Madonna asks: “Red, I crave something satisfying this Mardi Gras. Should I marinade, baste or rub?"

Night Shift says: It depends on the cut of meat you’re working with. Aged beef responds best to an aggressive rub; a more sinewy hunk benefits from repeated basting over a long time, raising the temperature as you go.  A cheap piece requires marinating in copious quantities of boxed wine to be palatable.

Ask Red says: Yum, Kama Sutra cuisine. I agree with my counterpart Night Shift but add that it also depends on the type of meat you prepare. Porks take no effort and need only a quick basting. Breasts deserve a light rub. Bone-ins should marinade slowly. Finally, a guy will tell you that you’ll never go wrong by allowing it to soak in cider.

Craig H. asks: "The Pinckneyville Masquerade Ball is only five days away and I don’t have a costume. Any ideas?"

Ask Red says: When attending these pseudo-high brow soirees you don’t want to come off as just another mook behind a mask. The goal is to stand out and have everyone lavish attention on you. Since “masquerade” is defined as a "scheme" and/or "charade", and since the powers that be around here seem to fawn over carpetbaggers, I say go as Toney Watkins. Remember him? He was the concert promoter who was suppose to build a multi billion-dollar resort, golf course BMX bicycle track in western Perry County. The problem was that he didn’t have multi-billions in jack to back it up. In fact, he couldn’t scratch together enough to cover attorney fees and left Perry County government with the tab. Still, just go to the party and promise riches and jobs and you will be a hit. Instead of business cards, you can hand out IOUs. If you are bringing a date, she can go as that African princess who was here a few years ago touring the town’s water treatment plant.

Gerald G. writes: "Who is the old man that stares back at me from the bathroom mirror every morning? He looks something like my Grandpa but it can't be him as he has been gone for more than  40 years. Or is it that all bathroom mirrors are trick mirrors that show you how you will look in 20 years or so?"

Ask Red says: I stopped looking at mirrors after hearing that a friend of a friend of a cousin of friend recited "I believe in Mary Worth" in front of one of them 20 times in the dark and then went "crazy" -- until the light was turned on. Never trust a mirror. Alice peered into the looking glass then followed a rabbit down a hole.  The Hubble Telescope's mirrors were originally suppose allow us to look into the eyes of God but came up with cataracts. Mirrors hold no mystical powers. What is looking back at you is your reverence for Grampa -- and you didn't need a mirror to tell you that. 

Randy writes: “I work in an office and I was in the bathroom for my morning constitutional when the fellow in the next stall called over asking for a ‘courtesy flush.’  After I pushed the handle I immediately felt like a wimp for doing it.  Are we so sensitive today that people can’t even handle a little stink?  What’s your opinion on the courtesy flush?”

Ask Red says: Courtesy is when you don’t fart in someone else’s cubicle. Anyone entering a communal dump zone and not expecting an assault to the olfactory has been huffing glue. I agree with your-self analysis: you are a wuss. Be proud of your work and I don’t mean what happens at your desk.

M. Atches writes: “Christmas is just around the corner and I would really like to get my wife something we can enjoy together. The last few years she has not been impressed by the case of beer and bag of beef jerky I’ve gotten her. Should I just keep trying and hope that one of these years she will realize what a thoughtful gift this really is?”

Ask Red says: How many times can you stick your finger is an electrical socket before you realize it hurts? Routine is the death knell of any relationship. It’s time to mix it up. Instead of beer and jerky try malt liquor (I prefer Old English 800 which is called ‘Toll Free’ in the ghetto) and pork rinds. If that doesn’t lather her up then at least you’ll catch a major buzz and/or overdose on salt.

Night Shift says: Your problem has been that your gifts have been aimed at instant gratification. Your gift needs to last longer than the afternoon basketball game.  A lot of women these days are into self improvement. I think you will get much more mileage out of a fitness video and wrinkle cream.  Knowing that with a little work she can be attractive to you once again is a sure motivator and will make her feel better about herself.  Throw in an undersized negligee and you’ll have the home fires burning again in no time!

Robbi P. writes: “My children like prime time TV but when I caught them watching ‘Dancing with the Stars’ I thought, ‘Wow, there is bumping and grinding, revealing outfits and sexual overtones all over the place.’ Should I allow them to keep watching this show?"

Ask Red says: Absolutely not! Dancing always leads to bad things. In fact, you shouldn’t expose your spawn to prime time TV – ever! It’s a cesspool of ideas about sexuality, sarcasm and questioning authority. Free thinking and self discovery must be controlled; unless it comes from this forum. Then Ask Red says: “Bring it on!”  

Brittany P. writes: “My boyfriend says he’s totally over his old girlfriend but he won’t take her off his speed dial – where she happens to be number one! Am I making too much out of this?”

Ask Red says: I’d be steaming hot as well if I was treated like a number two. You can bet he still burns for the old flame. The question is, did she drop him like a smoldering pile or did he kick her to the curb?  My guess is that he was dumped. If that is the case, not only are you the silver medalist on his speed dial but also second fiddle in his heart. Dump this load before you get hurt.

Red's trusted Adviser Night Shift says: Your relationship has a very real problem - you!  Your obvious trust issues have you snooping about your boyfriend's phone and I doubt it will stop there.  I'm sure you would love to get a peek at his emails and TMs as well.  Take heart, soon you'll be his ex and maybe you'll get that coveted number one spot on speed dial.

Ethyl and Gladys write: We work in an office with apartments across the hall. Lately, we’ve detected the tinge of wacky weed wafting into our workspace. You can't walk up or down the stairs without being smacked in the head with pungent smell of Purple sticky Punch. We sprayed Lysol, the only handy thing to spray & disinfected, to no avail. Funny thing is that when the half-baked nitwits emerged from their sweat lodge they didn’t even notice our attempts to kill the aroma. Help us, Red. We are afraid we might fail our drug tests because of the second hand smoke.

Ask Red says: Calling the police – the "right" thing to do -- probably crossed your minds but for unexplained reasons you keep losing your ambition before you can pick up the phone. I wouldn’t worry as much about the failing the drug test as I would the weight you are gaining from daily cravings of Twinkies and Ben and Jerry’s. My advice: Move your business out of the dorm and onto Main Street where it belongs.

Night Shift says: Unfortunately there isn't much you can do to these stoners. Sure you can try reasoning with them or making helpful suggestions such as, "How about you guys put a damp towel under your door so that the hallway doesn't smell like a Phish concert?" but in all likelihood they'll misconstrue your comments and you'll end up with a marathon session of "Billy Breathes" piped out at max volume.  You can try calling the authorities but that can have serious repercussions.  It will be obvious that you're the ones who narced them out and the slacker network will kick in.  Fast food deliveries will cease and your late fees at Blockbuster will go through the roof.  I think your just gonna have to take the hit and live with this one and, if you do fail a drug test, blame it on the poppy seed bagel you had this morning.

Mandy P. writes: “What is with everyone saying ‘no worries’ and why does it drive me nuts?”

Ask Red says: What’s grinding at you is that it’s a flippant phrase used by people trying to blow you off. It’s one of the few things America has imported from Australia and, like Foster’s Lager, it ought to be sent back. When someone tosses a “no worries” your way they are really saying either, “I can give a crap about what you’re talking about” or “You’re a pitiful mass of atoms; glad I am not you.”  Unfortunately, you are going to have to ratchet down the irritation sensor because “no worries” is going nowhere anytime soon. Hang loose.

Otis C. writes: "I have been trying to lead a healthier lifestyle of late. I hear that drinking a glass of wine a day is really good for you. Since there are about four glasses of wine in a bottle wouldn't it be just as healthy to drink two bottles of wine on Saturday night and not have to dirty a wine glass every day of the week?"

Ask Red says: Wow, wine out of a bottle and sipped from a glass. Aren’t you the fancy pants. I bet you use a corkscrew, too. Health experts may say today that a little vino is good for you, but tomorrow they’ll tell you it’s as toxic as Pinckneyville tap water. As we’ve seen with margarine, oat bran and Pop Rocks, the rules to healthy living are fluid. I think your theory is correct so ignore them. If one glass makes you feel warm and fuzzy then eight glasses will make you feel like Superman (at least until Sunday morning).

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PARENT TRAP

Dylan L. asks: “My mom and dad want to attend Parents Weekend at my college. The problem is that this smokin’ babe I’ve been chasing for months has finally agreed to a date – that same weekend! What should I do, Red?”

Ask Red says:  You’re screwed either way. If you jilt her for your parents you’ll look like some wussy momma’s boy and babe-a-lopes don’t have time for guys like that. They want all the attention to go their way. If you tell your parents not to come not only do you miss out on a weekend of free grub at restaurants of your choice, but they could be so offended that they halt the gravy train. You’ll be applying for cafeteria jobs just to cover party expenses. The only way out is to fake the Pig Flu. The downside is that they will want to come a different weekend when there is nothing to do but hang at your pad and count dust bunnies.

Mother Hen writes: Your parents pay for that college so they have the right to be there whenever they want. This "smokin’ babe" can wait. If she's into you at all this weekend, she'll be more into you next weekend. Impress her by showing that you're a family man. You should take your parents out instead, maybe play a rousing game of Yatzee, and go to bed at a reasonable hour. Now doesn't that sound lovely!

Sagebush writes: You can do both, haven't you ever seen a sitcom? When you're parents get in town, tell them you have a big anatomy exam coming up so you are attending a study group that night. Introduce the mega-hottie as your study partner. Arrange for your parents to join a tour of campus while you and your date sneak off. Maybe even make late dinner reservations for them to allot yourself a few extra hours. Come home early the next morning, excusing your hung-over look as the result of an all-night cram session. Your parents will be so proud of their studious, dedicated son that they'll take you out for a warm, nourishing breakfast. Win-win.

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PARTY ON

Josh R. writes: "I recently started having extra money because of my new job. I’m thinking of investing it but my roommates want me to spend it on a kick-ass party. Help me, Red."

Ask Red says: I vote with your slacker roomies. Sure, investing it sounds like the adult thing to do but tell that to all tuna who were hooked by Bernie Madoff. You give your money to Edward James Schwab and some fat cat Wall Streeter will be using it to light his Cohiba while tooling his yacht around the Boca Raton intracoastal. Why should he have all the fun? Sink into a case of SoCo and a barrel of Fat Tire and you’ll be loved by many (at least until the tap runs dry). Besides, according to the Mayans – a civilization that could see thousands of years into the future but couldn’t foretell their own demise – this global dance ends in about two years so let’s live it up.

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CLOTHES DON'T MAKE THE MAN

Paul Ru writes: “What is the maximum number of times that a man can dress like a woman for Halloween before he is considered, let's just say, 'different'"?

 Ask Red says: I look at guys who turn chick for Halloween as having one of two issues – they lament the fact that the junk with which they were born isn’t only in the trunk and use the occasion to fulfill a suppressed fantasy or, they have such little respect for women that they view them as caricatures that can be mocked. That might be harsh but the fact that you raised the question makes me believe you fall on one side of the pathetic fence or the other. You must decide: are you doing it because you secretly want to switch teams or, is this the only chance you’ll have to get into some woman’s panties that night?

Red's trusted adviser Reboot Man says: The answer is zero. The only reason for a man to dress like a woman for Halloween is if he is trying to tell his friends/family he fishes from the other pond.  There are two exceptions, either you lose a bet or you really look like Janet Reno. 

Another of Red's trusted advisers, Night Shift, says: As much as I hate to disagree with my esteemed colleagues, I'm going to say one time is allowable under the following conditions.  It has to be your girlfriend/wife's idea and there can be no way that you will actually be mistaken for a woman.  First, seeing a  large, hairy man in a dress can be funny; Benny Hill and other British comedians showed us that.  Secondly, if your female partner can pull off the hot girl dressed as a guy routine that can be fun later.  Think Kim Bassinger in 9 1/2 Weeks.  Just have Joe Cocker's "You Can Leave Your Hat On" cued up on the CD or 8-track player for when you get home.

OVEREXPOSURE

Candy W. writes: My boyfriend took a picture of me with his cell phone camera while I was in the shower. He won’t erase it but said he won’t let anyone see it. What should I do?

Ask Red says: Don’t buy it. If it is not beneath him to take a picture of you in the buff on the sly then the snake has probably already sent it to his friends. If his posse now looks at you as if they are wearing Bazooka Joe X-ray glasses then you’ve been exposed. If they don’t, then you’ll forever carry around the angst that they saw you in the raw and they yawned.  Break his phone, break if off with him and, most importantly, lock the bathroom door.

Night Shift says: While this may seem to be a cute little secret between the two of you it won’t stay that way.  If you break up with him pictures of your bare ass will spread across the globe faster than the Pig Flu.  If you would like an honest opinion of how embarrassing this could potentially be, have your beau send me a copy of the shot. I promise not to share it with anyone. 

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SCOOTER OVER

Stevil Knievel writes: Is it possible to ever regain your "cool" status when you have crashed on a Vespa?

Ask Red says: There is a chasm as wide as the Snake River Canyon in your perception that a Vespa rider can maintain a semblance of “cool” in the first place. Vespas, aren’t those quaint little Italian scooters that eco-panty-waists tool around on in such liberal enclaves as San Francisco, Seattle and Cutler? Indeed, the only thing cool about watching Vespas riders is how easily they ditch their bikes when being chased by poodles. Ouch, did that happen to you?

Ask Red's trusted adviser said:

Night Shift: Sure, if you’re in Italy.  Vespas are quite common on the streets of Milan where the fashion elite meet.  If you’re in the states however, that is another question entirely.  I think the first thing to ask is were you really cool to begin with?  If you’re puttering around the streets of Pinckneyville  in your Members Only jacket and Swatch watch – you’ll be cool again in no time, at least in your own mind.   If this was a vacation accident after a few too many tropical drinks, you can probably laugh it off and blame it on a reckless impulse.   Plus you were out of town, right, not on a “staycation”?  If however you actually own the Vespa, well the cool boat sunk in the lake the minute you signed the sales contract.

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NOPE TO NIPS

Natalie B. writes: “Why is it so important in today’s society for women to have their nipples completely masked? Why can't we just let it all hang out?”

Ask Red says: It’s a matter of few bad apples ruining it for the rest. Ever been to a topless beach? The women who are swinging free belong in burkas. The ones who have what it takes to strut their stuff keep the fun bags hidden.We have to protect ourselves from the former.

Red's trusted advisers chimed in:

Night Shift says: It’s really a safety issue.  Not yours unless you’re a jogger, but any guy driving a car, riding a bike, mowing his lawn etc.  Men become like deer gazing into those headlights and the size of the distraction is proportional to, well, the proportions.  Personally, I only think the nips need to be masked if they are intending to commit a crime.

Sagebush says: Natalie, although it is in your better judgment to keep the ladies covered, there is a time and a place for a little peep show. Hanging out at Gymbouree with the kiddos? Keep 'em covered. Hosting a Romance-Novel Book Club meeting? Sure, let loose. At a hippie music festival? You'd probably fit in better without a bra anyway, so take it off. Take off that Phish t-shirt, too, while you're at it -- never did look good on you anyway. The important thing to remember is who your audience is.

Mother Hen says: What is this liberal nonsense about not wanting to wear a brassiere? In my day, a lady had to wake up an hour early just to ensure enough time to hook in, strap on, and lace up her scivies. You think underwires are uncomfortable? Try doing the laundry with a baby on each hip while wearing a corsett under bloomers, under a slip, under starched blouse, under a pencil skirt. Then you'd really have something to complain about.
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Squirrel Talk

Big Tex writes: “Every night while we sleep a gang of mutant squirrels has been invading my front porch and chewing through the floor boards. I'm afraid they will eventually work their way into my home and devour me and my family. Any advice on how to deal with this impending menace?”

Ask Red says: Do you live in a tree house or are you a family of Keebler elves? I lived with mutant squirrels. It was at my old fraternity, I Grabba Thigh. This pack of pale white and emaciated nerds held marathon Dungeons and Dragons sessions in a darkened room. I was in such fear that these Archon-wannabes would believe they truly possessed magical powers that they try to use them on me. I slept with my Star Wars laser sword for protection. If these are the kind of squirrels giving you fits the best way to get rid of them is by ripping the tinfoil off the windows in their room. They’ll scatter like cockroaches. If it’s the critter type, then follow of the motto of Southern Illinois: If it moves, shoot it. If it doesn’t, stab it with a knife and fork.

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DRESSED FOR DISTRESS

Jenna S. writes: My boyfriend wants to go as Lady Gaga for Halloween, at least this is what he told me when I caught him in one of his mother’s dresses. Should I believe him?

Ask Red says: Ground control to Major Jenna: If you are comfortable with the notion that the chick version of David Bowie holds sway over your man’s taste in music and fashion then watching him sashay around for an evening in bubble wrap shouldn’t be problematic for you. Of greater concern is that he roots around in his mom’s closet. Creepy.

Red's trusted adviser Faced responded: Word on the street is she is no lady but a unit-packing dude, so maybe you're on to something.  He may be channeling his inner ga-ga which means to keep this relationship alive you'll need to start dressing like Ru Paul.

Red's other trusted adviser Night Shift responded: “It depends.  How good is his Poker Face?”

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WHY NOT PAUL REVERE?

Mary G. asks: How and when did Pinckneyville come up with Mardi Gras as the name for its Fall celebration?

Ask Red says: More puzzling, why did the town’s founding fathers choose to name it after a no-rate Revolutionary War figure? Back in the day when Hugh Hefner was nailing babes only 30 years his junior, 1827, the town was settled. It was popular at the time to name towns after war heroes. It might have been too popular in Pinckneyville’s case. Since the all the good ones -- Washington, Jefferson, Adams, Bluford -- were taken, Pville’s creators had to scrape the bottom of the barrel. They came up with Charles Cotesworth Pinckneyville – a bootlick of George Washington’s and the guy charged with bringing the Whoopee cushions to the federal Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia in 1787. Why he was chosen is as great a mystery as why Pinckneyville celebrates Mardi Gras during Octoberfest and has a Wurstmart German festival in February during the New Orleans Mardi Gras.

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SWEET DREAMS

Cotton C. writes: My wife says I snore more and louder when I drink.  Should I care?

Red says: You have what is known as the “One More Than the Big Snore Syndrome.” It’s a common affliction among sots and imbibers. I’ll assume your wife doesn’t bring this up in casual conversation, but while you are taking a midnight beating. I’ll also assume relations are strained because of it. You could get a new wife (maybe one who can tolerate loud noises like a steel mill worker or former Aerosmith groupie) but divorces can be messy especially if you have cool stuff life a kick-ass stereo or hot car. Also, she might try to send you to a sleep disorder center, but don’t fall for it. The next you known some hack will cutting on you or strapping a mask over your snot-box that makes you look like a hockey goalie from the 1970s. To keep peace in the family, the next time you’ve had a snootful head to the sleep-it-off center. Every home has one. It’s called the couch.

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THE NAKED TRUTH

Jeremy W. writes: “My girlfriend gave me a Snuggie™ for our three-month anniversary. Should I read something into this?”

Ask Red says: “I’ll assume the snuggie she gave you wasn’t her pulling your BVDs up your poop ditch, but the blanket with sleeves. If that is the case, dude, get out of this relationship now. If she’s already seen you in the raw the gift is her way of saying, ‘Ain’t no way I want to see that bod chillin’ on my couch with the lights on.’ If she hasn’t after three months, then why are you hanging around anyway?”

But Ask Red also has some co-advisers including Sagebush, our promiscuous librarian, and Mother Hen, a cantankerous old witch. Here is what they have to say:

Sagebush says: "From what I've seen on the commercials, this Snuggie you speak of is big enough to fit two, quite comfortably in fact. I think your girlfriend is sending a message. Since it's only three months in, I'd say the message is: Let's drink some white wine spritzers, recap the latest events in the Twilight series, and see what kind of trouble we can get into under the Snuggie. (All Twilight books available at my library, ask for me by name.)"

Mother Hen says: "What the hell is a Snuggie? What ever happened to letter jackets and wearing someone's pin? The youths these days! First it's a Snuggie, next it's free-basing crack with a street-hoe."

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THE PICTURE DOESN'T TELL THE WHOLE STORY

Valerie P. asks: Why do so many Facebookers only post partial pictures of themselves in their profiles or ones taken from odd angles?

Ask Red responds: I’ll defer this one to Faced, the Facebook oracle of this site.

Faced writes: Hey, it’s their profile and their form of expression but note that some people take advantage of the postage-stamp size-pic to avoid full disclosure. If you have something to hide or just want to add some weirdness, have your picture taken in a dimly lit room. Bathrooms are actually quite popular locales, but don’t forget to flush first. Have the shooter find an obscure angle. Over the shoulder is en vogue today so standout by creating a new style from another perspective. A full frontal shot with a head tilt is never advised. It will make you look like a wannabe homecoming queen.

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HAIR'S THE BAD NEWS

Larry M. writes: “I've noticed that as I've aged hair has begun growing in places it didn't before. Of the methods available -- creams, plucking, laser -- which would you recommend?”

Ask Red says: It’s a train wreck to the psyche to go to bed one night believing you’re still a frisky cat only to wake up to find fur growing from your ears, nose and places beyond. It’s your body’s way of saying, “Get out of the game. If you haven’t attracted a mate by now, better do so quickly because your Q-rating is falling fast.” Next, you’ll start emitting odors that smell like a leather chair at an Odd Fellows Lodge. I can’t tell you which hair fighting option is best only that it’s a battle you can’t win. The other choice is to give up. Soon, you’ll be a hideous freak and a reminder that we all still carry around a gene linking us to Cro-Magnon man. The flipside is, however, that you can start wearing sweatpants and Velcro-strapped sneakers in public and not give a damn.

But Ask Red also has some co-advisers including Sagebush, our promiscuous librarian, and Mother Hen, a cantankerous old witch. Here is what they have to say:

Mother Hen says: I've found the best method to be WHO THE HELL CARES! You should see the hairy patch under my double-chin, and has waxing that ever changed my life?

Sagebush says: Henrietta down at the salon gives the best Brazilian I've ever had. For the nose, ears, and face I'd go for plucking -- those creams are hard to get out of ear-folds.