Answer Me This! Podcast

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Hands up who thinks that in movies, there ought to be more time dedicated to the mundanity of living? Tim Burton ought to spend less time on the fantastical elements of storytelling, and more time satisfying the curiosity of Ryan in Melbourne, who asks:

How does Edward Scissorhands pee?

How does Edward Scissorhands do ANYTHING? Apart from cut hair and sculpt ice, he’s ill-equipped to do anything without serious damage! Anyway, we know that Vincent Price didn’t finish off Edward Scissorhands – hence his death-hands and emo style – so I bet he doesn’t have a bladder, let alone conventional urine-evacuating equipment.* Even if he did, he would have sliced it off at some point during his lonely years in the castle.

But if, for the sake of argument, he does have the usual human formation, I reckon Dianne Wiest would help him. She wouldn’t let him get piss on his hands, because they’d rust up.

*It has been a while since I’ve seen the film, so there might be a comical “Look, Edward’s doing a piss in the garden!” scene which I’ve forgotten.

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We all prefer our partners to be shallow, unevolved and un-selfactualised (whatever that is). Don’t we? Well, Sean does:

My girfriend has spent the last six months volunteering as a vet for a donkey and horse charity in Luxor, Egypt. As her trip comes to an end she seems to keep reflecting on how much she has changed and learned about herself.

So answer me this: how do I go about undoing all this personal growth and turning her back into the girlfriend who left for Egypt last September?

Readers, over to you: in the comments, please tell Sean how to transform this spiritually blossomed woman back into a selfish, short-sighted bint. Sorry, donkeys, but you’ve had it good for far too long.

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Lawyers! You’ve already done the booklearning, so please go to the comments and answer this question from Stuart from the Isle of Wight:

My girlfriend recently broke her little toe by stubbing it on the sofa (ouch!), and tried to convince me I should cut her toe off as it would be less painful.

By the way I think I should clarify this is only a theoretical question. Her little toe has healed nicely now, and anyway I’m not a psychopath!

Thank goodness for that. I thought you’d lost your mind – what would be the point of amputating her toe, anyway, without a good Big Lebowski-type scheme in mind for the detached digit?

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As if break-ups weren’t bad enough, Web 2.0 has to add to the pain. Pete from Somerset writes:

I recently broke up with my girlfriend of two and half years. She was my first long term relationship, and we both became quite involved in one another’s families, and added one another’s family, friends etc on Facebook.

Now that we have split up, I am unsure as to what the social protocol is when dealing with her family and friends, as I have become quite good mates with some of them, but I still feel awkward. So, answer me this: should I remove them all and hope they forget about me, or should I just leave it?

It somewhat depends upon how acrimonious the split was. If it fell at the Baldwin-Basinger end of the scale, there’s no point pretending that you and these people will ever be fraternising. Cull! Cull, before these people become weapons in the battle between you.

If, however, the break-up scored more towards the Cox-Arquette end, after a suitable amount of recovery time has elapsed, you and your ex might be friends yourselves, or at least civil enough to move in the same social circles. In this scenario, it would be unnecessary to destroy your cordial relationships with your newishfound friends, although you would have to be prepared for the possibility of photos of your ex and her new paramour appearing in your news feed.

Readers, what do you reckon? Tell us in the comments about how you still happily play Lexulous with your former mother-in-law; or, conversely, how your ex’s bestie got your account shut down after reporting your photos as offensive.

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Welcome the prodigal Andria from Austin, Texas back to the AMT fold:

I’ve been a listener since about episode 21. I had stopped listening for a while for one boring reason or another, and this past Christmas my husband, who was my boyfriend when I started listening, gave me a device chock full of all the episodes I’d missed that allowed me to listen once again from the comfort of my car on my long commutes to work. Since that time I have caught up on episodes 140 through 200.

I am so glad to be listening regularly again, but hope I don’t burn myself out, as I often do on things I love, by overindulging. Which brings me to my question. Answer me this: what pleasurable experience have you ruined for yourself by indulging in it ad nauseam until you hated not only it, but yourself?

Making this podcast.

Readers! Tell us in the comments which of your pleasures have become torments. I’m sure that behind your civilised facades, you’re all Michael Fassbender in Shame.

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Our next correspondent Lennox explains themselves as being English, but currently residing in Saint Lucia. This is germane to the question:

I moved to Saint Lucia when I was seven and I am now 16 and will be moving back to England in August. This is a wonderful thing because I miss England so very much. The only thing is I am a little nervous that I will not fit in or not know what to talk about. So answer me this: how will I overcome this and be able up fit in? What can I do now, before I go?

Prepare some standard chat by visiting the showbiz pages of any of the major tabloids. Observe which people crop up the most often, then acquaint yourself with the most car-crashy aspects of their lives. (Do not bother researching their work, as chances are they don’t do any.) Retain a few pointed observations about these people to drop into casual conversations about popular culture.

Next, practice saying, “Lovely day, isn’t it?” with a note of surprise in your voice, because presumably in Saint Lucia, clement weather is pretty much a given and therefore not worthy of comment. You will, of course, quickly become accustomed to daily conversations about the weather; these may seem pointless to you after nine years away, but remember that they are the only way that true Brits can communicate emotion. Do NOT compare the weather unfavourably to that back in Saint Lucia, however, unless you fancy a taste of the famous English delicacy, the Knuckle Sandwich.

Accompany your training with at least eight cups of tea. Dunk biscuits into it, even if you don’t want to.

Readers, do you have any pointers for Lennox’s reintegration into English life? Please help out in the comments.

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Our next correspondent Michael from California has had enough of Dangerous Mindsing it, and needs you readers to go to the comments to decide for him the next leg of his career. He says:

I’ve been teaching English and history to twelve-year-olds for so long that my very first students are now entering middle age. This has gone on long enough; it is time for me to get into some other field of endeavor. Answer me this: what line of work would a teacher’s particular skill set allow me to enter?

Prison guarding? Zoo-keeping? Sainthood?

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This question is a companion to the previous post. It’s from Anonymous Girl:

I am thinking about dumbing myself down to get guys to like me; can you give me some advice? I can’t talk to anyone at home because they will just think I’m stupid.

Some questions for you, Anonymous Girl:
i) If they think you’re stupid, there’s no need to dumb down, eh?
ii) Is the guy you want to be with somebody who only likes dumb people?
iii) If so, why do you want to be with him?
iv) Is it really the case that men prefer dumb women, anyway? If I had dumbed down, my paramours would have been contending with someone annoying AND stupid! They wanted me for my brains, because I could help them with the difficult crossword.

Readers, if you can answer any of my or Anonymous Girl’s questions, please do so in the comments. Assuming you’re bright enough to find them.

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What is the French for ‘cougar’? Max here needs to know, tout de suite:

I have recently started working in Paris as an intern and have taken a bit of a liking to the gorgeous French receptionist. She’s a bit of a bombshell, and I always make the time to go and chat to her as I try my best to look busy and vaguely aware of how to do what they pay me for.

So answer me this: what’s the best way of persuading her that I’m ‘all man’?

Apart from dropping tes pantalons and giving her a good look at your steak frites? Probably acting like a proper grown-up. Stop telling her how many Jagerbombs you puked down yourself last night; start dressing like a French version of Don Draper and ask her out on a very sophisticated date, eg at a support group for those suffering from unbearable existential angst after reading too much Camus.

Readers, you may infer that I have no experience in seducing gorgeous French receptionists, but if you have, please repair to the comments and offer Max votre conseil.

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Here’s a hairy situation from Patrick from Nottingham:

My barber runs a very enticing deal of buy 10, get one free. Living in the beautiful East Midlands, my haircuts cost me merely £8, which as male tradition dictates must be rounded up to £10.

After over two years of religiously attending the same barber, I have finally achieved the glorious achievement of my tenth haircut. This now presents me with a problem: when I go for my freebie, is the tip included as a freebie? It seems that free should mean free: but should I pay the regular and expected £2, or does that seem mean?

Hmm. That’s a tough one. I’m one of those arseholes who doesn’t habitually tip after a haircut – because i) the hairdresser’s hourly salary is at least ten times mine and ii) they never do what I want – so have no idea about the correct answer. Readers, step into the comments and help out this polite-sounding man, otherwise he might panic about going to the barber’s until his hair is so long, it’s a trip hazard.

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Girls are sooooooooo confusing, as poor Harry in Luton has lately discovered:

Valentine’s Day seems to have become a day where people who are already in relationships give each other stuff and walk around holding hands and being generally lovey-dovey, but this year I decided to use Valentine’s Day for its original purpose.

Commemorating a martyr who was beheaded for his Christian beliefs? Very retro, Harry.

I decided to give a Valentine’s card to the girl who I’d fancied for a while, and duly bought it and posted it to her house. Having delivered my card, I bought myself a lovely doughnut – with hundreds and thousands, of course – and sat in the park, fairly certain that I was going to get some form of date from this whole arrangement.

Answer me this: Does this girl actually want to meet up with me? And if she does, then would it be a date?

Ooof. She’s either undecided, playing hard to get, or deliberately toying with you with no intention to follow through with Romance. Readers, which do you think it is? In the comments, please guide this poor boy.

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