My Husband Won’t Stop Pranking Me — Help!
I am this close to moving into a tent in the backyard. My husband, once a dashing soap star on a Canadian show (filmed in Vancouver, so he was away for months at a time), has taken an alarming turn since his career hit a post-COVID slump. With no auditions sticking, he’s decided his true calling is as a YouTube prankster. And guess who’s his unwilling co-star? Me.
In the past two weeks, I’ve been drenched by a water balloon while stepping out of the shower, found fake spiders in my coffee cup and opened our front door to discover what appeared to be a life-size effigy of the two little girls from The Shining staring at me. The neighbors don’t stop by anymore — not since my husband rigged our garage to look like a sinkhole had opened up in the ground, and Mrs. Hewitt’s cat disappeared into the hedge in panic.
Our chiropractor — who, by the way, used to love us — no longer takes our calls after my husband pretended to “snap” his back while she was adjusting him. I don’t know if I should be supportive of his creative endeavors or put my foot down before he starts live-streaming my reaction when he turns our jacuzzi into a ball pit. Help!
Yours,
Thanks, but no Pranks
Dear Thanks, but no Pranks,
Your house sounds like it’s one slip-and-slide away from becoming a reality TV show! And yet, the pranks seem as if they’re only half the problem, right? It’s not just the fake spiders or water balloons—it’s the fact that he’s pouring all this creative energy into pranks instead of pursuing something that might actually advance his career.
You’ve hit the nail on the head: would you be as frustrated if he were dedicating this much time to, say, writing a screenplay or developing a one-man show? Probably not. This isn’t about prank videos; it’s about feeling like his potential is being wasted. (And possibly some of LA’s water reserves).
It’s time to have a conversation with him, not about the pranks themselves, but about what they represent. If he’s doing this as an outlet, maybe you can encourage him to channel that creativity elsewhere. After all: One Logan Paul in this world is more than enough.
Best,
Remy
Illustration by Russ Tudor
To Self-Cancel or Not to Self-Cancel — That Is The Question
Dear Remy,
I’ve been in the public eye for 20 years. I can’t even buy toothpaste without someone snapping a photo of me like it’s evidence for a federal case. I’ve hit my breaking point, and I think I’ve come up with the perfect solution: I’m going to get myself canceled.
I figure all I need to do is make an inflammatory statement. I could trash-talk Beyoncé, say that Dolly Parton needs to tone down her look, or start a petition to end Thanksgiving. Maybe tweet about how puppies are overrated? You get the idea. Once I’m canceled, I’ll finally be free of the fame and attention that’s been smothering me for two decades.
I’ve had a good run of it: as an actor, I’ve been in a bunch of shows that have mainly rated above 60% on Rotten Tomatoes, I’ve partied in VIP lounges across the West Coast, and dated multiple Playboy Bunnies. But I can’t go anywhere without the flashbulbs going off. I even once found a paparazzo dressed as Santa Claus near my trash — pretending he was there for the neighborhood kids.
Is canceling myself the worst idea I’ve ever had, or am I onto something?
Yours,
A Cancel Attitude
Dear Cancel Attitude,
Let’s pause for a second. Is it freedom you’re after, or is it freedom from a version of yourself that no longer fits? Getting canceled isn’t going to bring you peace — it’s going to turn you into the subject of even more scrutiny. You think the paparazzi are relentless? Wait until the internet gets its claws into you.
If you want to step away from the limelight, there are quieter, less explosive ways to do it. Plenty of celebrities have managed to fade from public view by taking smaller roles or just living more privately. Look at Rick Moranis. Or Frankie Muniz. You don’t need to burn your reputation to the ground to escape. And I definitely wouldn’t recommend bad-mouthing Beyoncé at the moment if all the rumors are true.
Try slipping out the back door quietly, and you might just find the peace you’re looking for — without the drama.
Wishing you well on your vanishing voyage,
Remy
Too Soon? Or Should I Just Shut Up and Shoot?
Dear Remy,
I’ve got a question that’s really eating at me. I’m a director, and I’ve just been offered a project that’s making me break out in hives. They want me to do a biopic of a beloved national icon. The problem? He only died in 2020. His widow still posts tear-jerking Instagram stories about their last Christmas together, and his son dropped out of college to escape the media circus.
I get that there’s a lot of commercial appeal here, but it feels like the guy’s family hasn’t even had a chance to go through his sock drawer yet. Am I being overly sensitive, or is it just too soon to turn his life into a movie? After all, where does it end? Fast-turnaround biopics? Making biopics for people who are still alive?
Yours,
Biopic or Pass?
Dear Biopic or Pass,
You’re not being too sensitive. It’s not just that the man’s family hasn’t cleaned out his fridge yet — this whole project feels rushed. It’s as if they’re trying to cash in on the grief while the tears are still fresh. And if his family is still dealing with the loss so publicly, it feels like pouring salt in the wound to immortalize him on screen before they’ve had time to heal.
Is the aim to celebrate his life, or is it just a fast-tracked cash grab? You need to decide if you want your name attached to something that feels opportunistic. If it doesn’t sit right with you, trust that instinct. Maybe tell the producers you’d be interested in a couple of years, once the story has had time to breathe. Right now, it sounds like everyone — including his family — needs more time.
Best,
Remy
Remy Blumenfeld is a veteran TV producer and founder of Vitality Guru, which offers business and career coaching to high performers in media. Send queries to: guru@vitality.guru.
Questions edited by Sarah Mills.