My last post got me thinking about some of my favorite non-Emily chick flick experiences. I usually (but certainly not always) enjoy that type of movie more than I think I will going in; in fact, I'm pretty sure A Knight's Tale exceeded my expectations more than any movie I've ever seen (it's not my favorite movie, but I thought I would hate it and I didn't).
One time back in my days as a member of BYU Broadcasting's student studio crew (I wish I had a blog back then; so many funny stories and weird people and pointless drama crammed into two wonderful years), we had one of our days where our boss Steven told us to "find something to do" or "look busy" or something like that. These days with nothing to do probably happened at least once a week (it was a great job), and this time we had even greater freedom because Steven had to leave.
Usually we'd go get lunch at the Cougareat (on the clock of course), but this time we decided to venture off campus--all the way to some bagel place on Center Street, in fact. We got our food, came back, and as it was a beautiful spring day, ate it on the grass in front of the Museum of Art. While we were there, a few of our nemeses from Master Control waked past, also on their way back from lunch. We ignored them as usual, but weren't surprised when the HR person came out and told us to clock out and go home. Yes, they tattled on us. Which was ridiculous, because we never got in trouble for spending a few hours at the Cougareat, and they had no idea we had left campus. That's probably why there were no long-term repercussions, although when we left work that day we thought there would be, if not for us then for our boss.
We were all really annoyed, and most people just wanted to go home and blow off steam, but my friend Natalie and I went to see Two Weeks Notice (which I felt was somewhat ironic since at the time I thought it may be my last day at my job) with Sandra Bullock and The Charming Hugh Grant. And I liked it.
But my favorite chick flick story happened about a year earlier, in Winter 2002 semester. I remember it well: it was a Friday night, and I had just returned home from an intramural basketball game; my neighbor Jason "Al" Albert came over and asked if I wanted to go to a movie, and said we needed to leave right away. I swapped my shorts for jeans, and Al, his roommate Brent and I jumped into Al's car and sped off to Movies 8.
En route, I finally had some time to ask what movie we were going to.
"We have four tickets to A Walk to Remember," Brent said.
"Oh." Three guys had four tickets to a chick flick. I'm guessing Al and Brent had originally planned to take dates, but must've waited too long to ask anybody (they were two of the cooler guys in the ward, and had they given potential dates even 24 hours' notice they wouldn't have had any trouble getting someone to go with them).
We got to Movies 8 and walked into our theater--remember, this was a Friday night at Movies 8 in Provo, so there were like 45,000 people there--just a few minutes before the movie was supposed to start. If the three of us had wanted to sit together, we would've had to go down to the front row. Later on, I imagined how funny it would've been if we had all walked down there holding hands, but I didn't feel that way at the time.
"No offense, guys," I said, "but I don't really want to see this movie with you tonight."
They agreed, and we left. The movie was sold out, so were able to make a few high school girls' day by giving them our tickets. We rented Zoolander and watched it back at Al's apartment. Two or three years later I finally saw A Walk to Remember (there were several guys and girls present that time), and guess what--I liked it more than I thought I would!
After all this, though, I'm pretty sure the Sex and the City movie will meet my expectations in every conceivable way--which is why I have no desire to see it.