Keith Griffin:
It's back.
Christian:
Yeah, this must be your lucky fuckin' day.
Keith Griffin:
Or maybe I'm just not suffering enough yet. I didn't expect to see you again.
Christian:
Oh, come on now. You don't think you going all 'Miss Cleo the Psychic' on my ass is gonna scare me off that easy - now do you?
Keith Griffin:
Maybe it's just dementia setting in. Sometimes I read people and I... I think I'm the oracle of Delphi.
Christian:
Well, sometimes I growl at people. Doesn't make me Eartha Kitt. I'm just goin' to put this right about here.
Keith Griffin:
It doesn't matter, I'm still not hungry.
Christian:
I don't remember asking you if you were. I just deliver this stuff, remember? But my friend Andrew made this, and he doesn't even cook for his boyfriends. So the least you could do is tryin' to be polite, and eat it.
Keith Griffin:
I don't have to pretend to be polite. I think I've... I think I've earned that right.
Christian:
Oh yes, that's right; you're dying, you're bitter, blah, blah, blah... Fortunately I'm shallow so I'm impervious to that. Now eat it.
Keith Griffin:
Impervious? Bet you don't know how to spell that.
Christian:
Sure I do. It's spelled 'Bite me.'
No pain that we suffer, no trial that we experience is wasted. It ministers to our education, to the development of such qualities as patience, faith, fortitude and humility. All that we suffer and all that we endure, especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our souls, and makes us more tender and charitable, more worthy to be called the children of God . . . and it is through sorrow and suffering, toil and tribulation, that we gain the education that we come here to acquire and which will make us more like our Father and Mother in heaven.
Glenn Odekirk:
We installed the 450 radial, but the struts won't take the vibration. Minute we go contact, the struts start craking at the attach points.
Howard Hughes:
Dammit, Odie, if the 450's too big, figure something else out!
Glenn Odekirk:
We've done everything - we've rebuilt her from top to bottom. If we drain the fuel tank for a couple of runs she might make 180 mph.
Howard Hughes:
I want minimum 200.
Glenn Odekirk:
Yeah, well, I want a date with Theda Bara, but that ain't gonna happen either.
Howard Hughes:
Don't be so sure... OK, OK, OK, this is a simple engineering problem. We just gotta think it out. [pause]
Howard Hughes:
So if the struts won't sustain the engine we need - then we gotta get rid of them.
Glenn Odekirk:
Then the top wing falls off.
Howard Hughes:
Then let it.
Glenn Odekirk:
What?
Howard Hughes:
Who says we need a top wing? [pauses]
Howard Hughes:
Who says we need *anything*? [Glenn is warming up to Hughes' idea]
Glenn Odekirk:
A monoplane...
Howard Hughes:
A cantilevered monoplane. They're doing it in France. To the hell with the top wing and the struts...
Glenn Odekirk:
550 Whitney Wasp engine...
Howard Hughes:
100 octane fuel will give us a top horsepower of - what?
Glenn Odekirk:
Seven hundred.
Howard Hughes:
Squeeze it to a thousand and we got the fastest plane ever built.
Glenn Odekirk:
You know, I just gotta say... we've already spent over $200,000 rebuilding this plane.
Howard Hughes:
To the hell with it. [smiles]
Howard Hughes:
Tear it up, Odie. [Glenn takes a sledgehammer and annihilates the struts on the top wing; the top wing falls off]
Every age, every culture, every custom and tradition has its own character, its own weakness and its own strength, its beauties and ugliness; accepts certain sufferings as matters of course, puts up patiently with certain evils. Human life is reduced to real suffering, real hell, only when two ages, two cultures and religions overlap. A man of the Classical Age who had to live in medieval times would suffocate miserably just as a savage does in the midst of our civilization. Now there are times when a whole generation is caught in this way between two ages, two modes of life, with the consequence that it loses all power to understand itself and has no standard, no security, no simple acquiescence. Naturally, everyone does not feel this equally strongly. A nature such as Nietzsche
[Coach McGuirk appears with Brendon at juvenile court]
Judge:
Brendon, is this your guardian?
Brendon:
I don't know.
Coach McGuirk:
Uh, John McGuirk, Your Honor.
Judge:
Have I seen you in court before?
Coach McGuirk:
Yes, several times, but that's not important, sir. What's important is that my retarded nephew is innocent.
Brendon:
I'm NOT retarded.
Coach McGuirk:
Yes you are, Brendon, now shut up. Uh, Your Honor, during the day of the accident, Brendon was suffering from a severe bout of, uh, mentally challenged... stuff.
Brendon:
What are you doing?
Coach McGuirk:
Mistrial, Brendon. Also, Your Honor, uh, Brendon was suffering from dementia, which, uh, was passed down to him from... me.
Judge:
Now, wait, now...
Coach McGuirk:
I don't even know where I am right now, Your Honor.
Brendon:
I got hit... I was hit by a car!
Judge:
Now, you were hit by a... r-right. S-so what are you telling me here?
Coach McGuirk:
Well, that Brendon was hit by a car, and that... that it was, uh, his fault.
Brendon:
You'd make a FANTASTIC lawyer.
(2002) In Rome, month upon month, I struggled with how to structure the book about my father (He already had the water, he just had to discover jars). At one point I laid each chapter out on the terrazzo floor, eighty-three in all, arranged them like the map of an imaginary city. Some of the piles of paper, I imagined, were freestanding buildings, some were clustered into neighborhoods, and some were open space. On the outskirts, of course, were the tenements--abandoned, ramshackled. The spaces between the piles were the roads, the alleyways, the footpaths, the rivers. The bridges to other neighborhoods, the bridges out...In this way I could get a sense if one could find their way through the book, if the map I was creating made sense, if it was a place one would want to spend some time in. If one could wander there, if one could get lost.