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Friday, December 31, 2010

It's all relative

The way I see it, if a homeless old guy yells a string of profanities at you that roughly mean "pretty," it's still a compliment.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

This is probably why I don't have kids

Whenever I hear a parent explain how it's their responsibility to protect their children from media influences, I think, "Good for you.  I can't wait to watch zombie movies with mine."

A scared kid is a prepared kid.

Monday, December 27, 2010

Breakup songs to live by

Every time I hear You Oughta Know, I imagine that Alanis Morisette crawling under her covers to hide whenever she hears it circa 2010.

First of all, it's about Dave Coulier.  UNCLE JOEY.

Second, it's just way too angry.  Way, way too angry.

Look, we've all been there.  Breakups suck.  There's no underplaying it.  But if you want to move on, obsessing about the Dave Couliers of life won't help.  Please refer back to point one if you need more clarification on this issue.

Compare the angry-psycho-chick lyrics of You Oughta Know with the following:
  • You wait a couple months then you gonna see, you'll never find nobody better than me.  (Kanye West)
  • It's just too bad you've already had the best days of your life.  (Kellie Pickler)
  • I hate to break it to you, babe, but I'm not drowning.  There's no one here to save.  (Sara Bareilles)
  • Guess what?  I'm having more fun, and now that we're done, I'm gonna show you tonight I'm alright, I'm just fine, and you're a tool, so so what.  I'm a rockstar.  (Pink)
  • No, you can't always get what you want.  But if you try sometimes, you might just find you get what you need.    (Rolling Stones)
  • I'm gone to find someone to live for in this world.  There's no light at the end of the tunnel tonight, just a bridge that I gotta burn.  (Kelly Clarkson)
  • I used to be love drunk, but now I'm hungover.  I loved you forever, but now it's over.  (Boys Like Girls) 
  • If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it.  (Beyonce)
  • Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father, run for your children, for your sisters and your brothers.  Leave all your love and your longing behind, you can't carry it with you if you want to survive.  The dog days are over, the dog days are gone. (Florence and the Machine)
Really, there's no need to make someone think you're about to punch them in the nutsack or ovaries.  You might be sad, or angry, or bitter, but put down the copy of Jagged Little Pill.  It's not helping anything.

And finally, stay away from the facebook status update altogether.  You might find something empowering about the words Stronger than yesterday, now it's nothing but my way, my loneliness ain't killing me no more ... but the rest of us are making like Alanis and looking away in embarrassment.  Stop talking about the high road.  There is no high road if you're on the internet.

Just trying to be helpful.

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Seriously, McLaughlin Group?

I love Sunday news programs, but there is literally nothing that enrages me more than people who take Sarah Palin seriously as a politician.

Forget every other thing about her that is ridiculous and mockable (I know it's hard).

The woman DID NOT even finish ONE TERM as Alaska's governor.

Game over.

Saturday, December 25, 2010

My friends and family: Cute as hell

I will never be her Sex and the City friend. 

- Karen, lawyer friend
emailing with me about a colleague who is objectively annoying 
and who addresses people as, "Hey lady!"
 

Glummy to me is like the doldrums from Phantom Tolbooth.  Sticky, and a nondescript color, going nowhere.  Pretty sure I made it up.  Anyway, I hope the glummies are getting less and less.

- Sandy, commiserating about bad news


Daggett County is the hub of multi-million dollar companies from what I hear -- it's the new Delaware.

- Sally, law school friend, mocking another lawyer's website,
which basically listed every county and major city in Utah



I knew I felt a little light coming upstairs.  Where are my pants?
- Pops  

You remember Alpha, don't you?  And he brought a lesbian with him.

- Auntie, introducing my brothers at a Christmas party
because Charlie is growing his hair out in an effort to look like Val Kilmer in Heat.
Right now, it's about a John Denver.




Merry Christmas, one and all.

Friday, December 24, 2010

Dirty little secret

Isn't it kind of the cliche that every lawyer really wants to be a writer?

I've wanted to be a writer ever since I was a kid.  I wrote my first book when I was in junior high and gave it to my mom for her birthday.  (She told me it sucked, in not so many words.)  I won a Reflections contest in 9th grade with a short story.  I hacked away at a never-ending novel through high school.  (A grim vampire-historical-psychodrama ... such a disaster.  And to think I thought of it pre-Twilight.)

Freshman year in college and another short story had my professor convinced I could be published ... and that I needed to seek help for an eating disorder.  (He took a lot of things in that class too seriously.)

The funny thing is, even with his encouragement, I never submitted that story anywhere.  I have no idea why.

(That's a lie, and I'll get back to it later.)

Another novel in college, and this one I actually let people read.  All of them claimed they thought it was funny, and I'm pretty sure most of them were telling the truth.  I also wrote a bunch of opinion columns for The Daily Utah Chronicle which were subsequently eaten by an InternetLand Monster.  (It happens.)

Off to law school then, even though I still knew I wanted to be a writer, even though my Pops told me that even he (the Eterna-Pragmatist) thought I could be a writer.

And guess what?  I really liked law school, even if the primary reason I went (after "I want to help people," of course) was so that I wouldn't have to be poor when I inevitably attempted the whole getting-published-thang.

During law school, I prepared myself for the onslaught of getting rejected repeatedly by signing up for more OCIs than any person in their right mind ought to.  (Actually, that was because my dad's lawyer buddy told me to -- and I quote -- "Apply for everything!  It doesn't matter!")  Forty-one first interviews later, I had two callbacks and two offers.  If that gives you any idea of how good a first impression I can make.

However, law school is not conducive to starting new writing projects and seeing them through.  I was able to edit down college-novel to a reasonable level.  (Sorry, people who had to read it when it was still 130,000 words long.  But how impressed are you that it's now 84,000?)  But mostly I started a bunch of things that remain unfinished on my loyal MacBook Pro.  I also wrote a bunch of papers and edited two textbooks, and rationalized that this was the same thing as working on my own writing.

After law school, the economy imploded and my lawyer-job was deferred until January.  My friend Paul (I'm starting to lose track of some of these pseudonyms, fyi) got me a gig working as a marketing assistant at the Deseret Book after the bar exam that fall.  (Paul also once gave a copy of my novel to one of the readers at Deseret Book -- not to consider for publication, but just to get some objective feedback.  She liked it ... though obviously the plethora of swears made it non-DB material.  Still, I like that someone who wasn't my friend and who does this for a living also thought it was funny.)  I did some research on how one goes about trying to get published.

Note that in 2002, someone was willing to help me with this process in person, and in 2009, I'm still relying on Internet to help me procrastinate the day of my ultimate rejection.  (See, I told you I'd get back to explaining my lies.)

So I moved to Fake Austin, and actually started giving it a shot.  Writing more.  Querying agents.  The whole shebang.

The funny thing is, I tend not to tell many people all this.  But then, TODITDRR (hopefully I don't have too many more opportunity to use this new abbreviation), a funny thing happened.

Two other lawyers cheerfully admitted that they also have partially finished novels on their laptops.  So apparently it's not the weird secret I thought it was.

A few days after that, my friend Rodrigo (multi-talented a-hole that he is ... but he knows I love him) got some good news from an agent.  He and I agreed to do a book swap -- the first time I've done such a thing with a Lawyer Friend.  (Not that this is a particularly big deal, it's just that we tend to be judgier than other friends.)

And then out of the many, many rejections came one request for a partial manuscript.  (Don't get too excited, it was almost six weeks ago and I've heard nothing since, so I'm guessing that's a no.)  But still, one ray of hope is sometimes all it takes to realize, Well, maybe this isn't such a disaster after all.

In case you're wondering, this blog isn't going to turn into some sort of chronicle of my adventures of publishing land rejection.  Nope, it's still the adventures of Lawyer Girl, Bad Mormon Girl, Social Anxiety Girl, Ranty McRanterton Girl, etc.

But I was just thinking, Hey.  Some people have entire websites dedicated to their potentially pathetic dreams.   

I ought to have at least one post.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Genetic heritage

I spent a lot of time over this break just hanging out with my family in Kaysville, watching movies and not doing any lawyer-work (hurray!).

Since I've been gone in Fake Texas, my parents have redecorated our house a bit.  Mostly changing the bedroom I used to share with Echo, putting in a new sectional couch and TV in our basement ... but the most interesting change is definitely the addition of various lamps or pictures that my grandparents had owned.  It's nice to be in the house I grew up in, with little additions from the house I grew up next door to.  

One of those additions is a baby stroller that my Grandma used to keep upstairs in a little nook.  My cousins and I used to play house up there, pushing the antique baby stroller around with a porcelain doll inside. 

My dad and I were reminscing about the stroller the other day--except neither one of us could remember the word "stroller." 

I came thisclose to convincing myself and him that the appropriate term was "baby basket."

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Why I hate Sex and the City*

(Super Christmassy topic, right?)

There is a common misperception out there that Sex and the City is some sort of amazing feminist achievement.  We've all heard the various arguments--that it depicted female sexuality in a more honest way.  The characters didn't allow men to rule their lives.  The most important relationships were the friendships between the four women.

Blah blah blah.

OK, here's the thing.  I have watched and laughed at Sex and the City.  Who doesn't love a few thousand puns crammed into a single 22-minute episode?

But if you wish to disagree with my assessment, please fill out this simple quiz.

What are the characters' jobs?

Carrie: ___________________
Miranda: _________________
Charlotte: _________________
Samantha: ________________





Let's assume you got it all right.  (Writer, Lawyer ... art-something followed by unpaid volunteer ... and PR person.)  You realize those are the vaguest descriptions of jobs possible, right?

Writer - of bad puns and columns that always end with, "And I couldn't help but wonder."  And who lived in a fantastic apartment and owned couture and piles of Jimmy Choos.   Financial problems?  What financial problems!  Those were resolved in a single episode, thanks to one friend giving her a diamond ring and an ex-boyfriend writing out a fat check.  Because that happens.

Lawyer - at a firm.  Of some kind.  Doing some kind of law.  With books.

Art Gallery Person - was she a buyer?  A manager?  An agent?  A broker?  WHAT?

PR Person - this really is the catch-all pop culture job.  Does anyone really know what someone in PR does?  Or in any case, what someone in TVLand PR does?  I sure don't.

I'm not saying that a woman's career should be her most defining characteristic, but if the entire conceit of your show is that these are four successful, financially independent women just living their lives ... shouldn't we have some sense of how they are successful?  How they are financially independent?

Instead, we are dropped into their lives in medias res, with no reference to how these women became successful, why they are currently successful, and how they are remaining successful in the future.  Nope, we just know that they each do "something" (or ultimately marry someone) that entitles them to spend money without any consequences, because that's what makes the show fun.

Which brings us back to this "feminist achievement" nonsense.  Look.  Sex and the City is mindless, escapist nonsense, and that's fine.  I can usually get behind that.

But when you go further and claim that Sex and the City is intellectual or cutting-edge?  That is just patently ridiculous.






* OK, brief edit.  I just wanted to say I was going to title this post "Sex and the City sucks [inappropriate euphemism]" but I refrained.  Not from using an inappropriate euphemism, because I love those.  I was seriously going to write "[inappropriate euphemism]" and at the last minute thought, "Now, that might be just a tiny bit ridiculous."  


I just wanted you guys to know that I do sometimes show restraint ... but unfortunately it's usually related to whether I think things will be actually funny, or just funny to me.  

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

I give you my solemn Internetland promise

I will never disable the comments on my blog.

I know I only get like 2 per post, but still.

What is the point of blabbing into this nothingness if you don't want people to blab back?

Monday, December 20, 2010

So what's your childhood trauma?

I think sometimes you can really only conceptualize the weirdness of your own childhood when you've been out of high school a few years.  If you think about it when you're still a teenager, you just get angsty and whiny and who likes that?

TODITDRR (I've decided to abbreviate "The other day in the doc review room" from now on) we were discussing creepy movies we watched as kids.  I am convinced that while the cartoons of our generation completely own the anime crap kids watch now.  (When Alpha was about five, I took him to see Pokemon: The Movie! only to realize about ten minutes in that Pokemon is apparently about cock-fighting and slavery.)

However ... the movies?  In that regard I will give the win to this current kiddie generation.  When I think about the movies I watched as a kid, I am certain that my parents just aimlessly wandered into Cosmos Video (rent local, folks) and grabbed whatever was sitting on the CHILDREN shelf.

For example?  When I was a first grader, all I wanted for my birthday party was The Little Mermaid, which had come out to rent a few weeks before.  Unfortunately, my dad was in charge of getting the movie, and completely underestimating Little Mermaid-mania, went down to Cosmos the afternoon of my party to find all copies checked out.

He came back with a live-action version instead.  Where the mermaid dies at the end.

Yup, I was that kid.

I also watched Scruffy, where I learned about euthanasia for the first time.  The Last Unicorn, which to this day I am convinced is the kindergarten version of Requiem for a Dream.  

And I know that whiny bitches people complain a lot about environmental messages to kids in movies like Happy Feet and Wall-E, but seriously, I chalk up all my adult tree-huggy feelings to Samson and Sally.

If you haven't seen it, Samson and Sally is about a little sperm whale whose mother is killed by whalers.  Soon after, his home is destroyed by polluters, and Samson's whole pod has to swim under an oil slick without coming up for air.  Several whales are unable to do this, go up to early and get their blowholes clogged.  The other whales are forced to continue on whilst they choke to death and sink to the bottom of the ocean.

THEN (no, it's not over) Samson decides that he needs to seek out the legendary Moby Dick, who for some reason is all drunk and existential when Samson finds him.  (There may have been sharks, too, but I've blocked the rest from memory.)  Samson ultimately accepts the futility of his existence, and the movie ends.

But honestly, I don't blame my parents.  Who expects all that when you're looking at this?:

I'm pretty sure the drawings of the musical sea-creatures is a straight-up rip-off Little Mermaid, too.  I don't remember a single song number in that damn movie.  

Not the healthiest attitude, I know

I'm going to have a few goals come January 1, 2011.  

But instead of working on them now, I figure a couple more weeks of bad habits won't kill me.

Meh.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Question for the peanut gallery

If you could punch one celebrity in the face, who would it be and why?*

I'm leaning toward John Mayer, because I think he might cry.  Several of the Teen Dads on 16 and Pregnant are tempting choices, but they aren't really celebrities.

I also kind of want to punch Mr. Schuester from Glee in the face - it's a combination of finding him really annoying, and figuring it's the closest I'll ever get get to his abs.

I haven't come to any hard conclusions just yet ... I'll let you all know when I do.





* If you're wondering what the dealio with the random questions is ... I spend a lot of time at work looking through documents and shooting the shit with my fellow dungeon dwellers.  We like to debate, and now I'm sharing the debates with you.

I'd buy your love

If you had a million dollars, what would you do with it?






(PS - That is for sure the second-best Barenaked Ladies song, the first of course being their version of God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen with Sarah McLaughlin.) 

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Bad karma, coming my way ...

Fun fact: I am very prone to nausea.  Car rides, plane rides, a specific type of violence in movies (nope, not going to elaborate on what kind), carnival rides that go in a circle, heights ... basically, lots of things leave me feeling ill.

Another fun fact? Feeling vomity does not improve my math skills.

So when the craziest of all New York cabbies deposited me at La Guardia, I barely avoided throwing up all over my cute new book bag, shoved some money in his direction, stumbled out of the car ... and then, after I hauled my stuff through security, my brain caught up and I realized only I tipped my driver about 4%.  

Balls.

Monday, December 13, 2010

For reals, Jean-Pierre?

So I'm not one to use my blog to brag about my fabulous vacations (that's what Facebook is for), I must make a brief mention of my current adventures in the Big Apple.

New York is beautiful (albeit super smelly) and my Christmas spirit is officially off-the-charts. 

But while I never thought I'd agree with Dwight Shrute about something, there are far too many people on this planet.  We do need a new plague.

Also?  This place is hella confusing.  I'm staying with friends in the East Village, and I got turned around after getting off the subway tonight.  (DC Metro OWNS New York Subway, fyi.)  So I sought out a member of the fine NYPD and asked him which way was east.

I didn't ask for real directions.  I didn't ask where a particular landmark was.

I just needed to know which way was EAST.

And this fine gentleman DIDN'T KNOW. 

W.

T.

F.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

So close, yet so far ...

Does anyone else hear the opening notes of Under Pressure on the radio, and then get disappointed when it turns out it isn't Ice Ice Baby?

And I say this as someone who likes David Bowie and Queen.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Conclusively awful Christmas songs

  • Wonderful Christmastime, Paul McCartney

  • Happy Christmas (War Is Over), John Lennon and Yoko Ono

(You, like me, may have made the mistake of thinking this song is called "So This Is Christmas."  In any event, it's the creepy Christmas song with the creepy Christmas children's choir.)

  • Last Christmas, Wham (and anyone who ever covered Wham - looking at you, Taylor Swift)

  • Christmas Shoes, Newsong



Did I miss any?

Monday, December 6, 2010

Dilem

Christmas is coming, and my billable hours are nearly reached.  (Woot!)  As soon as I hit that sweet 1950, I am done working.  I don't care if the world is getting ready to explode and the only thing that could stop it would be me filing an injunction against Terraforma Explosificus.  STAYING HOME.*  Sorry, fellow Earth-dwellers.

But here's my problem.  Let's say I finish all my work this week, which I intend to.  I am out next Monday and Tuesday to go to New York to visit various homies.  I have an application for attorneys fees to finish Wednesday, Thursday, Friday (which I may actually be able to cram in this week), but then I am done for 2010. 

Do I fly home that Friday (or Saturday, or Sunday, depending on how much time I just want to spend wallowing in my apartment, drinking Diet Coke and wearing fuzzy socks) ... or do I wait, and then drive home via Las Vegas to catch the Utes versus Boise matchup in the Maaco Bowl on December 22? 

So torn. 




* I know some lawyers get what is known as a "bonus" for going above and beyond.  But the likelihood of me getting a bonus is low, the potential bonus would be relatively small, and therefore either way, I just don't care that much.  YAY FOR MORE VACATION!

Sunday, December 5, 2010

I don't like admitting this, but ...

... I think Battlestar Galactica may be too complicated for me to follow.  I'm watching the very first episode, and I already have no frakking idea what is going on.

Other than the fact that the f-word apparently evolves in the future.

Friday, December 3, 2010

Here comes Santa Claus

Hey blog readers!  In honor of the holiday season, I have three things for you: (1) A story, (2) A request, and (3) A suggestion.*

1. A story

Christmas kind of enrages me.  Sad confession: When I was 15, I had a total meltdown at Christmas.  If you ask Echo, Charlie or Alpha, this is because my parents had bought me a drumset that summer with the reminder that this would be my Christmas present, and then they stuck to it.  (Pretty sure I got pajamas, and that was it.) 

If you ask me, it was PARTLY because of the drumset fiasco, but MOSTLY because at 15, I had for the first time both the money and the inclination to get my family and friends thoughtful gifts.  Watching my younger siblings tear open their presents from me, glance at them, and toss them aside in favor of opening more presents really set me off.  (Even though, to his credit, Alpha was 3, and I probably should have guessed that even though he loved the Teletubby Collection I gave him -- all four dolls! -- he was still just 3.  But hell, I was 15, and pretty self-absorbed.  I guess I wanted him to send me a fingerpainted thank you card or something.)

But ever since that Christmas, a lot of the wonder of gift giving has kind of worn off.  This is due, in no small part, to the fact that giving people presents now feels like a job.  Sorority gift exchange!  ($50 limit, gift cards accepted.)  GUH. 

And this is nothing compared to my family.  A few weeks before Thanksgiving every year, Echo, Charlie and Alpha send me lists of stuff they want, and demand the same from me.  Every year, I try to resist, and tell them to just buy me anything and I'll like it.  Every year, their first-rate pestering abilities wear me down.

So about a week ago, I begrudgingly sent Charlie a list of some pretty wide-ranging stuff - movies, books, CDs, articles of clothing, accessories, games.  I figured, the more stuff he had to choose from, the more likely it was that I would be at least semi-surprised.  I told him to share the list with Echo and Alpha, and PLEASE, let it be a surprise from here on out.

One hour later, he texted me back:

What color socks?

Seriously, Charlie?  YOU CAN'T PICK OUT SOCKS BY YOURSELF?

Ahem. 

(See why I melted down on Drumset Christmas?)

2. A request

So at work we're doing a Sub for Santa Extravaganza.  I say Extravaganza because when a law firm plans it, it's bound to get Out Of Control.  Perhaps more on that later, perhaps not.

Anyway, one of my girls is 10 and wants a "bike or talking doll."  I feel like these things are different enough that what she really means is "bike AND talking doll," but felt guilty writing it. 

Here's the request, for readers out there with daughters/younger sisters/students/nieces of this age: What the hell talking doll do I get her?  The bike is easy, it has ages right on the box.  I have read that Mittens Fluff N Stuff is the Tickle Me Elmo of this year, but doesn't she seem a bit young for a 10 year old?  Or is 10 young, and my sense of childhood age is skewed from reading Harry Potter?  Plus, she doesn't talk. 



There are all those baby dolls that talk, but they look cheap and seem like they're for younger kids.  I refuse to get her a talking Bratz, because it offends my feminist sensibilities.  (Honestly, what does a talking Bratz have to say for herself?  "I can't wait for my welfare to come in!" and "My STD panel came back negative!")  And a talking Jessie or Woody from Toy Story seems way too specific.  If a kid wanted a talking Buzz Lightyear, wouldn't she have just said so?

Is there some awesome talking doll out there that I don't know about?  Please help, I'm at a loss.

3. A suggestion

Every year to get in the holiday spirit, I read What Child Is This? by Caroline B. Cooney.  (Yup, the lady who wrote The Face on the Milk Carton.)  Is it cheesy and manipulative?  Absolutely.  Also adorable and heart-warming.  Get on your library waiting lists now, people!  (Or just buy it, since it's like $6, and you will love it for years to come.)








* You: Hey Blogwriter, those aren't really things for us.  Number two is definitely a thing for you.

Me: Shut it.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Awkward sex

In honor of the recent Thanksgiving Break, where I spent the vast majority of my time sitting around, drinking Tab (you're missing out if you don't know why that is awesome) and watching movies with my family, I have decided to bring you my personal top ten list of Most Awkward Sex Scenes in Film.*

(PS, I know the title of this blog post is sheer numbers bait.  Judge away.)

10. Righteous Kill

Aside from the fact that both Robert DeNiro and Al Pacino spend the movie trying to pretend they were 15-20 years younger (seriously, isn't there a retirement age in the NYPD?), this film also features Robert DeNiro fulfilling the rape fantasies of a much younger female psychiatrist.

That's the picture of mental health.

9. Risky Business

The sex montage included positions on a staircase.  A STAIRCASE.  And no one even threw down a yoga mat first.

8. A History of Violence

Not only was there a staircase sex scene (complete with shot of resultant bruising - seriously, YOGA MATS, people) but a scene where the wife dresses up like a cheerleader for her husband since they never got to have sex in high school.  

Can I mention I watched this with my dad?

7. Munich

Just a thought - if you can't stop thinking about murdered Olympic athletes and all the international crimes you committed to avenge them, maybe you should go make yourself some herbal tea.

6. [I'm saving this spot for Breaking Dawn: Part 1.  I've just got a feeling about it.]

5. Brokeback Mountain

It's not just the fact that Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger are basically beating the crap out of each other before they start making out.  It's mostly the fact that Heath Ledger hocks a loogie into his palm before they move from making out into more scandalous territory.

From Diego: "Seriously, so gross.  And not to be tmi, but that was not going to cut it."

From Rick: "I was living in New York when it came out, and all my friends were gushing about how realistic it was--'Of course that's how it would have to be, for them to finally be together!  It would be passionate and angry!'  I was like, 'Um, no.  That would have forced both characters back in the closet back in the closet for at least three years.'"

4. Avatar

I'm not sure which is worse.

A. Ponytails.

B.  The fact that Pocahontas-Stands-With-A-Fist-Crysta's parents can smell her de-virginized status the next day.

I might be leaning toward A.

3. Atonement

I try to refrain from broad generalizations (no, I don't), but whenever people start blathering about how Americans are so uptight when it comes to sexuality, I just want to point to this movie as Exhibit A of why they are wrong.

Scene: Two hot British people are going at it against a bookcase in a library.  Girl's creepy younger sister walks in on them, says, "Cecilia!" like the shocked ghost of a 90-year-old Victorian lady.  (If you saw it, you know exactly what I mean.)

What an American would do: Jump apart.  Guy scampers off.  Girl, faced with the prospect of forever traumatizing her younger sibling, takes the tyke aside and explains that sometimes grown ups do stuff, nothing scary about it, no biggie, but she needs to forget what she saw and never speak of it again.

What a Briton would do (and did, in the movie): Sloooooowly disengage.  It's like the little girl is a T-Rex and they figure if they move gradually enough, she won't see them.  Straighten clothes.  Snootily toss heads.  Go back to dinner.  Pretend nothing happened, but skip the crucial step of impressing on the little girl that NOTHING HAPPENED.

Sorry kids, but the real reason for all the tragic misunderstandings in Atonement is a lack of sisterly candor.


This is not normal behavior after a pre-teen catches you doing the nasty.

2. Enemy At The Gates

It really doesn't get any worse than dirty Soviet soldiers getting horizontal in a sewer, surrounded by other sleeping dirty Soviet soldiers, pausing only briefly when somebody walks by.  

Really.  They kept going after that.   

1. Watchmen

You know what I'm talking about -- the three minute sex scene set to Hallelujah (great song, uncomfortable usage) that included thigh-high hooker boots.  It's like a thousand horny nerds got together and decided how this scene should be shot.  I loved reading Watchmen, and I still like the movie, but seriously.  The spaceship shooting flames at the ... uh ... crucial moment?  

Keep in mind that this movie also prominently featured a giant blue glowing shlong, so the fact that this scene prompted the most giggles from the audience really says something.







* I would like to thank Diego, Sandy, Rick, Anna, Julie and that weird guy who kept suggesting Short Bus (gross, no) for helping me to refine this list during Diego's birthday party. 

For the record, nothing that was actually gag-inducing was considered because (a) I probably haven't seen them and (b) this list is about awkwardness, not grossness.  If I go to a mainstream film and then am confronted with an unrealistic, bizarre, overly long or overly detailed love scene, that's awkward.  If I go rent some smut and some smut happens, that's just a given.  For similar reasons, comedies were not included, because if awkwardness is the point (ahem, people who kept suggesting Bruno and Superbad and MacGruber) then it's not really awkward, is it?

Ponder that, my Zen friends.