Here's why it's a bad idea to share a house with a Cinematical writer -- your formerly innocent nights at the movies are stored away for discussion, your casual remarks posted for the entire world to see. My apologies to all the family members this involves.

My sister and her boyfriend caught Forgetting Sarah Marshalla few nights ago -- a second showing for her, first time for him. When I inquired as to how the boyfriend liked it, my sister revealed that he had actually covered his eyes when Jason Segel dropped that towel.

"Good lord," I said. "Really? Doesn't he see that every time he's in the shower?" I mentioned it to a male friend, and he said he completely understood boyfriend's squeamishness. As I'm writing this, I remember an incident just last weekend with my aunt's wonky cable connection. She's mistakenly been subscribed to all sorts of hardcore porn, and called my cousins in to fix it. The sight of naked men sent my male cousin running for the other room, gagging -- whereas his sister shrugged off the bare flesh and set to work trying to block the stuff. And I'm now realizing all that throat clearing and awkward squirming I heard around me during Eastern Promiseswasn't because Viggo Mortensen's back was being sliced open (which is what made me wince) -- it was because his manly bits were visible.