All language subtitles for Mad Women (2015)

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 want 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, baby.

Good to see you.

I'm so proud of you, Mom.

I love you, Richard.

You're going to be great.

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.

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, Kylie.

It's in 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?

Oh, my God.

Oh, hey, baby.

This is my daughter, Nevada.

This is Curtis.

Nice to meet you.

Curtis is about to publish his first book.

Grandma!

Oh, sweetheart.

Good to see you.

You look gorgeous.

Thank you.

Aw.

Oh, my God.

Hi.

Can I have a glass of iced tea?

That would be super.

No problem.

Would you like some potatoes, though?

I'm gonna, yeah, I'm gonna hit that up.

Daddy, help me.

Nevada Smith, my favorite waitress.

I thought I was your favorite ballerina.

That's as you were five.

You are such a pig.

I love going in the garden.

I taste its 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.

Stupid.

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 going to come after me.

I bet they 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 ten-year-old just moved in
down the block I've had my eye on.

Where are you going?

To get you some Valium.

Ugh, unbelievable.

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

That used to calm me down just fine.

And you're going to start a country!

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

Take this.

Do you remember last August,

when Mom and I went to Jones Beach

to see John Fogarty 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,

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,
sideshows, 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.

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 going to 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 cap zone.

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?

What?

I'm really sorry, but I've gotta 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.

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.

Whose?

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 Bryant.

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 going to punch you.

Coughs

I didn't think you'd do it.

Come on. I gotta get the baby.

What are you doing here?

I've read Bukowski's Women, loved it.

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 points.

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 once might too.

Is ice cream the heaven or hell part?

It's also a crematorium.

It's an ice creamatorium.

That chain is successful.

We had to throw it 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.

Snacks.

Oh, I like your ideas.

I did.

I liked your ideas.

You want to 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 widow 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.

Dachshunds 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?

Oh, I don't want to know.

What about your period?

Oh, 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.

Oh my god, you don't have any siblings.

What do you mean was an
English Lit professor? Is he retired?

He died six years ago in creatic cancer.

I'm really sorry.

I'm really pissed.

I, uh, I did want to follow in his
footsteps, be a teacher, but I, uh...

My grades plummeted when
he got sick, so I had to find

a job that didn't require an
advanced degree or a, um...

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 County Clare.

About a hundred thousand 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.

Shadden, pray to 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.

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 10
constitutional attorneys

in the United States
calls Iris Glen her home.

When my daughter, Nevada,
and I accompanied my husband

to a dental convention in
2000 in Washington, DC,

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 pay a pilgrimage to the
National Archives once a week.

At a bare minimum.

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 re-election.

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.

Oh, right on 18 percenter,
because I'm going to 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.

Why are baseball players always spitting?

What is it exactly that they're spitting?

And why can't they simply swallow?

70 hours in jail.

Immigration.

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

You don't have to wait
when you're this excited.

I'm just pulling my
pants down like a fat man.

O 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 movable 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 baked 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, Eva, 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 his.

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?

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

Nothing, if not odd, just ask my kids.

Hey.

Hi.

Darlene, this is Otto, my boyfriend.

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 grandma's in the hospital.

Oh, I see.

Your grandma, Julianne.

Oh, hey, how did her Seder go?

Your grandmother's Jewish?

Honorary Jewish.

What can I say, she craves gefilte 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 were 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, uh, 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 is 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.

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.

I was 17.

I had a best girlfriend.

She was a rebel.

I idolized her.

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.

I 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, that I

could not even remember
what I was thinking.

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 slip 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 his soul outside of Iris Glen.

It was a young priest
from a local parish.

Calvin found him and
asked if he would call me.

But 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.

Wanna 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?

Never mind.

I'm in love with you.

You'll still make love to me?

Yes.

It wasn't a question.

I love you so much.

And 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

associates 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 tracts 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
Glenn 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.

It's not 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 come 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 it.

Is it a test? A loyalty test?

Okay. No. Don't cut it.

Are you done?

How old were you when
you learned how to do this?

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.

No.

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 she was like,

bring your boyfriend
over and have 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.

Can you give me a second?

I noticed the famous skid
mark when I undressed you.

Maybe you farted.

I don't know.

I love you.

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.

And while 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.

Thank you, Darlene.

Are you on drugs?

Yes!

And I've filched 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 okay?

I'm okay.

Remember 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...

and I don't live in Iris Glen.

I'll see you on Saturday, Harper.

Stop staring at my kids,
you're embarrassing me.

Oh, I'm embarrassing you?

Don't call them that.

Oh, is that a noise too?

Am I knowingly-

NO YOU DON'T!

Why don't you just make a speech about it?

It's the only way you have a
humanity that we take away anymore.

We only have an 80 gallon
hour 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
subdue 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.

You really have a lot of pubic hair.

You ever shave it?

Can't.

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

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 10 year old girl?

You're not gonna hit me again, are you?

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

I'm gonna 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.

Man, I can't get anything past you.

Ooh, good one.

Okay, gotcha.

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?

Fame is 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.

But 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 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...

There 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 Jewesses.

But I couldn't help it.

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 of 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.

With 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

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 he
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, buh-buh-lah, I'm
fresh out of lightsabers.

What's up?

I'm not sure.

I don't have time to waste.

You've been using that
line on me for over 10 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 don't know what to do.

I started walking around the house topless

so it would 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...

It was a mistake.

I 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 there, to your house.

And if she doesn't look at my breasts,

there's going to 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'd 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're 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.

When 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.

So grand.

The day I knew we were in love for certain,

your mother and I,

was the day we received
our first passports.

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 playdate.

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 that 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, days,
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.

What was your character's name?

Judith.

Judith,

Nevada,

and Amy.

I went to this flea market last week.

Oh, Cobeen's.

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

Not mine.

A 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.

I'd like to live in your 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.

Oh, God.

Do the math.

Because firstborns are usually late.

And you were a 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.

Is mom losing her mind?

Surgeries?

The politics?

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.

Me too.

I'll stay here till you fall asleep.

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 liked
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...

Wow.

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,

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 uh... 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.

I never thought of that as a possibility.

No, there was no sexual tension there.

Maybe I missed a wonderful opportunity.

Probably not.

Goodnight 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.

Ever.

Good night, 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.

I'm about to 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.

Scotland's awfully close to Ireland.

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.

Woo, 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?

Jenny.

Jenny, 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?

Uh...

White.

You were a dentist.

She's very proud of you.

I'm not so sure.

We're a family of very high expectations.

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.

I miss you too.

So much.

Take care of yourself.

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.

So let's put on a show!

Let's kickstart something really dramatic.

Something 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
and more enduring!

If I'm 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 back on them!

Hi Jeff.

Hi.

I got just 10 minutes inside that pussy.