Original subtitles

That's a really lovely watch.

Thank you.

I got it as a birthday present from my nana on my ninth birthday.

It's my very first watch.

On my tenth birthday, she died.

I'm so sorry.

And I bet you wind it every day and you've never let it stop once.

Am I right?

I have nothing to say today.

May I ask some silly questions then?

What kind of books did you read when you were a little girl?

How little?

When I was all sugar and spice?

How old was that?

Nancy Drew.

And Frank.

Philip Roth.

I like to think I'm still all sugar and spice.

Okay.

You mean when I was this little?

I had so many friends that I suppose that's why I didn't have time to read

much.

One of my friends, her parents had this karaoke machine.

They would carry on for hours.

Her parents were so rich.

So rich.

They had this bathtub.

This enormous bathtub.

I suppose her parents used it more often to get dirty than to get clean.

If you catch my drift.

Five of us.

Five of us.

Four friends and me.

I had so many friends.

We were all so little that we'd squeeze into the bathtub together.

It was disgusting, but it was fun.

Disgusting fun.

Once we almost brought the karaoke machine in there with us, but one girl

said we would be electrified.

That's what she said, electrified.

Not electrocuted.

She was wrong on both accounts.

Once I checked into it, I decided she was too stupid to be my friend anymore.

I was so shallow.

So shallow in the shallow end of the tub.

I babysat a lot.

Gee whiz, I suppose I was a born babysitter.

I used to love giving babies baths.

They smelled so good.

I also loved my dad's smell.

The smell of his dental office.

I would sweat so much in a hot bath and come out smelling so good

Oh, you made it. Hi. Oh, sweetie.

Good to see you.

I'm so proud of you, Mom. I grow tumors for her. I love you, Richard.

You're going to be great.

Let's go. In the movie, Norma Ray, Norma has to explain to her children

that she's a jailbird.

And she feels compelled to put that scarlet letter in the proper context for

her kids.

so that they understand the principles for which she was jailed, so that they

fully grasp that the reason their mommy was jailed was to make life better for

hundreds of other people, for hundreds of friends, for hundreds of other

mommies with whose children they played.

Well, I'm a jailbird too.

I broke the law when the law stopped making sense to me.

When a law that was wrong was hurting a great many people.

I crossed state lines.

And I paid a computer hacker, a known felon, to track down a domestic

terrorist. A man who had vowed to kill a Planned Parenthood doctor.

A physician who performed abortions legally, safely, and affordably.

a man who also saved the lives of many other women.

And I stalked this man, this terrorist, with the intent to kill him before he

had a chance to commit his act.

And I intended to kill him with a handgun that I'd purchased legally from

a gun shop, a gun shop owned by that very terrorist.

But my plan was thwarted.

when a security camera mounted on that very clinic just a block away spied my

weapon in the passenger seat of my car.

It was my passenger.

I was sentenced to a year in prison, released after 36 weeks.

How's that for irony?

But my imprisonment led to a nationwide outcry.

Well, I don't have to tell you what it led to.

You were at the forefront.

But that conflagration of protest flickered to a few dying embers within a

week, maybe 10 days.

You know, they used to wrap fish in day-old newspaper.

What do they wrap in day-old cyber news?

And then you people.

You people, Iris Glenn people, you began to do a funny thing.

You began to sign a petition.

A petition that would put me on November's ballot as a mayoral

candidate.

And I've decided to run.

I've decided to win.

I've decided to serve.

Three bites and it's back to work.

I'm not going to violate my first campaign promise only four hours after

the polls close. Now, worry about that tomorrow after you're sworn in.

This is delicious, guys.

To your food, young lady. Sorry.

That's not pressure you're feeling, is it?

No, it's hunger.

Real hunger.

Okay.

Let's eat.

Where's Daddy?

He doesn't get back from his conference till tomorrow.

I heard a noise and I was scared.

What kind of noise?

I don't know.

I can't explain it.

Silence, maybe.

Thanks.

Oh, hey baby.

This is my daughter. Hello, this is Curtis.

That's right.

Curtis is about to publish his first book.

Grandma! Oh, sweetheart.

Good to see you. You look gorgeous.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Hi,

can I have a glass of iced tea? That would be super.

Would you like some potato salad?

Yeah, I'm going to hit that up.

Daddy, help me. Nevada Smith, my favorite waitress. I thought I was your

favorite ballerina.

That says you were five.

You are such a pig.

I love corn on the cob.

It's tasty. It's texture.

With butter, without butter.

You really do, don't you?

What are you doing out here?

Are you pissed at someone back there?

I don't know.

Now you sound scared.

I've never heard that sound from you before.

I can only recall being this scared once before in my life.

Daddy?

17.

I was 17 years old, and I was working as a delivery boy at a

local deli. It's still there, the deli.

Different delivery boy.

After work, must have been just before midnight, I was clowning around, trying

to look like a big shot.

I played a game of chicken.

with another kid who worked at the deli on the street, on the four-lane street,

for the affections of a 17-year-old who worked with us.

We told her she would have to make out with whomever would lie down the longest

prone on the dark street as a car approached before escaping to safety.

He was my best friend at the time.

I barely knew her.

But she had just started working at the deli, and we'd heard that she was

recently dating the much older owner of an aquarium in the same strip mall, and

that he had taught her how to do things.

Sex things.

I was still a virgin, so my imagination ran wild.

i don't think i wanted to win i was terrified of what the aquarium owner

might have taught her things that would make me look foolish to her of course

she'd agreed to none of this my buddy had already slept with a girl so

i was in it for him

after he was run over

No one paid me any attention.

Not even after he had his leg amputated. No one. Not him.

Not his parents.

It was as if I was nothing more than a late-arriving bystander.

I felt so much fear every day after that.

It was as if their silence was taunting me.

The girl never spoke to me again.

My own parents wouldn't speak to me for months.

The only one who would even say hello to me was the guy who owned the aquarium.

I was scared for years.

Until I met your mom.

Even then, she knew how to vanquish fear and make you feel worth something.

Make you feel...

Make you appreciate your full worth.

Dad, you're scaring me.

Look at you.

It blows my mind that I was able to make something as perfect, as beautiful

as you.

See the men in that car there?

I'm going to be arrested, honey.

I don't fear jail.

What I fear is that the kid with the amputated leg is finally gonna come

after me.

Not that y'all will.

You know, some people call me an activist.

Others call me something else.

I think it's a word that begins with C.

Crackpot!

All paradigms begin with crackpots.

Revolution isn't easy.

Making history legally is hard.

Does anyone know what this is behind me?

It's Vermont's flag.

Not its state flag.

It's the flag of the nation of Vermont.

More specifically, the Second Vermont Republic, a movement founded by an

economics professor in 2003.

In a recent article in the New York Times, they reported that the Obama

administration had been flooded with secession petitions by eight states.

including Texas, a state whose laws I find dubious.

The Texas petition signed by 125,746 citizens

declared that withdrawing from the union was, quote, practically feasible since

the state had a balanced budget.

And Austin is its capital for crying out loud, so Texas can't be all bad, am I

right?

The Vermont movement embraces many of the same values as our founding fathers.

Ideals are hard.

They're hard to conjure up, they're hard to wrap other people's minds around, and

they're hardest of all to achieve and maintain.

You dropped acid?

Isn't a statutory rape charge worse?

It was my LSD.

You're forgiving him?

He was inside another woman.

A girl.

Is there any left?

This 10-year-old just moved in down the block I've had my eye on.

Where are you going?

To get you some Valium.

Unbelievable.

Dad, why don't you just pull out the nitrous?

That used to calm me down just fine.

And you're going to start a country.

Yes, but first I'm giving my daughter 10 milligrams of Valium.

Take this.

Do you remember last August when Mom and I went to Jones Beach to see John

Fogerty and Jackson Brown?

Pathetic. Do you even know their work?

Not really.

Pathetic. Before we left for the show, we dropped acid.

It had been 30 years, but...

We kept a vial in the back of the freezer.

The show began, and I was tripping, and I needed to go to the men's room.

That was the last time I saw Mom until I got home.

She was already in bed sleeping when I got home.

I have no recollection of how I got home.

When I walked into the men's room, there were, and I have no idea why, there were

half a dozen cans of spray paint in the corner of the room.

All different colors.

Well, maybe different colors.

There was a simple lock on the men's room door, so I locked myself in.

And instantly, all of the sounds occurring outside of the room clicked

off. They didn't fade out, they just switched off as if there was a power

failure.

Not even the music could penetrate my trip.

So I gathered up the cans, and I began to paint the floor.

It looked like a blank canvas to me, so I decided I needed to create a mural, so

I did.

And I don't paint, but there was some pretty impressive shit I was spraying.

What was Mom doing?

I'll tell you what I can remember later.

Don't do drugs.

I painted an amusement park.

Rides, cotton candy vendors, side shows, freak shows.

One side of the park was day, the other was night.

And then she, this girl, walked out of one of the men's room

stalls. She was 16.

It didn't seem odd to me that this young woman was relieving herself in an

otherwise empty men's room.

Maybe it wasn't actually otherwise empty.

Maybe it wasn't.

But she began conversing with me as if she'd been watching me all along.

I described my park tour, the people and the families in the park, but all she

could see in my painting were sexual things.

She was probably high off her ass.

I'm not on LSD.

She made me cry.

She brought me to tears because she couldn't see what I was seeing in my

painting.

She said, if we had sex, maybe I could understand what she was seeing.

And suddenly I imagined it was the end of the world.

And I thought of all the things I might do if I knew the world was coming to an

end.

And so I had sex with her.

Afterwards, she left the room, and I continued to paint the floor. And that's

all I remember about that night at Jones Beach.

She got pregnant, and she had an abortion.

And she posted the story of her experience, of our experience, on

Facebook.

And so here we are, this woman.

Girl.

Girl.

Oh my god.

Oh my god, this girl doesn't live anywhere near Iris Glen, does she?

No.

And where are you going?

I'll be right back.

Conspiracy to commit murder and now statutory rape.

Your approval rating is sure to hit an all-time high, Mom.

What is it?

They're from my first year of dentistry when I shared a practice with three

other young dentists.

I worked on kids almost exclusively then.

Kids were so afraid of the dentist.

But I won them over. I quelled their terror.

Almost without exception, my young patients hand-wrote thank-you cards and

letters to me.

Some said they were inspired to be dentists themselves so they could grow

up and teach the next generation of kids not to be afraid of the dentist.

Most of these are from girls.

It's creepy.

You're trying hard to hate me.

Nevada.

This is the real me.

Please hold on to them. For me.

Who's gonna tell Jude?

I already did. I Skyped with your sister this morning.

Actually, middle of the night our time.

I wanted to get her before she went to work.

What did she say?

Our call was interrupted.

She got a text that a young boy had just been shot and that she was needed

someplace, someplace dangerous.

There were so many things I wanted to do with you.

Put them on a list.

Bury them in a time capsule.

We'll dig them up together.

There you go again.

Charming the pants off me.

What a waste.

You could have been a great dad.

Right now tell me one of the things you wanted to do with me. No Nevada

It'll get me through Why not Because

I don't want to get my hopes up Just in case I hate you as much when you get out

of prison as I do now How's that for a going-away gift

I'm really sorry, but I've got to say this.

You have the greatest legs I have ever seen.

It even looked like you were moving in slow motion.

I was in slow motion.

I've been watching you for a week or so.

A week or so, huh?

See that guy over there?

Yeah.

Who is he?

He's been watching me for over four years.

So you're not so special.

I am special.

What's he doing to the kid?

He's feeding the kid.

The kid's name is Brett.

And babysitting the kid?

I gotta make a living too, you know?

I don't know what the guy's name is.

You like tennis?

You don't know anything about that guy? It's okay.

He's my ball boy.

I love the attention.

It's flattering.

Makes me feel like I'm gonna live forever.

I changed the diapers.

Booze.

You like getting attention from that guy?

Wouldn't you rather know if I don't mind getting your attention?

I know you've been watching me for... ever.

You're really not so different, eh?

My name's Otto.

Otto what?

Otto Breyer.

Nevada. Nevada what?

Smith. You're leering at me.

I beg to differ.

I'm tough.

I'm tough.

Really? If I let you punch me in the stomach, will you let me punch you in

the stomach? I am not.

I didn't think you'd do it.

Come on, I gotta get the baby.

How are you doing, beautiful?

I've read Bukowski's Women.

Loved it. He danced at the Viper Club in West Hollywood.

Didn't live up to the hype.

I adore sentimental education.

Do you ever work?

I do very well.

I am executive VP of business development for a company called Think

Already. No exclamation point.

Business development.

You develop businesses?

Like developing photos.

People don't really develop photos anymore.

Do you ever worry that people won't develop businesses anymore?

Either?

Okay, what businesses?

Hybrid businesses.

Wondrous businesses.

Destination sites.

And that's hard these days thanks to Mr. Bezos, but I'm good at it.

For example, we all know most women love to try on shoes.

And most women get pregnant at one time or another and have to expand, so to

speak, their wardrobe.

So, I came up with the barefoot and pregnant chain.

Clever. But it sounds like a one-hit wonder.

What else?

I'm just getting started, Nevada Smith.

Everyone loves ice cream.

And everybody has to die.

There's a franchise in New Hampshire and Maine called Heaven and Hell.

I want mine too.

Is ice cream the heaven or hell part?

It's also a crematorium.

It's a ice creamatorium.

That chain is successful.

We had to throw in a bar for good measure.

It's doing good.

It's coming along.

No offense, but it sounds a tad easy.

Your job.

You think?

Always up for some competition, huh?

Okay.

Knock yourself out?

Any ideas?

Okay.

Everyone's online these days.

And... nuts are very good for you.

Internuts.

Snack.

I like your ideas.

I did.

I liked your ideas.

You wanna know something embarrassing about me?

I have a paralyzing fear of the sight of blood.

My father was so disappointed I wouldn't follow in his footsteps.

He's a dentist.

My sister, she's the of our family.

She is a pediatrician.

So she's a saint to both of my parents.

I pass out when I see a kid with a bloody nose.

You and your sister get along okay?

She's my hero too.

She's in the Ukraine.

Dax is without borders.

So I only see her when we Skype.

I had another sister, but she died of cancer when she was a baby.

She was only three.

Um, what about bloody movies?

Oh, you don't want to know.

What about your period?

Ah, you don't want to know?

I keep a big monthly calendar in my bedroom to remind me to be fully

prepared.

My friends, my friends do it online, and what if their computer crashed?

It's chilling.

I don't leave anything up to chance.

So that's why I'm also on the pill.

Wow.

Are you glad to hear I'm on the pill, Otto Breyer?

Ecstatic.

Do you like to play tennis?

You mean a game where you hit something and it doesn't hit you back?

I gotta be honest, your name is really dumb.

My dad was an English Lit professor.

and thought it would be noble, or funny anyway, to come up with palindrome for

my name.

Thank god you don't have any siblings.

What do you mean, was an English lit professor?

Is he retired?

He died.

Six years ago.

Increatic cancer.

I'm really sorry.

I'm really pissed.

I, uh, I did want to follow in his footsteps.

be a teacher, but I... My grades

plummeted when he got sick, so I had to find a job that didn't require an

advanced degree or a degree.

You can still follow in his footsteps.

He was a mentor.

It's a tough act to follow.

So is my dad.

He's embarrassed by it.

Did he suffer much?

Why do people ask that question?

Why should you care, really?

When did that become de rigueur?

Do you know the meaning of the word schadenfreude?

Did it make you feel like a better person to ask me that?

Did he suffer much?

Yes.

What does your mom do?

Housewife. I own a house in Ireland.

In Tarny Clare.

About 100,000 people live there.

It was my grandfather's.

Do you have a picture of it?

I've never seen it.

Why? I'm afraid I'd fall in love with it.

That it would be like looking at something out of a fairy tale.

Like, out of a storybook.

That's not real life.

Schadenfreude my ass.

Come over to my house tomorrow.

Miss Smith, I'm a reporter with the Times. I'd like to schedule an interview

with you. Didn't you used to write for Rolling Stone?

You're a rock star.

Mrs. Smith goes to Washington.

Oh, you're good.

A medical center.

Nothing wrong with you, is there?

Well, I'm having my annual physical.

You want to come with me?

No. I saw that in a movie once.

Never ends well.

Give me your card. I'll give you something.

Soon.

Thank you.

Really?

17,621.

That's the population of Iris Glen.

Our unemployment rate is 0.4%.

Impossibly low?

No.

Coincidence? Providence?

No.

17,621.

Eight billionaires.

121 millionaires. And they all signed my petition.

And one of the top ten constitutional attorneys in the United States calls

Iris Glenn her home.

When my daughter, Nevada, and I accompanied my husband to a dental

convention in 2000 in Washington, D.C.,

My world was rocked.

We visited quite a few historical monuments, but what took my breath away

was when we took in the National Archives.

This is where the original Declaration of Independence and Bill of Rights hold

sway.

Every elected official should be compelled by law to make a pilgrimage to

the National Archives once a week.

At a bare minimum.

As a reminder.

As a reminder.

Parchment that changed the world.

So here's what I propose to do.

My first act as mayor will be to impose term limits.

A mayor may only serve one six-year term, and the very first victim of term

limits will be me. In six years, I'm through.

I have lofty goals, to put it mildly, but six years is plenty of time to

achieve most of them or to fail.

Six years is plenty of time to rise to a challenge, not dilly-dally campaigning

for reelection.

Next, in a recent poll, it was determined that 82% of the adult

population of Iris Glen do not smoke.

Disposal of cigarette butts.

It's littering, it's disgusting, and you're going to jail for 72 hours.

18 percenter because I'm gonna get it passed and you'll also perform 70 hours

of community service picking up sweeping up spearing trash including cigarette

butts after your incarceration

expectorating in public

what

Why are baseball players always spitting?

What is it exactly that they're spitting?

And why can't they simply swallow?

Seventy hours in jail.

Immigration.

Oh, that shut you up, didn't it?

Oh ye whose dead lie buried beneath the green grass, whose standing among

flowers can say, Here, here lies my beloved.

Ye not know the desolation that broods in bosoms like these?

What bitter blanks in those black-bordered marbles which cover no

ashes?

What despair in those immovable inscriptions.

What deadly voids and unbidden infidelities in the lines that seem to

gnaw upon all faith and refuse resurrections to the beings who have

been placed without a grave.

As well might those tablets stand in the cave of Elephanta as here.

So, you're telling me I should ignore the fact that your neighbor is looking

at my Johnson?

Baby, I'm reading Melville.

What's his deal, Nevada?

I don't know.

He represents the sum total of Iris Glenn's unemployment rate.

He won a wheelbarrow full of lottery money so he doesn't have a job.

He's our talisman.

Our protector.

My mom says she's actually glad he's there so she can keep an eye on him.

Have you ever met him?

None of us have.

Maybe my baby sister once.

Why do you say that?

Sixth Sense.

My dad's in prison.

Please don't look up what he did.

I know he's in prison.

And why.

And I know who your mom is.

I'm really crowding you, huh?

Promise me you won't tell anyone.

Your friends, your family.

Who I am.

Who my mother is.

So how are you going to introduce me to Otto when he gets here?

How about Otto meet my best friend Darlene, who was once my babysitter and

who cruelly left my beautiful baby godson home today with his grandmother?

I love that kid.

You're so mean.

I'm so jealous of older couples who are so openly affectionate with one another,

so clearly spectacularly in love.

You think that's because you're getting older or because you're presently

single?

I have to lower my standards.

I have to stop being superficial.

I would never date someone named Otto, for example.

I can't wait to get older so I can do things like that and make people, young

people like me, jealous.

Does Otto have any discernible flaws?

He doesn't know how to say guacamole.

He pronounces it guacamole.

I think...

He thinks that's how it's actually pronounced.

Uh-huh.

Correct him.

I think it's adorable.

He's a great lover.

See how I just cut to the chase there?

We're both creatures of habit.

We only eat baked salmon for lunch.

We only drink kale and fruit smoothies. Only?

And neither of us particularly like to eat dinner.

That's crazy.

Aren't you hungry when you wake up in the morning?

Yeah, I eat breakfast.

We both eat big breakfasts.

We both like taking walks through Times Square at 5 a.m.

Between 5 and 6 in the morning, we own that town.

Does Harper like him?

He punched me in the stomach.

That only means you punched him in the stomach first. You have become so

predictable.

Does Harper like him?

I don't even know if she likes you, babe.

Since I met Otto, I've begun obsessing about palindromic names.

Anna.

Ava.

Anna.

Good. He says the oddest things.

Once he asked me if I thought there was a finite number of songs that could be

written since there are only so many musical notes.

Are there only so many?

It made me wonder if that was true of people, too.

Only a finite number of people allowed.

Well, maybe he thinks he's just another transitional relationship to you.

Like a snowflake that'll dissolve the moment you turn your face away from us.

That's horrible.

Anyway, you just answered the question.

Every snowflake is different.

So is every song.

So is every person.

I still daydream.

Radiant daydreams.

I love your mom for that. Never stop dreaming no matter how old you become.

There's still so much I want to do.

The trouble is, with each passing year with each new kid, I become frustrated.

So the only thing I do about my dreams is conjure up new ones.

How did you become a babysitter? Or why did you become a babysitter?

That might be the oddest segue I've ever heard.

Nothing is not odd. Just ask my kids.

Hey. Hi.

Darlene, this is Otto, my boyfriend.

Hi. Hi.

No Otto jokes?

It's nice to meet you. Nice to meet you, too.

Oh, honey, about tomorrow, I'm going to visit my grandma, Julianne.

Oh, hey, how did her Seder go?

Your grandmother's Jewish?

Honorary Jewish.

What can I say? She craves gefalt with fish.

She's the traditional sort of gal.

Her best friend growing up was Jewish.

So when the friend went to live in Israel on a kibbutz, so did grandma.

That inculcated the concept of paradigms in grandma.

I'm certain that's how it took root in my mom.

My mom was actually born in Israel, in Haifa.

Technically she's Israeli.

I don't know how she keeps it a secret.

Grandma even enlisted in the Israeli army.

Her best friend, it was compulsory for her best friend.

And they are inseparable.

Inseparable.

But she's not Jewish.

The army stint is when she took up archery.

She was so good, she was recruited to train with the Israeli Olympic archery

team. But she was retrieving her arrows one day on the range, and one of her

eyes... She was blinded in a freak accident.

Her cornea was sliced open by the fletching of someone else's arrow.

In the end, I guess she was lucky.

But now, even still, she goes to the range once a week, every week.

She's not intimidated by anything.

Stubborn, fake Jew.

My family's nuts.

You're insane.

Harper, you have breast cancer.

Aggressive breast cancer.

That's debilitating enough, but you're also opting for a double mastectomy.

Take a break.

Lou, I need you to help me draft the Constitution, and I need you to

spearhead the flat tax section. You can work with George on that.

What's the final number?

46.2%. Margin of error? 0.2%. I can sell that.

What am I saying?

How soon can you meet with George?

Harper.

After I remove your breasts.

I've got four more years to get so much done.

Realistically.

Am I being realistic?

Lou!

A year ago, you were fairly adamant about not taking the time off from work

for a second surgery if you needed a mastectomy. What happened?

That's coffee.

The ice cube is water.

I'll get you a hand towel.

No.

I'm very nervous.

About what?

It's kind of nice and kind of weird that neither of us have names that can be

shortened into nicknames.

Have you told anyone about me?

About my mom?

No.

But I really want to.

I knew I could trust you.

I've always said that the fastest way to spread gossip is to swear your best

friend to secrecy.

Okay.

You want to hear an epic story?

I wouldn't.

You can't unhear it once I tell it.

And you're going to want to break up with me once I tell you.

But it's a pretty epic story.

Nevada?

In here, Mom.

Why are you reading in here, honey? The bulb in my room blew and I don't like

reading downstairs next to the scary TV.

When my sister was born, I would spy on my mother while she watched her

sleeping.

I've never seen that singular look of love on anyone's face since.

So pure.

So intense.

Were you jealous?

Sure.

That's some smile, Mom.

I'm going to Washington, honey.

Friday.

I finally got a meeting with one of the Supremes.

Ah, it's starting.

That's amazing.

I love that smile. Mom, I thought you retired that smile when Uncle Calvin

died. Oh, honey, when you love someone so much, you should always be smiling

like this.

I remember exactly when it was that I first started loving Uncle Calvin so

much that I couldn't stop smiling like this.

i was 17.

i had a best girlfriend she was a rebel

i idolized her ah she was a great dancer

she knew how to buy the coolest clothes from the vintage shops and she knew

where they all were everywhere like the people who know where all the best

antique stores are she got straight a's and she never did her homework She

wouldn't wear a bra.

Bet she wears one now.

Oh, shush up.

I owned my own car.

I bought it with my own money, too.

So after graduation from high school, she decided that we should drive to a

music festival in Austin, Texas, together on holiday, just the two of us.

There was nothing she could suggest that I wouldn't do.

So we decided to drive through Salt Lake City so we could see the great Salt

Lake.

And that's where she met this guy, this Mormon guy.

She ditched me for him.

Well, defiantly, I decided to drive on to Austin alone.

I got just outside of Grand Junction, Colorado, and my car overheated.

I freaked out because I knew nothing about cars.

So without thinking, I did a U-turn, drove back to Grand Junction, checked

into a Holiday Inn.

At noon, I bought a six-pack of beer with my phony ID.

I bought a six-pack of beer.

I brought it back to my room and had a nervous breakdown.

I never cried so hard, so long in my life.

I fell completely apart.

And so I did the only thing I could do. I called Grandma, but she wasn't home.

Only Calvin was home.

Remember, he lived in Argentina, worked for Lufthansa.

You even wrote that story, fiction, about him being a Nazi in exile.

He played along with his great-niece, providing you with elaborate fake

details.

And he had that adorable fake accent.

Anyway...

He just arrived in New York, and he made it to the phone just in time, a split

second before I was going to hang up and slit my wrist.

Well, I couldn't stop crying, but I got my whole story out and ended by telling

him that I was moving to Grand Junction for the rest of my life because my car

didn't work, and I couldn't face coming home a loser.

Well, he talked me off the ledge, and he told me to get a good night's sleep.

So I ate a chocolate bar and some cashews, and right around the time I got

through with my second beer, the phone rang in Grand Junction.

I almost didn't answer it. I didn't know a soul outside of Iris Glen.

It was a young priest from a local parish.

Calvin found him and asked if he would call me.

He said I needed a pep talk from a third party I could trust.

And that young priest knew his shit.

He gave faith to the faithless.

That was me, faithless.

It gave me all the courage I needed to drive home.

And that's the first time I fell in love with Uncle Calvin.

Want to break up?

I'm the middle daughter.

My big sister is going to win a Nobel Prize for medicine someday.

And my baby sister, wow, she'll always be a superstar.

And my father's dead to me.

And to your mom.

If you want me to stop, I will.

You're cheating on me.

How can I be jealous of your mother?

What kind of threat?

I'm in love with you.

You'll still make love to me?

Yes.

It wasn't a question.

I love you so much.

There's something else.

My mother has breast cancer.

She's having a double mastectomy on Saturday.

And after that, she's having breast reconstruction.

And then she's going to change the world.

Immigration!

Oh, that shut you up, didn't it?

I'll get back to immigration later.

We're going to raise taxes.

Oh, they're going through the roof. And we're also switching to a flat income

tax. And sales taxes will be raised.

But there's an upside.

Health care will be free.

Now, we don't have a four-year school within our city limits, but any child

who wants an associate's degree from IGCC will be admitted tuition free.

And we'll create a scholarship fund for transfers to four-year schools.

Four months of paid maternity leave will be guaranteed.

And serious consideration will be given to some amount of paternity leave as

well.

I want all drugs decriminalized.

legislated, and heavily taxed.

Taxes raised from the legal sale of drugs will be plowed into addiction

therapy and mental health needs.

I have to determine how to handle the traffic nightmare that will occur as a

result.

But we'll figure it out.

Probably restrict the hours of vending drugs, maybe the days too.

The penalty for rape will be life in prison without parole.

There are six cemeteries and two golf courses within our city limits.

They sit on some of our most fertile land and reside on tracks of Iris

Glen that could otherwise be allocated for 6,000 living, breathing,

productive citizens.

Sorry, sports fans, but cemeteries and golf courses make no logical sense to

me. And I'm going to look into closing our local post office and building a

fourth hospital.

We desperately need a new hospital.

School pledges of allegiance will bite the dust.

As will swearing on a Bible in a court of law.

These are both fascist controlling practices, antithetical to free speech

and freedom of thought and freedom of religion and freedom from religion.

Oh, that's right.

Immigration.

Everyone is going to want to live here once all of this and so much more is

accomplished. If you want to make Iris Glen your new home, you'll have to

deposit $400,000 into a local bank and leave it there untouched for no less

than five years. We are not creating a welfare state.

We don't want nor do we need federal assistance.

No federal roads or highways currently run through Iris Glen.

I had a lot of time to look ahead in prison, to consider the

direction humanity is headed.

Global warming may not ebb, despite mankind's best efforts.

If left unchecked, the world's population will double within 20 years.

Our food supply is drying up.

Our water supply is drying up.

And so is our energy.

Cyberterrorism will become endemic.

My friends.

Iris Glenn.

is going to secede from the United States of America.

Doors open!

Where were you?

You're late.

You said you'd be back by four.

Step for Nova, for your mom.

Hmm, you're cute.

Mom's gonna love your eyeballs out for that.

What about bagels?

Everything bagels. Spinach, kale, coconut water, banana, mango, smoothies.

I'm gonna love you for that.

Going down on you makes me feel sad sometimes.

Your penis is so pretty but I can't see it or watch it when I'm going down on

you.

But I know how good it makes you feel.

You can open your eyes.

I'm myopic.

When I'm that close, it's out of focus and it isn't beautiful anymore.

I love that you let me kiss you on the lips when I'm doing this.

Are you kidding me?

Your lips taste like raspberry yogurt after I cum in your mouth.

That's disgusting.

I'm thinking of cutting my hair short.

Why?

Jesus Christ, why?

Because you no longer feel it's necessary to look attractive to men?

You just don't want to attract men at all anymore.

Because that's one sure way not to.

Because some married movie star did it for her husband.

Maybe her hairdresser suggested it. Or maybe just because it's summer. Old

women cut their hair short.

Oops! There it goes.

There goes her sex appeal.

You've got a boyfriend now. It's time for a haircut.

What a cliche.

You're daring me to say no, don't cut him. Is it a test? A loyalty test?

Okay. No.

Don't cut him.

Are you done?

I don't know how to do this.

What a terrible day.

I was 20 and the guy said I did it so well that he took me to a bar afterwards

to celebrate and they wouldn't serve me because I was underage.

So he dumped me out of embarrassment.

Such a piece of human garbage.

I never feel like a grown up when I'm having sex.

I always feel like a little kid who's getting away with something.

Like shoplifting.

Thank you.

My last babysitter was the one who taught me how to give blowjobs.

You were sexually abused?

My babysitter was a girl.

She brought her boyfriend over and had me watch.

Still think it's sexual abuse?

Well... Yes.

And how's that working out for you?

Sorry.

For hitting me or for threatening to cut your hair?

For leaving you like this.

Just, um, change the sheets.

Do you have a second?

Why?

I noticed the faintest skid mark when I undressed you.

Maybe you farted. I don't know.

I want you to do me a favor.

I need you to speak to that lunatic across the street.

About a reporter who's stalking me.

That lunatic across the street probably hasn't left his house since we moved in

here.

Exactly. He could scare the shit out of anyone.

You know what? Forget it.

I don't need his pity either.

So you want to break up?

What?

Nothing. That's what I asked Otto after I told him.

Oh, so you're still seeing him?

Yes.

Okay.

Darlene at the library.

I went online and scoured the web looking for a single instance of a

positive or enduring sexual relationship between a mother and her daughter.

I couldn't find one.

Not a legitimate one.

Not some porn fantasy.

Not a Greek tragedy.

And I looked for hours.

I actually fell asleep at the computer.

I woke up the next morning and the librarian who just left me there

sleeping said he didn't want to wake me.

He made me coffee the next morning when he arrived.

How guilty do you feel?

I feel right.

You don't feel ashamed of your mom?

A lot of people think she's a kook, you know.

They do.

I'm afraid that she's ashamed of me.

I think if you had told me what you were doing when I was your age, I would have

flipped out.

I would have stopped talking to you.

I would have turned you in.

Is it even against the law?

No.

I hate you for telling me.

She's alone now.

I'm all she has left.

The first time it happened, for the first time I completely understood how

my dad must have felt.

Wait.

Letting your imagination run away with you can be a good thing.

It is a good thing.

And the sex is great.

There. I said it.

Out loud.

And my mom's hot.

And she's a role model.

And she's under so much pressure.

And she tries to help so many people.

And she's a survivor.

And one of her kids died in her arms.

In her arms.

And if I can do anything to make her feel good physically or any other way,

as her daughter, I have a responsibility to do that.

Are you on drugs?

Yes, and I've bilched a huge handful of them. They're in a cellophane pouch in

my rectum. Oh, I don't believe you.

Go ahead. You can check for yourself.

You know I will.

Mom, are you OK?

I'm OK.

When I was a little girl, remember what you used to tell me when I got sick?

That getting sick is nature's way of making us stronger and prettier and

smarter.

You're already prettier.

Hello, Harper. Sorry to keep you waiting.

No worries, Dr. Ellis. I called to ask for a prescription for me. For Valium.

I'm out.

No. No?

Why?

Harper, you've used hallucinogenic drugs in the past five years, and I don't live

in Iris Glen.

I'll see you on Saturday, Harper.

Mom, stop staring at my kids. You're embarrassing me.

Oh, I'm embarrassing you?

Don't call them that.

Oh, is that a new law, too?

people anymore.

We only have an 80 gallon hot water heater, you know.

You were telling me about turbulence.

Well,

it was surreal.

Significant turbulence.

You know the kind when the pilot makes that sudden, scary, stern announcement.

Flight attendants, take your seats.

An entire plane full of passengers all exhibiting uncontrollable laughter.

A dog.

A dog on the plane got sick.

Took a dump in the aisle.

The sight of which made a handful of passengers puke.

They had to turn the plane around.

Military jets were scrambled, I think, because someone shouted something out as

a joke that was construed as threatening.

But that didn't for a moment to do the insane laughter.

That was the only time I thought I was crazy to do what I'm doing politically.

to try to change the world for the better.

I'm growing more accustomed to my new breasts.

I can touch them now without getting an inexplicably sick feeling in my gut.

I've named them my breasts.

Did I mention Nevada's dating a guy named Otto?

Otto?

Unbelievable.

Not a pubic hair.

You ever shave it?

Can't.

It's one of the town's new regulations.

Oh?

I'm just fucking with you.

Does it bother you?

Do you want me to shave down there so you can fantasize you're fucking a ten

year old girl?

You're not going to hit me again, are you?

I want to introduce you to my grandma one of these days.

I'm going to meet her at the archery range on Thursday.

I think she's lonely.

She doesn't have a boyfriend?

I wish.

She's single for life.

She did meet a guy on this dating site once.

He told her that he started crying at 60 and hadn't stopped since.

He was trying to impress her or something with how sensitive he was or

some such thing.

Isn't Nevada Smith the name of a movie?

A year.

It took you a full year to ask me that.

I knew you know that.

Yes, it is, but no,

that's not it at all.

I was born on my mother's 35th birthday, and Nevada is the 35th state.

She's patriotic like that.

Your mom was only 22 when you were born.

I can't get anything past you.

Ooh,

good one.

Keep your eyes open.

Some of the archers around here rank amateurs.

Keep your eyes open?

Is that a joke?

You're so cute.

Here, like this.

Tight, tight.

I'm starting to worry about your old grandma.

She's been going into the city regularly.

and hopping on Chinatown buses headed for Atlantic City.

Why are you doing that?

I'll tell you. Being a passenger on one of those buses is more dangerous than

one-eyed archery.

A few months ago, I woke up, I couldn't sleep.

I watched Casablanca, and I got all caught up in the illicit gambling.

Bogart turns you on, huh?

I was more of a Claude Rains gal.

What are you reading these days?

How do you know I have a book with me?

The Secret Life of the Lonely Doll.

And Robert Caro's second Johnson biography.

I can't poop without taking a book in there with me.

I'm like a little boy being toilet trained.

Mom seldom leaves the house anymore.

Seems like just yesterday when we couldn't get her out of the library.

You're worried about her, aren't you?

You know, honey, when I was in high school a hundred years ago, my best male

friend was a member of the varsity tennis team.

He was the friendliest guy in the world, and he had lofty, spunky dreams, too.

But the pressure took a toll.

He became an alcoholic.

He developed cirrhosis.

His stomach became distended.

His hair turned white. It seemed like overnight.

He became a hermit.

It was his vanity, not his illness that singed his dreams.

Did you ever tell mom about that?

Did you ever tell your boyfriend that your grandmother was famous?

Why? Because your father was one of Hitler's 100 bodyguards?

Famous fame.

Before Andy Warhol made everybody famous, there was Adolf Hitler.

I would never tell him that.

You're afraid he'd spook easily, huh?

Fear runs in your family, Bubala.

I used to be afraid of being pierced by an arrow.

Your mother is still afraid of failure.

You can't stand the sight of blood.

Yet here I am.

Your mother's a local legend.

And every month you still menstruate.

Your father's fearless.

That's why he's a good doctor.

That's why he's a good man.

Even now.

I told him, Otto.

Otto. I know, but it grows on you.

I told him how you love archery and how you lost your eye. Oh, I wish you hadn't

done that.

I'm sorry, Grandma.

Why?

Listen, honey. Okay.

When I... I was boy crazy when I was in the Army.

There was... I was particularly smitten with this one boy, this one man.

He knew my whole story.

But he wouldn't go out with me.

Only with Julisses.

But I couldn't stop daydreaming about him, spying on him.

One day I was watching him across the barracks from my window.

I wasn't thinking.

My reflexes were dulled by my sexual desire.

The double-hung window overhead suddenly dropped like a guillotine onto my head.

Instantly. I lost the sight in my eye.

That's why I'm blind in one eye.

You lied to me, Grandma.

We each have one thing it's difficult to own up to, right?

I was shipped home to Germany immediately.

My tail between my legs.

But it was because of my blindness that I met Grandpa.

How did you meet Grandpa?

He saved my life.

He did.

I was rushing to the post office to mail a Dear John letter to that same guy in

Israel.

But because my peripheral vision was compromised and I hadn't quite adjusted

to it yet, I still can't believe it.

I ran directly into the path of a streetcar.

At the last second, a stranger shoved me out of the way.

He took me to a nearby doctor.

My arm was broken.

Afterwards, he said, I owed him.

And when I asked him, you know, what form of payment that would take, he

said, my hand in marriage.

I figured he was right. I owed him, so I said yes.

How short-sighted was that?

Was Grandpa handsome back then?

Nah.

He didn't develop good looks until he turned 50.

What a fucking story.

Why did you think it was short-sighted of you because there might have been

someone better out there for me someone better than grandpa And I rushed into

marriage just because I owed him my life Grandma shame on you.

I loved grandpa.

I Loved his candy store. He opened that candy store when I got pregnant with

your mother He thought a child would love its father that much more if he

owned a candy store

Especially since he was so ugly and all, and so undeserving of me.

Honey, buying love is a sin.

Especially a child's love.

Grandma, shut up right now.

You remember those promotional storybook-shaped lightsaber boxes that

he used to give us at Christmas?

Well, Bubba, I'm fresh out of Lifesavers.

What's up?

I'm gonna die soon.

I don't have time to waste.

You've been using that line on me for over ten years.

It doesn't motivate me anymore.

Or scare me anymore.

Damn.

It's about me and Mom.

Something's going on.

Mom stares at me.

Now.

Since the operation.

Specifically at my breasts.

I started walking around the house topless, so it'd be therapeutic for her.

But now I avoid her altogether, whenever possible.

I avoid both my parents.

And they're amazing people.

They're amazing parents.

It's... It's killing me.

Weren't you always proud of your body?

Didn't she always look at your breasts?

It was different before.

I was going through puberty then.

She's not objectifying me, though.

I don't think... I don't know what's going on, Grandma.

What do you want me to say?

This is a catastrophe?

Losing an eye is a catastrophe.

My father always used to tell me, don't worry so much. You'll live longer.

Old chestnut, but I think he was right.

That guy at the barracks when you were ogling him were you looking through

binoculars now wouldn't that have been ridiculous Nevada

I've been proud of my daughter every day of her life

Nothing's going to ever change that and I believe that what she's trying

to do now is

Okay, okay.

Let's go over to your house.

If she doesn't look at my breasts, there's gonna be hell to pay.

Thank you for picking me up

You're

welcome

Remember during our last session, you told me that your mother didn't want to

have any more children after your sister died.

And that you decided then for the first time in your life that you wanted to

have children.

For your mother to replace what she lost.

So what now?

Some people all over the world believe in idealism. They have lofty goals.

Improbable ideals.

They aspire to be good, altruistic people.

Gandhi.

Mother Teresa.

Two out of, what, six, seven billion?

You have better odds playing the lottery.

For most people, they don't feel the need to set impossible goals.

For them, shit happens.

It just happens.

Mom anticipates calamity so well, she just swats it away.

It's still about a lot of pressure, though.

Some people respond to pressure in extraordinary fashion.

Heroically.

Oh, my.

You are so lovely.

Birds.

Beautiful birds.

They're lovely.

And simple to take care of.

Simply lovely.

Simply lovely.

I like that.

The night Amy died, the four of us all had dinner together.

The survivors.

I asked if we could go out for ice cream, and my father asked why.

And I reminded him that the tooth fairy showed up right on time after I lost my

first tooth, and that this was much more traumatic.

And I said to my mother, don't let the tooth fairy put you to shame.

Or something like that.

One of the first things they made me do after I was arrested was surrender my

passport.

My passport surrendered.

Sounds queer, doesn't it?

Your mother and I really did love each other.

There's a building.

in New York, a skyscraper on Park Avenue, the MetLife building.

It was once known as the Pan Am building.

Pan Am was once the most famous international airline around. It was

even the airline of the future in 2001.

Did you ever see that movie?

Was it in color?

Kidding.

Airlines... used to have their own stores, kiosks, all over town, in every

major town.

There was one on the ground floor of that building, on that skyscraper.

Their flagship store.

All of the salespeople used to wear flight attendant uniforms.

It was so romantic.

The day I knew we were in love for certain, your mother and I, was the day

we received our first passport.

What pride we felt being citizens of the world.

We practically sprinted to that airline ticket office to buy tickets to Paris.

Our first overseas trip.

Maybe you didn't love Mom.

Maybe you just loved 2001 and Pan Am.

Maybe yes, maybe no.

The night Amy died, I was at a friend's house on a play date.

And the phone rang, and she answered the phone and listened.

And then my friend said she died.

For a few moments.

I was shaking so hard it felt like forever.

I thought that she was Mom, and it was all my little sister's fault that Mom

died.

And I was so relieved to find out that it wasn't Mom.

But I loved Amy.

I loved my sister.

Hating yourself takes so much energy.

What was prison like for you?

What?

Your father being in prison, what was that experience like for you?

Like nothing.

Like taking a shower.

Something you do every day without thinking about it or remembering it

later.

Wait once.

One day, I thought about when my parents went on a six-week vacation.

I thought about how happy I would be when my father came home.

I became more excited, almost giddy, every day leading up to his return.

Did you feel equally giddy about the prospect of seeing him again?

No. Why?

Because I suppose this time I knew he'd be back.

I spent hours.

Weeks of my life in slow motion bashing a tennis ball against a wall.

I wanted to be the best at everything.

Everybody does, honey. Yeah, but everybody settles.

My mom doesn't settle.

What's wrong with the name Otto?

I love him, but really?

remember this, but his name was Buck.

Everyone made fun of him for his name, but I told him that it sounded like a

superhero in a comic book.

So he decided he'd actually write a superhero named Buck at

camp.

And he made me a character in it.

I thought my heart was going to pound right out of my chest.

What was your character's name?

Judith.

We made out.

He was my first make-out session.

Then his older kids beat him up one day.

Not too bad, just cuts and scratches, bruised ego.

And I nursed him back to health.

We played doctor.

Judith, Nevada, and Amy.

It's getting really cold here. I went to this flea market last week.

And you know what I bought?

This Boston Red Sox jacket.

Oh, Queens.

Dad once told me that everyone's life has at least one good movie in it.

Not mine.

Good movie is one that you can identify with.

I don't think anybody can identify with mine.

And I can't figure out if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Making a movie about one's life is like living in the past.

You've always lived in the present. That's where your fun is.

I'd like to live in the future.

That's how endlessly curious I am.

Most people don't want to rush time.

Me?

I can't wait.

You know what I realized?

What, Nevada?

Since you were born October 10th, you were probably the product of a

drug-fueled drunken New Year's Eve orgy.

Do the math.

Because firstborns are usually late.

And you were mom's first.

And you were due either September 30th or October 1st.

So mom was late.

And you know what else?

She probably held you in a couple of extra days.

So your birthday would be 10-10.

So it would be easier for everyone to remember your birthday.

That's how much mom loved you before you were even born.

Jude, I'm sorry I forgot your birthday this year.

You always forget my birthday.

Grandma made me watch this German movie.

It's called Even Dwarves Started Small.

Mom's fine.

She's fine.

I am so tired, but I love talking to you.

The single most painful thing about this whole debacle, I was stripped of my

license. Whenever I was released, I was forbidden to practice dentistry ever

again, to take care of children.

I needed to conjure up something else to do with my hands, my head.

You miss what's most familiar to you with your sense of touch more than sight

and sound.

Sense memory takes care of everything else.

but not touch.

Most days, most nights, and the weather. You don't care about the weather

anymore. It's remarkable, the attention, worry, life planning we're all guilty of

in anticipation of certain kinds of weather.

Weather should not dictate what we do on a quotidian basis. It's a grotesque

waste of life.

They wouldn't even let me practice dentistry.

in prison because I'd been stripped of my license.

So I needed a plan.

I hadn't read all of the classic books when I was in school. I had all the time

in the world to read them.

What did I do with all that time?

Do we all take time for granted?

For a few days, I began to think of prison as a gift.

Rationalization number one.

So I read books a lot, and I worked out a lot.

But the books just fired up my imagination, and the workouts kicked up

my pheromones, and all that did was ignite my testosterone.

Most powerful, most evil drug in the world, testosterone.

The idea of sex with a man was not an option, so I became a chronic

masturbator.

So I stopped reading books, and I stopped going to the gym.

But... After a few months, I thought I hadn't been rehabilitated enough or

sufficiently punished.

And those feelings deprived me of sleep. For four days straight, I didn't sleep.

On the fifth day, I masturbated someone else.

More sleep deprivation.

Is that sex?

I don't think so.

I began making deals with... God, if I was the bottom for just one other

inmate, then maybe he, God, would let me sleep again.

Rationalization number two.

I began finger-fucking myself during masturbation to get inured to the pain,

to the prospect of pain, but instead it felt great. What the fuck?

I'm an old man now, so no one needed me on the inside or wanted me on the

outside. Everyone had their own distractions.

You know, I didn't see much rape.

Instead, inmates would conduct these whacking-off contests to see who could

ejaculate the farthest.

Prizes included cigarettes, free tattoos, extra conjugal visits.

Yes, the guards like to get in on the action.

Well, I don't smoke, and the needles reminded me of Nevada and her fear of

blood.

And extra conjugal visits.

That was the first six months.

Then they made me work. They made me take a job. I was planning to retire

before all of this happened.

But now, I'm not finished.

I feel incomplete. I will never retire now.

But I needed a new trade. My dentistry years were over.

So I learned to repair bikes in prison.

For six months or so, I worked exclusively with the guards and the

warden. They moved around the grounds on bikes.

And then I was granted permission, I and half a dozen other inmates, to build a

bike path, a lane, and to requisition bikes for the inmates.

But I would have a new skill that would allow me to get a job, that would allow

me to continue to live in Iris Glen after I was paroled.

I love kids.

Nevada, I love you.

I'm tired.

I'm going to bed.

Me too.

Yeah.

I'm going to bed too.

What was it that first attracted you to Harper?

She was the most beautiful thing I ever saw.

Isn't that what first attracted you to Nevada?

And was that also what Harper found attractive about you?

Are you kidding me? No.

It was my ambition.

That was the biggest turn-on for her. Still is, I suppose.

And it wasn't the money that went with the ambition. It was something more

intangible.

More sincere.

I was the youngest paid department store Santa in recorded history.

One December, I cut school, rode my bike to the local mall, and I saw that Santa

had called in sick. So I tracked down this woman, this very pretty woman, who

worked at the mall's HR department, and I convinced her to let me stand in.

She was much older than I was, but I made her look good.

And the woman who hired you?

Older? Probably all of 25?

Maybe she wanted to seduce you.

No.

As a possibility.

No, there was no sexual tension there.

I don't know.

Maybe I missed a wonderful opportunity.

Probably not.

Good night, Richard.

Is Harper going to give up?

Aside from the girls, the happiest I've ever seen Harper was the day she threw

her hat into the ring at that movie theater.

She won't quit.

Goodnight, Richard.

My mother... My mother was a school crossing guard.

Everybody loved her.

That's why I wasn't bullied.

She signed more senior yearbooks than even the most popular kids.

Who else can say that about their mother?

Why didn't she have more kids of her own?

She thought that would be selfish.

Now listen, I need to ask you a question.

I wasn't available enough for my family when my dad got sick.

I'm not going to let that happen with my mom.

She moved to Aberdeen, Scotland after my dad died.

My folks loved this movie with Burt Lancaster about this quirky seaside

Scottish town.

She always wanted to go there, so she did.

But now there's a little bit of dementia.

You've always told me how tough you are.

I want to move to Scotland to be near my mom.

And I want you to come with me.

I'd like to meet your mom.

I don't know.

One birthday, I bought her streamers for her bike,

a bag of wooden clothespins, decals, a box of

baseball cards.

That's how I decked out. That's how I pimped out my own bike when I was a boy.

I couldn't imagine she'd have it any other way.

Wooden clothespins.

I even painted them her favorite color.

Purple.

Purple.

But it was her mom who helped her apply everything to the bike.

Not me.

Can I help?

Sure, if your mom says it's okay.

Is it okay?

Mom?

What's your name?

Ginny. Ginny, why don't you go pick out your favorite color streamers from

behind the counter and I'll show you how to put them on your bike.

Okay.

What color were the streamers?

You were a dentist.

She's very proud of you.

I'm not so sure.

We're a family of very high.

Mother, would you please get off of that thing?

Where's Otto?

Taking stock of his life.

He'll be right back.

You have a lot of work to do, Mom.

It'd only be a distraction.

It's only two more years.

Grandma's gonna take good care of you.

Yeah, she'll probably shoot me with an arrow.

You're not coming back.

You're in love with Otto.

Otto. What a stupid name.

And you're going to fall in love with Ireland.

If your goal was to become a seductress when you're a middle-aged lady, you

couldn't have a better teacher than Ireland.

Once you're gone, Daddy has to go too.

Really? Yeah.

You want to tell him?

I need a buffer.

He's not it anymore.

He'll be a distraction to the cause.

For the first time, my girls will all be gone.

I'm so proud of all three of you.

I finally feel like that orphan we sometimes talk about.

The next time you come to visit, you will have dual citizenship.

That is my personal, private campaign pledge to you.

Don't get yourself sick again mom don't go blind with all that stupid reading of

yours

I'm gonna miss you, Grandma.

Miss you too.

So much. Take care of yourselves.

My friends,

Iris Glenn is going to secede from the United States of

America.

I'm making it sound a lot easier than it will be.

And in six and a half years or so, I hope my successor will grab the baton

from me and take the lead and work at it twice as hard as I will to close the

deal.

that gets rave reviews, a hit show that spawns road companies and goes global.

Texas has a balanced budget?

We have a cash surplus.

Vermont has a flag?

Well, ours will be prettier.

elected mayor in November, I will have 2,190 days to get the ball rolling and

to find a worthy successor who will not only make for a smooth transition, but

someone who will put our movement over the top.

These are not American ideals.

These are human ideals.

And I will not turn my...

Hi.

Got just 10 minutes inside that pussy.