This Show is Awkward

Recorded before Christmas as the show's final release of 2020, the conversation starts with an unexpectedly consequential subject: pillows. Henrique and Michelle compare worn-out pillows, changing sleep positions and the remarkable realization that nighttime discomfort may not be inevitable. Their experiences are personal anecdotes, not sleep, orthopedic or product advice.
From there, Henrique considers the strange power people gave the calendar year itself. He does not expect January 1 to erase the COVID-19 pandemic or the year's other problems, yet still wants the symbolic reset of 2021. His resolution is less about a grand transformation than noticing reasons to celebrate—birthdays, holidays, a change of scenery, creative work and the simple fact of reaching another day.
That idea turns the episode into a celebration of This Show Is Awkward. Most of its first full year unfolded during pandemic separation, when the hosts could not share their usual diner visits or spend time together in person. Their remote conversations nevertheless gave Henrique a recurring place to talk with his best friend, and listener messages showed that the show had become welcome company during commutes, errands and difficult weeks.
The closing stretch is an affectionate tribute to a friendship built across years of moves, film premieres, creative projects and ordinary meals. Henrique thanks Michelle for trusting him with her authentic self and praises the kindness and nuance he sees in her; Michelle answers with gratitude of her own. This historical year-end reflection does not pretend 2020 was easy or promise that 2021 fixed everything. It preserves something more durable: two friends choosing to recognize what they carried through a hard year together.
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Recorded during a December 2020 snowstorm, Michelle considers launching a solo podcast about her favorite anime openings and endings. Henrique Couto enthusiastically offers encouragement, technical help and a place to host it, while the two revisit the anime they have watched together—including Re:Zero, Erased, Death Note, Gurren Lagann, Mob Psycho 100 and Trigun.
Then comes a full-spoiler review of Hallmark’s Love, Lights, Hanukkah! Michelle and Henrique unpack the romantic comedy’s story of an Italian American woman who already knows she was adopted, then learns through a DNA test that her biological mother was Jewish and discovers biological relatives. They discuss Ben Savage’s performance, the film’s romance, its food and menorah scenes, and whether the movie’s explanations of Hanukkah traditions feel welcoming or overly instructional.
The review becomes a thoughtful, sometimes uncomfortable conversation about Jewish representation. Michelle explains why seeing so many cultural markers concentrated in one story made her feel observed rather than naturally represented, while Henrique compares that reaction with his experience watching the Latino-centered holiday movie Feliz NaviDAD. Their views are personal responses to the films—not broad judgments about Jewish, Latino or interfaith relationships.
The hosts close by comparing the two romances, including Feliz NaviDAD’s long-distance ending, before trading more seasonal recommendations such as Cross Country Christmas and Holiday Road Trip. Michelle’s holiday-cookie tradition and the search for a Hanukkah favorite add a warm finish to a candid discussion about who gets represented, how traditions are explained, and why even comforting holiday movies can inspire complicated reactions.
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Michelle finally watches Tremors for the first time, and Henrique Couto can barely contain his excitement. This full-spoiler review revisits the 1990 monster movie’s memorable residents of Perfection, Nevada, the danger posed by the underground Graboids, and the balance of suspense, comedy and character work that made Michelle care when people were threatened.
Henrique celebrates Kevin Bacon and Fred Ward as Val and Earl, Michael Gross as survivalist Burt Gummer, and the ensemble of townspeople trying to escape increasingly clever creatures. Michelle highlights the film’s pace and unpredictability, including the buried car, the discovery of the full-sized monsters, the pole-vaulting escape and the final cliffside confrontation. Their discussion makes clear why the characters—not only the creatures—give the movie its lasting rewatch value.
The hosts also explore the film’s practical-effects craft. Henrique describes miniature vehicles, puppetry, air cannons, scaled photography and gloriously messy creature gore, then maps out his affection for the sequels, the Old West prequel and the short-lived television series. He promises Michelle more movies while carefully avoiding the later installments’ biggest surprises.
A holiday question provides the coda: what is the best Christmas gift you have ever received? Henrique remembers sentimental art, photographs and useful presents, while Michelle values the tradition of choosing and decorating a tree with her parents. She eventually reveals one spectacular surprise—a first car—and the mishaps that followed. It is a warm, funny finish to an episode powered by friendship, favorite movies and the joy of sharing something you love.
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In December 2020, Henrique Couto begins with an everyday surrender: after years of deleting files and messages, he finally pays for more Google storage so his business email can remain searchable. The office-day mood also brings a then-new Babysitter Massacre spinoff book, Daddy’s Little Killer, and a check-in on Michelle’s holiday story for Weekly Spooky. These are snapshots of creative work at that recording date, not current release promises.
The tone turns serious when Henrique explains why he postponed an unnamed movie. Possible COVID-19 exposure among a small crew, powerful wind gusts and freak storms made the shoot feel unsafe, while the accumulated stress was affecting him physically and emotionally. He describes the difficult relief that followed his decision to place production on hiatus. This is a personal account of work and mental strain, not medical or production-safety guidance.
Christmas movies become the comfort watch. Henrique recommends A Country Christmas Story, praising its young aspiring singer, family reconciliation and Dolly Parton appearance, then recounts the warm, lower-budget charm of A Dogwalker’s Christmas Tale. Michelle compares her own Hallmark viewing frustrations, and the hosts discuss Pluto TV, Philo and why familiar romantic stories can feel especially welcome during a hard year. Full plot details are discussed.
Finally, they compare their outdoor decorations. Michelle searches for sold-out candy-cane path lights while Henrique experiments with connected lights and wishes modern LEDs offered more blinking and twinkling choices. That leads to bubble lights, a debate over whether brown is simply dark orange, and childhood memories of Easy-Bake Ovens and Creepy Crawlers. The hosts recount their experiences for nostalgia, not as electrical, heat or toy-safety advice.
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“2020 is unexpected chicken ramen” becomes the perfect accidental slogan for this November 2020 conversation. Michelle explains how two cups of imitation-chicken kosher ramen were missing their seasoning, while Henrique Couto recounts ordering a large shipment of her preferred shrimp flavor—only for regular chicken ramen to appear. The hosts turn product frustration and a well-meant gift gone wrong into a wonderfully specific friendship story.
Henrique finally gets the backyard shed he had ordered months earlier. A single installer arrives ahead of the expected time, builds the structure over two days and ultimately leaves behind work Henrique is pleased with. The process includes dog-yard embarrassment, classic rock, a painting delay and uncertainty about how much to tip, all framed as one customer’s 2020 experience rather than a verdict on the installer, retailer or construction practices.
The Thanksgiving recap mixes warmth with blood. Michelle describes a brief family visit and her vegetarian holiday favorites, while Henrique shares a limited gathering built around a prepared turkey dinner. Before guests arrive, he cuts his toe on a folded dog crate and discovers that he has bled into the white lining of his new slipper. He recounts cleaning, gluing and bandaging the wound, but none of those choices are offered as first-aid advice. The evening improves with friends, food, Planes, Trains and Automobiles and Dutch.
Henrique closes with gratitude. The pandemic had interrupted production and kept him from his mother, yet listeners who supported his films, podcasts and Patreon helped him keep working. He thanks the audience and Michelle for helping him through an isolating year; Michelle returns the sentiment. The old fundraising references are preserved here only as historical context—not a current solicitation.
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A strange freelance offer launches this November 2020 conversation: instead of ordinary payment, someone asks whether Henrique Couto would accept marijuana or tea. Henrique and Michelle use the moment to examine the difference between a collaboration that offers real mutual value and a request that simply labels unpaid labor as “exposure.” Their experiences are personal stories from creative work, not a universal rate card or business formula.
Henrique remembers low-budget music-video pitches, crowdfunding proposals, wedding videos, photography sessions and commercial work. He explains how scope changes what a tiny budget can reasonably buy, why promised creative freedom often disappears, and how deposits or time-for-portfolio collaborations worked in his own practice. He also acknowledges that friendship, curiosity or a genuinely useful opportunity sometimes made free work worthwhile.
That leads to the practical lessons school did—and did not—teach them. The hosts compare short units on résumés, checks, letters, typing, cooking and sewing with years of traditional coursework, then discuss networking as a skill Henrique still values. Michelle remembers learning household basics, while Henrique reflects on leaving high school for home education and ultimately choosing work outside the graduation path others expected.
The funniest and most uncomfortable memories come from orchestra. Henrique figured out that attendance alone secured most of his grade, skipped performance “pass-offs,” and enjoyed watching far more serious classmates lose chair placements to naturally gifted friends. Looking back, he recognizes the class pressure, poverty and resentment behind his teenage schadenfreude. The story stays focused on his own younger behavior; private classmates, teachers and unverified allegations are deliberately left out.
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In November 2020, Henrique Couto is preparing to direct a small narrative feature after more than a year away from the kind of physical set he loves. A nearly completed webcam-style found-footage project still counts as filmmaking, but it has not recreated the experience of choosing lenses, working beside actors and solving problems with a crew. Even with many features behind him, Henrique admits that the days before a shoot can make him wonder whether he still knows how to do the job.
That uncertainty becomes a candid conversation about creative confidence. Henrique trusts that his instincts will return once the camera is built and the actors arrive, because immediate production problems usually make him focused rather than fearful. Michelle encourages him while questioning how creative work should resume during the pandemic. Henrique describes the historical production as unusually small, largely outdoors and planned around limiting the number of people present. Their discussion reflects personal decisions made in 2020, not current health or workplace guidance.
Weather creates a second layer of preproduction anxiety. Rain appears in the forecast for separated shooting days, November daylight disappears early and Henrique hopes to finish before the project slips into December. He compares location filmmaking to blue-collar site work: the team arrives, establishes places for gear and spends a long day adapting to conditions. A memory from Boggy Creek: The Series illustrates the continuity challenge—falling snow produced a beautiful single-take scene, then disrupted much of the remaining schedule.
The friends also mark roughly one year of This Show Is Awkward, thank listeners who make the podcast part of their Monday routine and joke about hot tea, electric kettles and early winter darkness. Henrique opens with collector frustration over an imported 4K Dawn of the Dead set and its multiple cuts, while Michelle patiently follows the region-coding explanation. Together, these side trips frame the central story: experience does not eliminate nerves, but returning to meaningful work can make confidence feel possible again.
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This Show Is Awkward reaches its one-year mark with 54 recorded episodes and, to Henrique Couto’s surprise, no missed weeks. He and Michelle reflect on maintaining a conversational podcast through the first year of the COVID-19 pandemic, including recording days when neither felt especially ready to perform. The celebration is characteristically uncomfortable: Henrique wants a heartfelt retrospective, while Michelle offers reluctant approval and jokes that the show’s earliest listeners must have disappeared.
Henrique then asks Michelle to reconstruct the beginning of their friendship. She remembers a connection through her employer’s social circle, messages on MySpace and AOL Instant Messenger, and an early walk around Princeton. A later drive to dinner at Michelle’s family home ended with Henrique badly lost on unfamiliar roads; he says the experience sent him to buy a GPS the next morning. They estimate that they met around 2007 and note that most of their long friendship has unfolded across distance.
The anniversary prompt leads into Michelle’s most uncomfortable DIY touring memories. One late show continued into a nearly empty noise set around 3 a.m., leaving her to sleep in her car. Another began hours behind schedule, shuffled performers around and included a chaotic screen-door injury. She also recalls poorly promoted house shows, arriving after another date had fallen through, realizing almost nobody would attend and discovering what she believed was a bedbug rash. The stories are personal recollections, not travel, lodging or medical advice.
Halloween provides the closing detour. Michelle considers socially distanced candy bags, debates whether to visit her neighbors’ porch and finally reveals homemade paper ears and a paper nose as a Gigs costume. Before that reveal, the friends riff on a cholera joke from Red Dead Redemption 2 and discuss how some depictions of Ebenezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol can echo antisemitic visual stereotypes. From podcast anxiety to friendship history and rough touring nights, the episode celebrates endurance without pretending that creative work is ever tidy.
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Recorded in late October 2020, this episode begins with Henrique Couto exhausted, achy and overwhelmed by a month that stayed busy even without his usual travel, conventions or film festivals. He has produced an extra anniversary installment of Weekly Spooky, but office-bound filmmaking cannot replace shooting movies with friends. Michelle recognizes the same powerlessness: the pandemic has stretched far beyond the short interruption people first imagined, leaving ordinary decisions focused on simply reaching tomorrow.
The fatigue opens a vulnerable discussion about comfort eating, weight, missed friends and approaching holidays. Henrique describes using food as a reward during early lockdown and feeling distressed by the result, while Michelle offers support without pretending spinach can solve the problem. They also acknowledge that Thanksgiving and Christmas will not follow their usual patterns. All health, testing, masking and transmission comments reflect an uncertain conversation in October 2020; they are personal recollections rather than current medical or nutrition guidance.
Halloween supplies both tension and comic relief. Michelle hopes children will collect the generous candy bags she has prepared without crowding her porch, and the hosts joke about head bumps, pets, dark fall weather and text messages written in all caps. A question about Hanukkah leads Michelle to give an informal summary of the oil miracle and explain that the holiday’s modern prominence is partly tied to its calendar proximity to Christmas. The notes preserve her framing as a personal explanation, not a complete religious history.
Then Henrique remembers the Yo Mama jokes of his childhood and refuses to stop. He recites increasingly dated one-liners from memory, secretly searches for more and eventually reads categories of jokes while Michelle alternates between analysis, silence and reluctant laughter. They close by affirming that both of their actual mothers are kind and by making Michelle offer a skeleton joke. The episode moves from political and pandemic dread to deliberately ridiculous humor, capturing why an old bad joke can sometimes create a useful break in a difficult week.
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One week before Halloween, lifelong horror fan and filmmaker Henrique Couto gives Michelle an unexpected assignment: reconstruct the first seven A Nightmare on Elm Street movies from memory. Years earlier, after Michelle’s shoulder surgery, they watched the original run together over several days. Now Henrique names each installment, asks what survived in her memory and gleefully fills every gap. The result is a spoiler-heavy guided tour through Freddy Krueger’s changing mythology.
Michelle remembers Nancy trying to stay awake in the 1984 original, the nightmarish bus and queer subtext of Freddy’s Revenge, and the hospital patients who become Dream Warriors. Henrique supplies character names, endings and the series rule that fear gives Freddy power. The Dream Master brings returning survivors and Alice absorbing dream abilities; The Dream Child uses an unborn child’s dreams and Gothic imagery. Michelle’s uncertainty becomes part of the joke, but she recalls more images and plot turns than either host expected.
The biggest disagreement surrounds Freddy’s Dead: The Final Nightmare. Michelle remembers it as aggressively cartoony and rates it below the other entries, while Henrique recounts the wayward-teen clinic, the Power Glove sequence and Freddy’s explosive defeat. Wes Craven’s New Nightmare then shifts into metafiction, with Heather Langenkamp playing herself and an ancient child-threatening evil using Freddy as its latest story. After assigning rough star ratings, Michelle concludes that the stronger installments outweigh the weaker ones.
Before the marathon, the hosts discuss collector complaints about a newly released Friday the 13th box set, including disc errors, packaging-color differences and parody posts about defective orders. They also puzzle over a viral dog-or-clown optical illusion. The Halloween coda covers construction-paper costumes, squirrels stealing fake cobwebs and Henrique’s improvised bloody-jack-o’-lantern solution. Release, replacement-disc and availability comments reflect October 2020 rather than current product information.
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