IT’S GUEST BLOGGER FRIDAY! TODAY’S QUESTION WILL BE ANSWERED BY JOSH LUFT, A WRITER/MUSICIAN WORKING OUT OF A “PRIVATE FORTIFIED RESIDENCE” IN BROOKLYN, NEW YORK, WHICH MAY OR MAY NOT BE A PLAYSKOOL DREAMTOWN SWEET LILY CASTLE. HE WRITES FICTION, PLAYS, ESSAYS, REVIEWS, MANUALS ON HOW TO TURN GRANDPARENTS INTO KILLING MACHINES, LISTS, FUN FACTS AND MUCH, MUCH MORE ON WHAT A FOOL BELIEVES AND MAKES FUZZED-OUT PRIMAL POP MUSIC AS VIRAGO. HE GETS BONUS POINTS FOR HAVING COME UP WITH THIS EXTREMELY CHALLENGING QUESTION WHICH HE SAYS WAS INSPIRED BY THE UPCOMING FILM THE BLIND SIDE (Eds Note: THAT NEW SANDRA BULLOCK WASTE OF CELLULOID THAT ATTEMPTS TO SATE AMERICA’S INSATIABLE APPETITE FOR MOVIES AND TELEVISION SHOWS ABOUT WHITE PEOPLE SAVING BLACK PEOPLE FROM THEMSELVES).

Yes, I would accept this challenge despite the fact that I find Sandra Bullock to be the most obnoxious actress of our time. Obnoxious doesn’t do her justice, really.  She’s abhorrent — no, pestiferous. Yes, Sandra Bullock as an actress is like a pest problem. And how do you solve a pest problem?

Okay, so I couldn’t kill Sandra Bullock. That would be psychotic — though listening to her spewing folksy wisdom with a Southern affectation would no doubt drive me to psychosis — and, more importantly, would not allow me to receive the million dollar prize. However, this would not stop me from spending every waking hour, as the unwilling recipient of her “Tennessee TLC”: dry cornbread and sympathetic side-smiles, searching for a loophole, as if I were “Blackie” from Lost trying to kill Jacob, to rid myself of her before the four years were up and still receive the check. In a situation like this you have to keep your mind occupied; you have to create a goal and then you must steadfastly pursue that goal. This is how you keep your sanity while Bullock, with her bad blonde dye job and shoddy drawl, hovers around you offering one inane anecdote after another. So you think, “Well, maybe I could ask her to teach me about tornadoes by driving into one? She’ll be sucked into the vortex while I remain safe and sound on the ground thanks to my trusty Anti-Tornado Cement Suit.” Or, “Maybe she can tell me why drinking gasoline is “as silly as a shack on the side of the Great Smoky Mountains” by demonstration?” And then, “Once she’s gone, I could keep her around like Weekend at Bernie’s. No one’ll ever know the difference!”

But maybe I’m being too hard on her. Maybe I would be charmed by — okay, no.  I’ve never once thought she was good in any movie — Wait! Demolition Man! I love Demolition Man! And she was in that! Maybe not good, but definitely in it. How could I hate someone from that wacky, dystopian classic? A film about a future with cryogenics, fines for even the mildest profanity, Wesley Snipes with a golden crewcut, and Taco Bell as fine dining! It’s ridiculous and wonderful! So maybe I wouldn’t have to spend four years trying to get rid of her. I could spend the four years trying to coax her into reenacting the entirety of Demolition Man with me, highlighting the anti-swearing, anti-violence, anti-sex, anti-everything of its fictional future, hoping she would believe that it would teach me values about life, even if the film turns out to be kind of pro-everything, and actually enjoy myself.  It’s a plan so crazy it just might work. As Sylvester Stallone’s character John Spartan says in the film, “Send a maniac to catch a maniac.”

Bring it on, Bullock.

- Josh L.

I can’t tell if the trailer for this movie is a remake of Diff’rent Strokes or Webster (or Dangerous Minds or Freedom Writers). Or if they kept the laugh track or decided to go without it (because the comedy is so obviously obvious). Or if this remake will include the ”Sam” character — that redhaired, country singin’, slack jawed yokel/poor man’s Yosemite Sam who apparently failed to hide the fact that the show was a pile of excrement in need of swift cancellation. I can’t tell much at all from the trailer actually. But for some reason I get a very strong feeling that although Sandra Bullock takes up the burden of adopting and educating this noble savage, it is she who will learn a lesson in love.

So, anyway, if the question is, do I want to spend the next four years living in a retread of a cliche (even if it is “based on a true story”) — a life that’s all swelling strings and football as a metaphor and hearts being embiggened left and right and whatever else bullshit — the answer is no. Although there are a million (!) ways in which I can be bought, this seems too high a price to pay. Gag me.

- Kali