I’ve been lucky enough to spend a few weeks in the same beach house used by Russell Brand in the film (the Turtle Bay Resort in Hawaii) and I can confirm that although their receptionists were helpful and efficient, they were either men or more ‘traditionally Hawaiian’ in shape. In fact the reception shown in the film was a temporary and much smaller fake one plonked next to the hotel’s hugely overpriced jewellery store.
I wonder what Phil was doing there for ‘a few weeks’. Perhaps recovering from being dumped by Kristen Bell and wondering whether his puppet Dracula musical might get him any new ladies.
We always enjoy hearing the tricks deployed by food stylists – yacht varnish on the turkeys, ice cream made of mashed potato – so if any of you readers are food stylists, please apply your professional expertise to this question from Amy from York:
Is it true that in food adverts they place a steaming hot tampon behind the plate of food to make it look as if the food has just come out of the oven and is piping hot?
Many, many, many of you have written to find out whether Michael the archer from AMT186 made it into Team GB to do archery at the London 2012 Olympics.
It is with great disappointment I am writing to you to tell you that I have failed to make the GB archery team for this summer’s Olympic Games.
It was a close battle but even with the entertainment you gave me, I was only able to get 4th, just outside of the team of three. So I will be spending the summer as Olympic reserve and hoping none of my teammates “fall down any stairs”.
So answer me this: have I wasted my money, career, time and life in this endeavour? If I have, it does not feel like it to me 🙂
It is good you feel that way, and that you can still smile about it! To us – people who will never ever be anywhere close to qualifying for any reserve Olympic team (at least not until ‘eating the largest number of dim sum in one sitting’ or ‘scooting a swivel chair across an uncarpeted floor’ become official events) – your achievement is already very impressive.
We’re really, really sorry, but after listening to Answer Me This! Episode 215, there’s a strong chance you will have an LMFAO song stuck in your brain, and it will make you want to stick a straw in your ear, suck that brain out of your head then spit it down the drain. But, hopefully the rest of the podcast doesn’t have that effect on you.
Today we mention:
Annie Hall
Joey Barton
the future of pubic hairstyles
Jessie J vs. indifferent radio professionals eating dinner
Will.I.Am vs. Simon and Garfunkel
‘Party Rock Anthem’ vs. ‘The Birdie Song’ Quentin Crisp Olly’s uncle
frigid North Hertfordshire
the scary Dalai Lama
the sexual misuse of animals
and the man with the box on his head.
Plus: Olly theorises upon why footballers sport such ridiculous barnets; Helen does not like her toast done on one side; and sadly we don’t have video footage of Martin the Sound Man’s first ever viewing of ‘Sexy and I Know It‘, but if we did, it would be right up there in the video commentary canon alongside this.
This week’s Bit of Crap on the App (available for iDevices or Android) is a two-course feast of questions: firstly one from Hannah about currywurst, then for pudding a question from Sammy in Falkirk about pineapple. We hope this combination does not give your ears indigestion.
If you want more ear-food next week, please send us a QUESTION: deliver emails to answermethispodcast@googlemail.com or leave voicemails on the Question Line (dial 0208 123 5877 or Skype answermethis).
There’s a new hot trend amongst AMT listeners: broken legs! Lynne from Doncaster started it:
I broke my leg on the 4th of April 2012, well I actually broke my tibia and fibula clean in half. I had an operation to fix it where they inserted a metal rod down my tibia bone and fixed it into place with two screws at the bottom of my leg and two screws underneath my knee.
The physiotherapist sent me home with a leaflet, which says that part of my physio is to clench my buttocks together and release. Answer me this: how does clenching my bum cheeks together and releasing them, fix my terribly broken leg?
You can’t reasonably expect a buttock-clench to knit together broken bones! My guess would be that it is to keep those muscles from completely atrophying while your leg is out of action, and maybe also something to do with blood flow? If you are a physio reading this, please do enlighten us in the comments, for you are wise in the mysteries of recuperation.
Chiara should prepare to clench her buttocks for medical reasons too:
I am currently writing to you from my hospital bed – on Friday a car drove straight into my on my bike, snapping my tibia and fibula clean in two, puncturing the skin. Big owee.
When they operated on me on Friday they put a rod in my tibia, but no cast, so that I was standing on crutches 28 hours later – modern medicine is really quite miraculous!
Answer me this – What is the rod in my leg made of?
Doctors/surgeons/manufacturers of metal implants, please tell us of what Chiara is made. I believe she and Lynne are now technically cyborgs, so we have to answer their questions to keep them sweet, lest they rise from their convalescence couches and go all Terminator on us.
In case you were wondering how fares Kris from Durham from last week’s episode, he has written to update us on how his ex-girlfriend continues to take advantage of him:
Last week she said the animal rescue she worked for needed help with posters for an event as their graphic designer had dropped them last minute. Guess which bloody muggins went and did the work! ME. OK, it was for “Charidee” and it saves little dogs’ and cats’ lives, but you’re right – she’s being a twat.
She even said “This is really fucked up, isn’t it? That I keep asking you for advice on him and all that jazz?” I’m aware it’s beyond cretinous of me to think that this gentleman (who she’s already expressing concerns over, due to his lack of texting in between their dates) has no future and that realistically I can and should try to win her back?
I don’t want to get all Romeo and Juliet on things, but I genuinely love her, it was just a bumpy patch and long distance is a twat at the best of times. Truth be told, we’d discussed the future, and she was drunk.
I’ve genuinely no idea what to do?
We already told you what to do, Kris: CUT OUT THIS SELFISH BITCH. She’s happy to keep stringing you along while she’s exploring other options; she has already shown gross insensitivity in regaling you with tales of her sexual exploits with somebody else; and now she’s also taking advantage of your professional skills for free! Why why why why WHY would you want to win back this prize piece?
Tough love time, Kris – here’s what you have to do:
i) stop answering her calls and emails;
ii) give yourself some time to grieve for the relationship, without her popping up all the time to ruin your progress with learning to live without her;
iii) get some self-respect;
iv) send her an invoice for the posters.
As we said last week, we are too lazy to decant canned foods, but Scott has been in touch to tell us how we can expect to die from doing so:
I work at a hotel so I’ve attended many a mandatory food safety training course. I can tell you as far as I know there are three (dubious) reasons why you shouldn’t store food in opened cans:
1. Botulism. Historically you could get botulism from canned food. Apparently the botulism spores stick to the inside of the can, so storing the food in the can will increase exposure to the spores. However with modern canning processes, botulism has been pretty much eradicated.
2. People tend to leave metal utensils in the cans as well. Two different metals in a liquid that is salty or acidic can create a battery. This electrolytic reaction can alter the chemical composition of the food which could be bad. i.e. corrode the metal in the can into the food.
3. In commercial kitchens chefs who don’t decant cans are lazy and therefore may be too lazy to have good hygiene practices. (This is the main reason I was given.)
I do know that if you own a commercial kitchen and you have a visit from an environmental health officer, there is a pretty hefty fine if they find any food stored in opened cans – I think it’s in the thousands.
Thanks, Scott! We are unlikely to change our lazy ways; in fact we will be intensifying the laziness by no longer answering the doorbell, in case it is an environmental health officer.
If you want some of the good stuff, Michael from Ealing knows someone who can get some for you:
With reference to Kevin’s dilemma about wanting to try cannabis – my dad said a very similar thing. However, he was 84 at the time. So, for his 85th birthday I gave him a joint. I was 55 at the time – yes, a child of the 60s, so had a tiny bit of previous! Nevertheless, hadn’t smoked in years, so I did have to source it from a young woman at work who I knew indulged (I run a funky kind of company). Anyway, I had the joy of getting stoned with my dad round the kitchen table. He didn’t know whether it was the joint or his ageing mind that made him keep forgetting things. But, boy, did we laugh!
He died four years later and I’m so glad I was able to fulfil one of his desires to fully experience the world before he went. I’m not advocating trying everything (now a venerable elder myself) and certainly the dope today is nowhere near as safe as it was, but experiencing life is what’s important as long as you don’t harm anyone or yourself. Mind you – that’s a huge debatable question in itself.
It is, it is – and if any of you want to debate that, you may use the comments as your own Model United Nations.
Meanwhile, does anyone else think that Michael’s story is perfect for a sweet multi-generation stoner comedy from one of Judd Apatow’s acolytes? Maybe with Christopher Plummer reprising his Beginners role as the dad, Tim Robbins as the son, Maggie Gyllenhaal as the dealer at work, and Paul Giamatti as the oddball neighbour who wants in on the action. Oh, and in the fictionalised version, Michael from Ealing also should have a strait-laced teenage son who disapproves (but, of course, comes around in the end when he sees how happy his grandpa is in his twilight years). Michael Cera’s a shoo-in.
This week, we learn that AMT is the name of a legal high. Seeing as legal highs are usually just brain-liquifying chemical syntheses that haven’t been made illegal yet, we cannot recommend trying it. We can, however, recommend AMT214, which is fully legal and will only have mildly detrimental effects upon your brain:
Today we contemplate:
facial fuzz as feminist issue The Beggar’s Opera Ziggy Stardust
‘club dancing’
crowd control
Häagen-Dazs vs. Cadbury’s Flake
death by tinned peaches
Kodak’s adventures in weapon development Forgetting Sarah Marshall transposed to Durham
stuffed vine leaves
a night of creamy indulgence
and
watching Alien stoned.
Plus: Olly doesn’t think Mila Kunis should be doing a desk job, even in these times of scarce employment; Helen wonders what Kim Kardashian would look like without the intervention of depilators; and Martin the Sound Man can pronounce ‘cyanoacrylate’, because he speaks industrial adhesive fluently.
This week’s Bit of Crap on the App (available for iDevices or Android) goes further than today’s question about Downing Street and wonders what is behind the famous door of Number 10. According to Olly, it is our nation’s leaders attending to their itchy arses.
If your own itchy arse ever allows you to use your hands for something else for a moment, use them to send us a QUESTION, either by writing an email to answermethispodcast@googlemail.com or picking up the phone and leaving a voicemail on the Question Line (dial 0208 123 5877 or Skype answermethis).
And finally: if we’ve ever made anyone puke through the podcast, we would like to take this opportunity to apologise.
Here’s a tale from Jordan from Bridgend which is shaping up to be a Welsh version of Pacific Heights:
I work once a week in my local charity shop and one week, this woman came in, clearly drunk and off her face on drugs by the way she was speaking and walking. She asked me where the childrens clothing was, so I kindly showed her. She collected two pairs of children’s jeans aged 12-13 and asked if she could try them on; I said it was fine and I showed her the changing rooms. She came out of the changing rooms and said that they were both a little bit loose on her so she would think about having them and come back again.
A few weeks later on my way home from college on the local bus, the same women got on and sat with me at the back of the bus. She was still in the same state as I last saw her, She recognized me from the charity shop. She was asking me all sorts of questions such as do I smoke, do I have tattoos, where do I live etc, and then she asked me if I was a buffer. But randomly I said yes even though I did not understand her question. After me saying yes I was a buffer, she did not say no more. I got off the bus and she stayed on it…
But two weeks ago my next door neighbour moved out, and to my despair I found out this women from the bus is now living next door with her boyfriend and I have been told that they are both alcoholic drug-taking mental freaks. Ever since I found out they live next door I have been hiding away in my room. Answer me this: what should I do? And what on god’s earth is a buffer? What have I let myself in for? Should I let her know I live next door!?
The answer to that last question is obviously NO. Although they will surely find out soon enough, when you run out of food and supplies and are smoked out of the house. You could try to confine your entrances and exits to, say, 7am, a time of day where the average commuter or parent of young children is up and at’em, but the average drugged-up alcoholic is not. Obviously, when they do discover your whereabouts, don’t feel pressured into inviting them round for some welcoming drinks and nibbles, or into lending them your lawnmower.
Readers, you’re more reliable than the OED – can you step in to define ‘buffer’ for Jordan? Presumably his neighbour was not referring to the social media app, the shock absorber for trains, or the velvety thing that makes your shoes shiny.
Gordon here has a problem that didn’t exist back in the days when people had to pay to develop photos:
One of my best friends from school uses a popular Face-themed Social Network that I also use.
I have her in my close friends list because she is nice, and I am interested in funny things she might say, and what she gets up to.
However, for the past year she has had a – admittedly cute – baby. Which she posts pictures of approximately 6 million times a day.
I’m beginning to think she may be a crazy baby lady in the same way I am becoming a crazy cat man.
Is there any way to make her stop posting so many baby pictures without putting her on my ‘acquaintances’ list?
I’ve been considering recreating all her baby pictures with my cats. Would this be too much? I plan to have a baby one day, but hope I can restrain myself from posting so many baby pictures, because it’s pretty annoying, and it’s kind of creepy in a way (babies need privacy!)
I’m right, right?
So answer me this: what do I do?
p.s. my wife agrees with me.
Good, Gordon, good – I’d hate to hear this VERY SERIOUS PROBLEM was causing a breach in your marriage on top of all the other havoc it is wreaking.
As a fellow Facebook user I am, of course, familiar with this scenario; but to be fair to the baby-owners, whenever they post a picture of it, everyone goes nuts over it, so perhaps your friend is just responding to demand. If you really want to deter her, you could start adding faintly lecherous comments to the photos, so that she’s too creeped out to post any more. She will probably also be too creeped out to be your friend any more, but as aforementioned, this is a VERY SERIOUS PROBLEM and thus demands radical solutions.
But, Gordon, since you confessed you are a Crazy Cat Man, I see you as even more of a problem than this woman: if I look to the future, when you have had that baby you talk about, you will forever thereafter crap all over your friends’ feeds with incessant pictures of both the baby AND the cat – and, inevitably, the pictures of the baby and the cat TOGETHER.
So I refuse to help you, but readers, you are welcome to go to the comments to dispense advice to Gordon. Or maybe you can just post pictures of your babies, to wind him up.
Mazel tov to our nearlywed next correspondent, Dominic:
I’m to be married to my beautiful fiancé Laura on Friday 11th May, and shortly afterwards we fly to Mexico for our honeymoon (so you can imagine how helpful it was to learn the history of nachos last week!). This will be an eleven-hour flight with just one problem – I have a pathological fear of flying. This is what happens when you utter the phrase “Wherever you want to go, darling…”
Anyway, answer me this – what can I do for eleven hours on a flight to distract myself from the fact that I am just the grace of God away from plummeting to my death?
Dominic! That’s what they have the in-flight entertainment system for! So that people like you don’t run up and down the aisles screaming with a rosary in your hand, but instead sit quietly watching recent cinema hits (NB take your own noise-cancelling headphones, partly because the ones the airline supplies are rubbish, and partly to block out the perfectly normal plane-creaks that you will interpret as a wing about to fall off).
If your airline is a primitive one with no seat-back TVs, substitute with a gripping airport novel. Or Valium.
Readers, any suggestions to quell Dominic’s terror? Unfortunately it is too short notice for hypnosis or any other form of phobia-curing therapy, so the best he can presently hope for is the psychological equivalent of a nicotine patch.
stoned.
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