take the monkey and ditch the dude; that monkey was so cute!) There was also a man who took his date to soup kitchen in a limo. (Nice.)

Then we had this nice former NFL player. He’s a sweet clown. I couldn’t believe it: a normal dude. Then, Patti let’s loose the flood. No girl’s going to like you with this childish sense of humor, guy! Sure, the guy was a little uncouth but Patti’s solution to his moderately improper protocol snafus was to haul in a supposed etiquette queen. You may think I’m over-reacting, but I think this lady is the enemy of all women.

For example, what should a man do when he is on a date at a restaurant? Patti and Crazy Lady: he lets her choose and then orders for her! PATTI! Yes, let’s take a nice guy who thinks women should speak for themselves and turn him into some kind of fool ass-ristocrat.

I’m a fan of being polite. It’s nice if your date pulls your chair out, opens the door for you and treats you with civility. But some so-called “protocol” is just useless today. Many of these “rules” should be discarded because they emphasize unequal gender roles. If you stand up when I leave the table, I’m going to be nice and polite. Then, later, I’m going to beat your face in and leave you for dead in an alley. If you come even close to ordering for me, I will beat you up right there on the table and just throw myself at the mercy of the justice system. There is no emasculation or improper behavior involved in equivalent physical gestures of respect between people on a date.

Even the little interactions a woman has with a man can color the kind of relationship that results. Speaking for someone else is never polite. What’s especially strange is Patti’s general lack of etiquette. Patti, your panty-lines are wild! Where was this strict sense of decorum when you decided not to wear a slip! How about when you have the client pick the woman they’d like to date in front of all the other ladies. Or when you curse some of the women out in front of the clients. All of these factors reveal a program that has very little respect for its own participants and particularly, for women.

These interactions demonstrated how despicable Millionaire Matchmaker really is. It’s a modern day harem that popularizes incredibly archaic relationship ideals. In a recent episode, Zagros, a Kurdish-American, marched in with his entire extended family and watched Patti interview candidates behind a two-way mirror. Za-GROSS! They went through the girls one by one with the 43-year-old baby boy turning down girls who had “poor definition.” On the whole, this program introduces flawed, overextended “millionaires,” to younger women who are often new to L.A. and sometimes to the United States.

Women can sign up to be on Patti’s database (harem) for free; for millionaires, the fee is anywhere from $25,000 to $150,000. Male clients are literally just placed into a room with tons of women. Inevitably, the men usually employ hotness and youth as their main criteria, in spite of Patti’s passionate afternoon-long soul/etiquette makeovers.

So my message to everyone is, don’t ever value politeness or protocol over living your own life and speaking your mind. My message to Patti is: stop thinking you’re an enlightened matchmaker. Overall, you are a glorified madam who, far from creating lasting relationships, aids and abets older creeps’ affinities for younger and easily controlled women.

Rabia Muqaddam is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences. She can be contacted at rmuqaddam@cornellsun.com. The Argument Clinic appears alternative Fridays this semester.