Dear Little Bald Bastard,
Do you ever get tired of being sarcastic all the time?
- Wondering
Dear Wondering,
Are you kidding? I live in a world where thousands of Americans are dying in an occupied foreign country, which was invaded partly on the advice of a Vice President who doesn't believe he's part of the Executive branch of government. I'm pretty sure I sneer in my sleep.
Dear Little Bald Bastard,
How do you refinish wood floors?
- n00b homeowner
Dear n00b homeowner,
Because I have fewer home repair skills that the three-day-old corpse of Bob Vila, I refinish wood floors by buying an area rug to hide the worn spots. If this isn't acceptable, try grabbing the phone book and flipping to "Contractors." If you find one that's reliable and reasonably priced, let me know. My floor is starting to look like a jigsaw puzzle made entirely of braided polyester.
Dear Little Bald Bastard,
where can you go check out a porn flick being filmed here in Los angeles?
- Anonymous
Dear Anonymous,
About 20 miles Northwest of L.A. lies the city of Chatsworth, California. Chatsworth is the putative capital of an area that is referred to, completely without irony, as "Porn Valley." A good amount of the pornography consumed in the United States (particularly the more mainstream flavors) is produced in that area.
I don't know about any studio's policy regarding tours or fans visiting sets, but I suspect that they discourage it. They wouldn't want you to see the sex for free, and the tedium of a film set might permanently put you off the product.
The good news is, there are hundreds of companies within a few square miles competing to fulfill your demand for gooey facials. If you grab the yellow pages and start calling any company that has "Entertainment" or "Media" or "Video" in its name, it won't take you long to get an adult company, and you might get a few of them to give you a set visit if you claim to be a big fan.
If you really want an all-access pass to porn, go get an undergraduate film degree, and then get a job as a Production Assistant. Then you'll get to see live XXX action, while simultaneously being paid a pittance to write down numbers on a clipboard and stick labels on things.
Dear Little Bald Bastard,
Why do they have writing credits on porn movies? Does somebody write all the "ooh baby oh baby?"
- Hey Everybody Likes Porn
Dear HELP,
Nobody's sitting in front of a keyboard typing out every grunt and groan. Those are pretty much spontaneous. There might be a hit list of positions that the performers are supposed to contort themselves into, but that type of pre-shoot planning probably happens between the actors and the director.
However, you can bet that the dialog in any non-sex interlude has been pre-scripted, at least in a general way. The performers don't decide on the spot that the guy should dress up as a plumber, and the four girls with the gigantic dildo should pretend to be a cash-strapped sorority with a clogged sink.
As a general rule of thumb, the bigger the budget and the more involved the "story" surrounding the hot XXX action, the more likely it is that somebody wrote down the lines ahead of time. If it's an amateur production, the pale flabby guy getting head from the wan-looking blond is probably the director, producer and cameraman as well as the male star. Chances are he's spent too much time at the mall chatting up desperate women, offering to pay for lunch in exchange for on-camera sex, to be able to come up with a compelling scenario. Everything beyond the semi-competent blowjob is probably improvised.
Voting commences.
Now's the time to weigh in on the awesomeness (or not) of the illustrated entries I've been dabbling with lately. Set your browser to stun and hit me up at www.littlebaldbastard.com, or click here to vote without your mom seeing my site in your browser history.
Dear Little Bald Bastard,
Why do people have to use silent letters? Seriously! They should just be eliminated.
- Fonetically Challenged
Dear Fonetically Challenged,
Silent letters are artifacts from the slapped together, ad hoc conglomeration of words that is the English language. They are the linguistic equivalent of the appendix, glaring evidence that the language just sort of happened, without any conscious (or competent) guidance.
Ditching silent letters would go a long way toward simplifying a notoriously difficult to learn language. Unfortunately, spelling nerds have opposed every effort. For those of us without any particular physical prowess or intellectual acumen, an obsession with perfect spelling gives us a rare opportunity to feel superior to more gifted individuals. We're not about to give up our secret weapon. 
Dear Little Bald Bastard,
Why do people have to use silent letters? Seriously! They should just be eliminated.
- Fonetically Challenged
Dear Fonetically Challenged,
Silent letters are artifacts from the slapped together, ad hoc conglomeration of words that is the English language. They are the linguistic equivalent of the appendix, glaring evidence that the language just sort of happened, without any conscious (or competent) guidance.
Ditching silent letters would go a long way toward simplifying a notoriously difficult to learn language. Unfortunately, spelling nerds have opposed every effort. For those of us without any particular physical prowess or intellectual acumen, an obsession with perfect spelling gives us a rare opportunity to feel superior to more gifted individuals. We're not about to give up our secret weapon.
Stupid Weather Tricks
Back in June, I groused about how summer heat in Philadelphia is invariably accompanied by horrible, indoor swimming pool level humidity. Yesterday, I was proven wrong. The high was around 90, but the humidity was low. The result was a sky of clear blue instead of hazy grey, a slight but pleasant breeze, and the opportunity for perspiration to actually evaporate.
Well played, stationary high pressure system. Well played. I see what you did there.
Dear Little Bald Bastard,
Is this all there is?
- Desperately Seeking Soothing
Dear Desperately Seeking Soothing,
I like to think so. Who wants to slog through life hoping for a reward after it's over?
The concept of a post-off-mortal-coil-shuffling reward is one of the oldest tools of religious authority. If the faithful believe that there's a fabulous reward coming later on, they'll shoulder their burdens (or strap on their dynamite corsets) and trudge on until it's their turn as the bug on the cosmic windshield.
It's tempting, when my faith in human nature is at its lowest ebb, to believe that the concept of a reward in heaven is nothing more than a carrot, meant to keep the masses quiet as they bear the burden of crushing poverty, while their church amasses a sizable (an non-taxable) fortune. But I suspect that the truth is a bit more complicated.
If people knew that this was the only life on the agenda, they might work a lot harder trying to make this life as good as possible: taking chances, trying new things, helping out their fellow short-timers. If you die and there's no there there, then the journey finally becomes more important than the destination.
Then again, some of us might use that as an excuse to treat the world and our fellows even more callously, if that's possible. If you're not going to punished in the afterlife, why should you care about whose feelings (or face) you stomp on?
All of that was a roundabout way of saying yes, this is all there is. You get one life, just like everybody else. Don't wait around expecting to get all the things you want once your body lies mouldering in the grave. Planning for retirement is daunting enough; planning for eternity is impractical and unnecessary. Just try to keep in mind that everyone else is living their one life too, and it's not a zero-sum game.
I'll ditch the philosophy and get back to the snark next time, I promise.
Someone Needs To Burn Down Bravo
I don't usually go in for that "celebrity gossip blog" bullshit. As far as I'm concerned, celebrities are either human beings who deserve some modicum of privacy, or camera-fellating attention whores who don't need their already inflated egos stroked by the constant attention. I'm making an exception, however, for Bravo's new voyeurgasm Hey Paula.
The satellite box was left on Bravo the other night, so when whatever it was that I was watching ended, I wound up right in the middle of en episode of Hey Paula. (I'd tell you what I was watching previously, but the memory of it was completely pounded out of my brain by the sheer horror of the subsequent spectacle.) I know I'm not the first person to observe this, but that woman is a fucking train wreck. She's whiny, hysterical, abusive and dismissive to her small army of personal staff, wildly more self-absorbed than her resume should permit, and she can't get through a sentence without slurring some relatively simple word.
Anyone who's given even a cursory glance in the direction of American Idol knows that Abdul appears to be drunker than an Irish wake pretty much constantly. On her own show, she defends her behavior with a mantra of complaints about how little sleep she gets. On behalf of America, Ms. Abdul, I'd like to respectfully ask you to shut your fucking cry hole. Take one afternoon out of selling your crappy costume jewelry on QVC and take a nap. You'll either catch up on some sleep, or you'll lay off the hooch for a couple of hours. Either way, you might be able to get through your next public appearance without stumbling about in (a remarkable simulation of) a drunken stupor.
Unless, of course, you're counting on your dubious behavior for publicity that your far more dubious talent and your appallingly infantile personality could never generate. In that case, keep it up. Just keep your fingers crossed that your fans don't get wise.
Dear Little Bald Bastard,
Wanna Fanta? Please?
- DoubleThickShake
Dear DoubleThickShake,
If you're talking about the horrible solution of carbonated water, complex chemical "fruit" flavors and high fructose corn syrup, I'll pass. I'd like my blood sugar to stay below "Immediate Diabetes" for as long as possible.
If you're using "Fanta" as a euphemism for some sort of shameful sexual act, the answer is still no. Also, you desperately need to think up a better come-on, or give up your last fleeting hopes of ever scoring.
[click picture to embiggen]
Impending Experiment
I'm thinking I might try illustrating a question and answer every now and again. I worked up a picture for the Fanta question, and I'm going to post it tomorrow morning. I'd appreciate hearing if anyone has trouble with feeds or other displays; feedback about the picture itself is also welcome.
Dear Little Bald Bastard,
Is you is or is you ain't my baby?
- veemer098
Dear veemer098,
Yes. Yes I am. Feed me, clothe me, grind away at a job you hate to keep me in health insurance, save diligently for my college education, and then sit by the phone broken-hearted because I never call. In about 20 years, we'll discuss nursing homes.
