query: My man-friend (not my boyfriend!) always makes us watch movies that make me want to puke. EVERY film is pretentiously foreign or vomit inducing – no honest to goodness, kick someone in the balls and make a crass joke films. No TV sitcoms that aren’t full of English blokes with bad teeth and poor hygiene, NO arrested development marathons – No..they all have MEANING and..what’s that thing,substance? Anyway, they’re all real creepy and it’s annoying because all we do is cuddle up on the couch and watch movies. Listen, I’ve tried drowning them out with glasses of wine – nothing works! How do I get him to watch some shit, funny, non-creepy movies that don’t drive me to alcoholism?
Sounds like your fella is one step away from centering the evening’s recreation around the viewing of a snuff film. His insistence on and craving for “reality” is a perversion of man’s natural approach to entertainment. Entertainment is not meant to shove our noses into the filthy facts that surround us; its mandate is to whisk us away from that, to take us to a sillier, sunnier place populated by hot people — a place where even the ugly friend character with the whiny voice is super duper fuckable, where, when you watch the show, you fairly ache to fuck that ugly friend. In the real world, people’s ugly friends are legitimately repellant.
If your guy continues down this road, it won’t be long before the only thing he considers “entertainment” is sport executions and torture, filmed with minimum embellishment so that the authenticity is indisputable. Talk about needing a drink simply to get through the film! You, Elle, will doubtless find yourself turning to stronger and stronger chemical blinders. You’ll come home from work and swallow a handful of Vicodin before you even set your keys down on the counter. Before long, you’ll be little more than a zombie. When lucidity does assert itself — as a result of burning yourself in the kitchen, perhaps, or of falling into an icy river — it will be a place of psychic excruciation so unendurable that you’ll consider jumping out the nearest window just to make the thinking stop. Your partner, meanwhile, will have descended into a world where impossibly graphic displays of agony and dread will feel like the only thing that is truly real. All else will strike him as frivolous, a deception. His skin will grow pale as the moon, his corneas will swell and blacken, and he’ll lose his ability to speak in anything other than a bestial gibber.
Truly, Elle, your concern is well founded. Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do.
query: Dear Sirs, Why does your hair look its best on the day you decide to get it cut? Its a simple psychological thing.
Good insight, Andy. We would say you’re probably right.
name: Tess, Marie & Sara
query: We have never drank before. What is it going to be like? We heard that some people who drink end up feeling funny. We were hoping to see what “all the hype is about” on July 7th of this year since that is the day that we will collectively turn 21 years of age. Please grant us our wish of getting drunk with real life scientists because we know that is the only way we will feel safe (who better than scientists to prepare us for physiological effects of drinking). We’d like this to occur at the Detroit Bar. That’s in California.
Please don’t let us down. The happiness of our lives depend on this.
Guys, you’re thinking of doctors; it’s doctors who would be the safe choice to drink with during your first bacchanal. Scientists, with their trademark “objectivity,” their practiced eschewing of emotion, their atheistic belief that the energy in a beetle is the same as the energy in a human being, belong to one of the least safe categories of people to hang out with during an insecure time. “Let’s release some heat into the universe,” they suggest dispassionately as they gun down naive bible salesmen who’ve been careless enough to ring a scientist’s doorbell.
Of course, we’re not even really scientists. No, seriously! We’re just in a band called “We Are Scientists.” That’s right, we’re rock musicians, undoubtably the very worst kind of person to be around when safety is a concern. Throughout their short history, rock musicians have used any device available to them (Usually alcohol! Often at Detroit Bar!) to self destruct. No, you’d be pretty crazy to hitch your wagon to a rock musician in any situation that (a) involves alcohol, and (b) you will not have armed guards.
We must, for these reasons, decline your offer. Not that we don’t desperately want to accept, but right now, in the glare of hung-over mid-afternoon daylight, we’re experienced enough to know that if we show up at your birthday party, one of you will end up pregnant, one will end up dead, and one will seriously regret having invited us in the first place.