Hey Babydoll, How's It Hanging?

This is Bill Nye at ill advised by Bill Nye and I'm here to answer your questions or at least pretend to, without actually making things worse, it's a refuge here for the clumsy in the awkward and if you're a socially adept and enjoy healthy relationships, there's nothing for you here. This is a podcast for people who shave on tiptoe to avoid looking in their eyes.

I actually have a mirror at home, which never occurred to me.

I placed it on the wall where I thought it would look good, but when people come round, you'd have to be here, you'd have to be six foot seven to use it as a mirror, but it never ever occurred to me.

“If I knew when people come round, I'd say, "Why don't you put a mirror so high?”

You can't look into it." And I didn't think of it as a mirror, it was just like an object that looked, it was oval, shaped, it was quite, it was dark brown and it looked kind of good. It just makes me laugh that, you know, but if you jump, you can see it. If you jump up, for a billionth of a second, you can just about see it.

You don't look very good because you've just jumped, but it's, you can actually use it. Thank you for all your questions, here it goes. Hi Bill, this is Max here from Essex, I'm getting in touch because I am currently struggling to ask you to go out or tell if it go like to me, who works in the same office as me. We have a similar group of friends, but I'm a bit of a scedicat about approaching people

in the office, so we don't get tagged out a lot. I don't know if you have many cases of office romance or anything like that, but I don't have much luck in any walker life, so how do you manage to ask out any advice would be? Positively useful, thank you so much, I'm loving the pod.

Max, this is the hardest question in the history of questions, and the idea that I would

“know the answer is you should ask any of the girls who I tried to ask out, how they”

feel about me doing that, but now, of course, when it's too late, I have all kinds of ideas. Thank you, you should probably say something like, "Do you want to get a soy or frappuccino?" Trust me, it works every time. I don't know why, maybe it's the "Soyer" thing, no, I'm kidding, it probably doesn't work

at all. You could say, "I wonder if you would like to have breakfast with me and Paris." If you've got a new money, I don't know how much money you've got, Max, or you could say, "I feel really, really stupid, but I'm going to do it anyway, can I take you out?" I think the thing is not to pretend you're not nervous, unless you want to turn what

they call "pro," and you really don't want to turn "pro" Max, because that's of deeply unattractive status, so you can see I'm struggling too, maybe I should ask her out on your behalf, because that would be fine, tell it to call ill advised on Bill 9, I'll ask her out on your behalf, only in print, but I could say, "You could tell me her name," and I would say, "I understand that Max wants to ask you out, and I'm doing it on his

behalf."

Could do that could work, other than that, office romance, I've never worked in an office,

so I don't know, but I've worked in companies where, is it a good idea? We don't know, is it a good idea to be romanticly involved, but then, as you say, where else are you going to have contact, substantial contact? You can hear, I'm really struggling here, I'm about, I wouldn't be able to ask her out,

“so therefore I should just come clean, I have no idea what you should do Max, except”

just walk straight up to her, the next time you see her and say anything, just say, as long as you get the words, can I take you out? And just see, I bet the sky won't fall, but then of course, if she says, "No," and then you've got the rest of your life in the office with her, and then she gets married to some other bloke in the office, and they have many children, native happily, and

you're just a lonely guy who never really found the right girl, I mean, it could go really

badly. Sorry, the women in the office here are shaking their heads and mouthing the word "no," like that, which means I should probably shut up. Hi, Bill, I'm curious about your minimalist approach to life. Can you describe if there was an influencing event where you became a non-accumulator, or

When next question is, do you like cold weather or hot weather?

Are you a summer or a winter person? I personally am pro-cold. Summer's okay, but it's so uncomfortable. Thanks very much, Lynn, in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Hey, Lynn, thank you for the question.

Interesting question, actually, two questions. The first was there a slippery slope to minimalism. There was no slippery slope, and I'm not, I don't really, as they currently say, identify as a minimalist. I do identify as analy-retentive.

I've always liked things in alignment or in order.

Even my childhood bedroom was pretty nailed down. When I used to be in digs at work, if I was on tour, which I was always on tour in the early days, whatever room I was in, I would take anything extraneous out of it as much as I could remove it. I'd put anything sort of, that was hanging around, I'd put it all in the wardrobe, so

that space would be completely clear, and then make the bed, you know, military style, and have nothing else in the room.

“And when I got an apartment of my own, rather than digs, I remember they were bringing”

the television in, and it looked so ugly in my beautiful empty room. I thought, well, that can't come in. So I put it in the cellar, because I had a cellar, and I put the television in the cellar, and I made appointments to watch the TV, which worked out very well, because had it been in the front room, ruining the aesthetic.

I would have been a slave on the sofa with the remote in my hand, because I'm like a medieval present with the television. I just sit there. The only time I watched to rest your TV or any TV is when I'm on a job, and I'm in a hotel room.

Half my life in hotel rooms like most actors, and I just flip, flip, flip, flip, flip.

“And the only thing I have a really watch is things where I might, you know, there might”

be somebody I know in it. They usually reruns of old English television programs, and I just see if there's anyone I've slept with or anyone I knew in the old days.

And the second part of your, or rather, your second question, Lynn, is I'm with you.

I don't like the heat, and I would much prefer to be cold, and when I'm working, I hate to work in excessive heat. You know, I made a film not that long ago in Rome, in August. I mean, are they out of their minds, and which it was brutally hot, and we were outside in the street most of the time, and I was in a suit and tie, obviously, standards.

And it was very unpleasant. The Omega artist has to keep nipping into clean you up in between takes because you're melting, and it's just unpleasant. I'd rather be cold. I have acted in places so cold. In fact, recently I was on the coast outside Liverpool in the night time, wearing four sets

of thermals, that's tops and bottoms, four sets, three silk, and one wool. I mean, I don't know about silk, but some kind of thin thing, and I was still cold, and it became quite difficult to speak, because you're jawing your mouth, kind of, starts to freeze up. I was quite stable, I was supposed to be like that, and when we were in Canada one time, 30 miles south of the Arctic Circle, one man's jaw actually did freeze up. We had to stop

filming, and couldn't talk at all, and I don't know why I'm laughing. It's not funny, but then once in New York, when I went to New York to do a play in the wintertime, and

“the New Yorkers would say, "It gets cold here, and I think, yeah, I'm from London."”

You know what I'm saying? And they got cold, and it got seriously cold, and I was walking along the street with my mouth open at one point, and somebody waved to me from a cafe, and I went, "Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!" I had to go in the cafe and sit there for a while, because my jaw had frozen up, so there you go, "Hey, hey, New York."

Hello, Bill. I'm Sue, and I live in North Yorkshire. I recently came upon an appearance of yours in the vintage sitcom Agony, in which you've spotted an unfortunate bleach-blonde hairdo. I'm sure this was not by choice. I'm left wondering, what advice you would give the mature man about coping with hair in later life?

I have to say, "I'm slightly sad to hear you say that you considered it unfortunate,

but it's a long time ago." Yeah, I know. Well, thank you. My producer Alice, what hems is just done the same deep dive, and she thinks it looks gorgeous, so I'm going to stick with her. Yeah, no, I took the job, and it was when the police, the band, the police were very big, and they were all, you know, they had chemically enhanced hair, they believed they did, and they were all blunded, and so the producers of the show thought

that I should have blund hair like them, and I went to the hairdresser, and the man, the young man who was doing it, had white hair, you know, peroxide, white, straw, not even straw, white hair, and I said to him, "With all due respect, I don't want it as white as your hair." And he said, "No, no, no, no, no." And then he made it just as white as his hair, and I had this kind of white haystack. I had quite a lot of hair on my head. And on

the way home, I've phoned my Ben Girlfriend, and I said, "Look, you know, there's been a bit of an accident at the hairdressers, and so I just want to warn you before I come back home." And she said, "Yeah, don't be stupid, of course it can't be that bad." What's the matter with you? Come home, you know, so I went home, and I walked through the door and she went, "Oh my God, how could you, why did you let them do that?" And I

said, "Well, I didn't know what they were doing, because I never had my hair ever done

anything like that." And then I had to go back to have it softened with something called

“a blush or a plush, a gray blush, I think it was called, to make it less alarming. And”

advice to older men about their hair, "Well, whenever I try not to see anything I've ever done, and I don't look at any films I've ever done unless I absolutely have to." And I don't have to, so most of the time, you know, I am completely oblivious to my, what's called my work, which is how I like it. But if I ever do catch a glimpse of anything from the past, I always think, "Why didn't you cut your hair?" You know, when I was 30, 40,

I mean, when I was young, I had a catastrophe, which was that when I reached puberty, my hair exploded in a cloud of tight curls, which was a disaster, because it meant that I couldn't be in the Rolling Stones, and because your mother's friends would say, "I pay good money to get my hair like that, and you'd want to kill yourself." And eventually, it did go straight, which would have been the greatest thing that ever happened to me, but I'm amazed that

I don't remember it happening. I mean, I would have rejoiced, you know, I would have, it would have been the one big thing I wanted, but I can't remember it happening. Maybe

just that I can't remember. Anyway, I always feel that I should have cut my hair, and

I have no advice to men about their hair, come on. I'm not going to tell any man what

“you should do about his hair, unless he asks me really, really nicely, and the signs are”

consentful, so that after I've told him he's not going to hit me or something. Hi Bill, this is Julie from New York. We'll not from New York, but that's home now. I recently read an article about a prisoner in Australia who sued for his human right to eat vegemite. This made me think of your love of Marmite. I'm curious. If you were on death row, what would you request for your last meal? That's some interesting Julie, and thank you for your

question. I have lived with vegemite. I had a period in Australia where Marmite was not readily available, and even now they have a version of Marmite in Australia, but with all due respect, it's not Marmite. It looks like Marmite, and it kind of smells like Marmite, but it's not. Vegemite, I came to be reasonably comfortable with. It's too sweet, but that's only a few punish it for not being Marmite. If you accept it as vegemite, then it's fine. It's vegemite,

“and it's sweet-ish. If I was on death row, please, honestly. Okay, can we not be death row,”

could it be just like, I don't know, if it was the last Friday in the month or something? If it was the last Friday in the month, and I was offered anything I wanted to eat, I would have baked beans with Marmite underneath. Somebody recently said that they do this thing, because the danger with baked beans on toast, as we all know, is that if you time it wrong, then from now on, I can't really speak, because all the words I might use are all on the band

the toast becomes, let's try, limp. I'm working with children, and that's with no disrespect to

“children. Yeah, so you have to time it right, and somebody told me they have a trick, which is they”

let the toast go cold. So with the toast is cold, it stays crisp, longer. Try it, hot beans, cold toast, Marmite butter, obviously. Marmite beans, pepper, football page, in the old days, when I used read the newspaper, but I had to give them up. This week's banned words or phrases include on a bed of. When I work away, which is a lot of

the time, and I spend a lot of time in hotels, and I'm sometimes away from home for months,

and I'm perfectly comfortable with that, because I'm so used to it. But once in a while, you'll come across another menu, which is described to be on a bed of. And as soon as I see the words on a bed of, I want to go home, it's just the straw that breaks the camel's back. It just makes me homesick on a bed of. Why anyone would want to pile food on top of itself? I have no idea.

“Also, among this week's banned words are gristle, I think that self-explanatory,”

meaty, which is also not hard to read, less graphic, is banned with, when used in any other context of art from bandwidth, totes, amazed balls. That's absolutely apparently unforgivable. And time suck. That's also now eradicated from the English language forever.

I'd never heard of either of those things until I started asking people for banned words.

Also, an expression that should be on the bandwidth probably, which I've been guilty of using many, many times, is baby doll. I do mitigate the use of it by calling men, baby doll, as well as women, baby doll. I did actually say to a female friend of mine once, baby doll, in a post-modern ironic way, and she said, "I can't believe you've called me baby doll on international women's day." I of course was unaware that it was international women's day,

but every time international women's day comes around now, I text her, "Hey, baby doll, how's it hanging?" Which is obviously inappropriate and wrong, and it should be a private affair, but now I've just exploded into the public sphere. It's now time for this episode's playlist, and this episode's playlist was originally called adultery soul too, because we had a playlist called adultery soul, a while back, which was all R&B songs concerning themselves with adultery,

obviously. But this one is not called adultery soul too. It's called adultery gets lonely, because I thought that was a more telling title. And it starts with a song by Ray Charles, called "I've Got News for You," which starts with, "You said before we met that your life was awful tame, while I took it to a nightclub and the whole band knew your name." You wore a diamond watch, claimed it was from Uncle Joe. When I looked at the inscription, it said,

"I love from Daddy O." So you get the vibe. Did I actually just use the word vibe? Yes, I did. So that's, I've got news for you by Ray Charles, and then we have another song from Womack and Womack, who were quite good on acronyms. They had a song called "APB All Points Bulletin," which was about adultery, but I had that on another playlist. And this one is also by Womack and Womack, it's from the same album "Love Wars," and it's called TKO, which stands for, I'll spare you,

“younger people, Googling. It stands for technical knockout. As in, I think I better let it go.”

It looks like another love TKO. And that's a very cool slice of sweet soul music. And then you've got Angie Stone with "Could have been you." "Could have been you," laying next to me, which is another song about the aftermath of adulterous activities. And then you've got

a full out of me. And then there's an odd country song from Shelby Lynn, one of my favorite

country singers, and it's called "Breakfast in Bed." It's an unusual premise for a song, because it's somebody welcoming an ex lover who now lives with somebody else into their home, knowing they've had a big fight with the person they currently live with, so they've come around to see their ex. It's that song, and they get breakfast in bed. So that's the whole of it, and that's called adultery gets lonely. This week's book is called "The Three Stigmata of Parma

“Eldrich," and it's written by Philip K. Dick. And I think, I have to include a book by Philip K. Dick,”

of which there are hundreds. He was one of the most prolific writers in the history of writers, not least, because I think he took huge amounts of various forms of speed. Not that that's a recommendation in terms of the book, but this is one of my favorites of his. And if you read around and you gamble on contemporary novels and you have some success and some not so successful

reading experiences, you know, you can always go back to Philip K. Dick and kind of get your

get your bearings and get your, I hesitate to use the expression, but get your palette cleansed, because he can really, really write. And as soon as you start reading Philip K. Dick,

“your system kind of slows down and your shoulders lower and you become relaxed, because you know”

you're in whatever fantastical things are happening and don't worry about it. Nothing but fantastic or things happen with Philip K. Dick, you start to relax. And if you like it, there are hundreds more of Philip K. Dick, most of which have been made into films. If you google films that have been made

out of Philip K. Dick's books, you will be very surprised. And I'm just going to read a bit from it

this is chapter one of the three-stigmata of Palmer Eldrich. His head are naturally aching, Barney Mason woke to find himself in an unfamiliar bedroom, in an unfamiliar connect building. Besides him, the covers up to her bare smooth shoulders, an unfamiliar girl slept on, breathing lightly through her mouth, her hair, a tumble of cotton-like white. "I'll bet I'm late for work," he said to himself, "slid from the bed and totted to a standing position with eyes shut,

keeping himself from being sick." For all he knew, he was several hours drive from his office. Perhaps he was not even in the United States. However, he was, on earth, the gravity that made him sway was familiar and normal. And there in the next room, by the sofa, a familiar suitcase, that of his psychiatrist, Dr. Smile. Beffoot, he padded into the living room and seated himself by the suitcase, he opened it, clicked switches and turned on Dr. Smile. Meeters began to register,

and the mechanism hummed, "Where am I?" Barney asked it. "How far am I from New York?" That was the main point. He saw now a clock on the wall of the apt kitchen. The time was 7.30 a.m. not late at all. The mechanism which was the portable extension of Dr. Smile, connected by micro-reloat to the computer itself in the basement level of Barney's own conapt building in New York, the renowned 33, "Tinily declared, "Ah, Mr. Beerson."

“Mayerson, Barney corrected, smoothing his hair with fingers that shook. What do you remember”

about last night? Now he saw with intense physical aversion, half empty bottles of bourbon and sparkling water, lemons, bitters, and ice cube trays on the sideboard in the kitchen. "Who is this girl?" Dr. Smile said, "This girl in the bed is Miss Rondinel of Fugate," Ronnie, as she asked you to call her. It sounded vaguely familiar, and oddly in some manner, tied up with his job. Listen, he said to the suitcase, "But then in the bedroom the girl began to stir,

but once he shut off Dr. Smile and stood up feeling humble and awkward in only his underpants.

"Quite pretty," he decided, with lovely large eyes. "What time is it? And did you put on the coffee pot?"

“He tramped into the kitchen and punched the stove into life. It began to heat water for coffee.”

Meanwhile, he heard the shutting of a door she had gone into the bathroom. Water ran. Ronnie was taking a shower. Again in the living room he switched Dr. Smile back on.

"What she got to do with P.P. Layout?" he asked. Miss Fugate is your new assistant.

She arrived yesterday from People's China, where she worked for P.P. Layouts as their pre-fash consultant for that region. However, Miss Fugate, although talented, is highly inexperienced, and Mr. Ballero decided that a short period as your assistant, I would say, under you,

but that might be Miss Construed considering great Barney said. He entered the bedroom, found his clothes,

they had been deposited, no doubt, by him, in a heap on the floor, and began with care to dress. He still felt terrible, and it remained an effort not to give up and be violently sick. That's right, he said to Dr. Smile, as he came back into the living room, butting his shirt.

“I remember the memo from Friday about Miss Fugate. She's erratic in her talent, picked wrong”

on the U.S. Civil War picture window item. If you can imagine it, she thought it'd be a smash hit in People's China. He laughed. The bathroom door opened a crack. He called a glimpse of Ronnie, pink, and rubbery, and clean, drying herself. "Did you call me dear?" she asked. "No," he said. "I was talking to my doctor."

“I think we've squandered enough time, frankly, and maybe it's time to get back to the real world”

until next time. Thank you for all your questions, please. If you feel inspired, send some questions via Instagram, which is @illadvisebybelnye, or email us at [email protected]. In the meantime, stay loose. Illadvisebybelnye is produced by Alice Williams and Kyra Gregory, with a system production by Angelique Somers, pronounced Somers, and Charlotte Ross, pronounced Ross, and it's an iPod Studio's

production.