There you are! Hey. Check this out.
My dad took me shopping last night.
That is so cute. What other colours does it come in?
Angela- Red, blue, tiki green. Best of all, it's a camera.
Take one of me.
Angela- I'm still trying to figure it out.
Hey, get off!
Sorry, dr. Seuss. Don't get all Grinchy on me. How do I look?
Unpopular.
Excuse me. Come on, snap me.
I'm trying to-- there's so many buttons.
Can I please have my hat back?
Why? Are your superpowers, like, leaking away?
Come on, give it a rest, you guys.
Oh, now everybody's Grinchy.
What's wrong, did you and your biker chick break up?
Hey, I think I got it!
For your girlfriend's wallet?
Cute. Now hand it over. Hey!
Me of my paintings to be put into a new show at the franklin gallery.
Mm. In public?
Peer review. Bold move.
Great. First teaching, now gallery shows. I mean, why don't you just put me on display and sell tickets?
You're so selfless.
I'm not even sure I should be doing it.
I've only been dabbling in acrylics for a few months.
And they're terrific. I can't believe you didn't tell us about this.
Well, my... my compositions aren't balanced, and forget about the negative and positive face.
When's the opening?
Tomorrow.
Great! Ha! Maybe you should include nude portraits of the whole family, or better yet, a series of paintings entitled, my daughter's life: A retrospective in humiliation.
Are you ok, Joan?
No. Yes.
Just... the usual. Heh. School's, you know...stuff.
Can I just say, I sort of pictured you the matching bra-and-panties type.
You picture me in my panties?
Not till I saw the photo. And my advice-- stay in school.
How'd you see it?
Spam e-mail.
Ohh...unh! I made a huge mistake when I didn't hurl that cell phone into a shower stall.
You have to nip this in the bud. People who use smiley faces in their e-mail do not deserve that much power.
Are you talking about the panty shot?
I deleted it, like, immediately.
This is a nightmare!
An... actual nightmare that I've had in my sleep.
Uh, why do they hate you so much?
They were picking on this pathetic hat girl in the locker room.
I should have just kept my mouth shut.
And your clothes on.
You stuck up for someone in gym? That's like the front lines. Kudos. Rave on.
Is English like a second language for you?
Chill, Jane.
What are you gonna do?
I don't know. I was thinking witness protection program.
It'll blow over.
Definite blowage.
That is not the point. An act of retaliation is in order here. And peaceful protest went out with Gandhi.
He went around naked, and he's, like, an icon. I'm just trying to help.
6 dead so far, a lot more injured. They keep coming in.
All this happened in 20 seconds? How many people did he hit?
Farmers market draws a big crowd. Apparently he plowed his car through the heart of it.
We'll need his blood and urine as soon as possible.
I want a breathalyzer now.
The guy's 72. First I need to make sure he's ok.
That's not my biggest concern at the moment.
Is that him?
Just give me a second.
Shrink finally gives me the green light to get back on the street and this is the first thing I see. No.
You ok?
I'm horrified. And kind of pissed off.
There he is! You bastard! You killed my wife!
Hey, take it easy!
Oh, no! We have 3 children! You tell my children you killed their mother!
Get him upstairs to a secure room.
Sorry. I didn't see you.
It's all right. In my country, we are accustomed to centuries of tribal warfare.
Are you, like, an exchange student?
You might say I'm in charge of the exchange program.
That was, like, the worst German accent I ever heard.
Slavic, Joan. You've heard of the Balkan states?
No, not really. Is every day like Halloween for you, or...
I'm amused by Balkan pagan rituals. Not so much by blood-letting.
Pace, pace, we're burning daylight here.
Repeating myself is part of the job. Vengeance is mine.
Ok. To be fair, you never went to high school.
You never went to the crusades.
It's time for you to round out your curriculum, Joan. You know, for college.
Who can think about college at a time like this?
High school will end. Doesn't that cheer you up? Band rehearsal coincides with study hall. Easy excuse slip.
Band?
They're always hurting for percussionists.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Am I being punished or something? I haven't even fought back yet.
Hitting a drum feels pretty good.
Oh, thanks, Ringo.
Can I help you?
Hi. How do I sign up?
Well, that depends. Who are you, and what do you play?
Um, I'm Joan Girardi, um...
I play percussion...ism. Ist.
Excellent. We need someone on drums.
You will pound the skins, driving the beat into our piece. Like the drummers of old who called the warriors into battle with their fierce, pounding rhythms.
Ha ha. Ok. Um... do you have the... hitting things?
Yes, the hitting things. Uh...
Here you are, Joan. All right.
We've got 3 weeks until march-a-palooza. Are we going to rock?
I said, are we going to rock?
Yeah!
Yeah. That's more like it.
Ok, let's take a crack at the new one. I think this has the Herkes spirit you'll all be down for.
Fleetwood Mac?
No. Not when he gets through with it.
Right. Thanks.
Ok. From the beginning, in c, horns, you come in 2 bars late.
Is, uh, there an echo in here?
Heh heh. I'm sorry. I'm warming up.
Ok. Let's try that again... together.
Uh... percussion?
That was commendably fierce, but rhythmically challenged.
Take a moment to listen to the horns, find a beat--any beat-- and, uh...
no flying debris. That's easy. Ok.
It's a triangle attacking a circle.
Oh, maybe the circle was rude.
It's beautifully composed. Daniel's work is very powerful.
Ok. Powerful.
Easy, Picasso. The ability to stand and converse is kind of a requirement for these things.
I know. I know, I know. I'm just very, very nervous.
Oh, my god, I have students here. You know, this is a really bad idea.
Miss Girardi?
Yes.
Andy Reese. Style editor at the herald.
Oh, it's nice to meet you.
Style?
Uh-huh. Do you have time for a few questions?
Questions, me?
Um...yeah. Ok. Heh. To style.
Do you think that's me?
Hey, guess what? Copernicus called, said the world doesn't revolve around you.
Ohh! What a coincidence, because the dork police called, and they said they want their leader back.
It's official, I don't miss high school anymore.
Um, took a break for a while... uh-huh. Had the kids... oh, no, no, no. Didn't paint at all, except with ketchup.
Psst, dad. You let her have red wine?
Well, I tried to steer her to the white, but I got distracted by all the arty people.
Fix it!
Anyone seen the paper? I have a faculty meeting. I want to read it before I go.
Paper? Who reads the paper anymore?
I want to see if my review came out.
Where is it?
How bad?
Andy Reese is a pompous jerk, mom.
I'm-- I'm a big girl.
"As for Helen Girardi, arcadia high school's new art teacher,
it is hard to imagine how this...neophyte has the courage to display her work in public,
no less shape the young artistic minds of arcadia.
She seems influenced by a bit of dada and, of course, cezanne, but in her callow hands, dada turns to doo-doo and the most cezanne left is..."
it's just one lame critic's lame opinion.
Hey, you want me to shoot him? 'Cause I got my gun back.
Just give me your gun. I'll shoot him myself.
Oh, god, I--I teach class tomorrow. My kids will have read this.
Mom, no, mom, they won't. Trust me. High school kids only read under duress.
Yeah, and high school art students don't read at all.
Yeah.
And lastly... whoo! It's a yo-yo! Yo!
Pretty simple to operate. Nothing to do with chemistry, right?
What have we been talking about for the past 5 months, people? What about energy?
Potential, kinetic. Potential, kinetic. Potential, kinetic.
Potential... kinetic
So much for nipping it in the bud. This has gone way beyond the bud.
No problem. We escalate. I vote for physical pain.
Violence begets violence, yo.
Back off, Siddhartha. You're out of their league here.
You have to go for the Achille's heel: Vanity.
What, like spike their cosmetics or something?
Ask your brother what chemical cocktail would make their hair fall out.
Oh, wouldn't that involve breaking and entering? My dad's a cop.
I could whip up a cartoon. Kind of be like a social satire.
You'd do that for me?
I'd even sign it.
Yeah, the soapheads are really gonna get that. She's in her underwear, dude.
Aah-uhh!
Bad underwear.
Ok, all right!
The humiliation part is good.
It has to be something doable... and very mean.
Conference call tonight. We'll figure it out.
There were no skid marks. The man obviously didn't try to stop.
You know how many accidents happen because people hit the gas instead of the brake?
This guy wasn't on some killing rampage. Did you get the vehicle report?
Brakes checked out. There was no mechanical failure as far as I can see.
Somebody's got to take the fall for this, will. Either the county or the man who did it.
Roy--
There has to be a reason. Maybe he was angry about the changes to Medicare.
Grieving the anniversary of his wife's death?
So, if it's nothing more or less than human error, we can't allow for that?
Not for a mess this big.
Ohh. Is that me or some new life you're trying to ruin?
We just sent it to 3 people. We can't control where it goes from there.
Is this some kind of sport or more like ambition?
Heh, psycho. Go bang your drum.
Hey, yours is coming! It's only fair!
Give it your best shot.
Ha! When you least expect it!
Done! The cornerstone of the practical joke.
Who knew you guys would get so good at being mean?
The devil?
Go to the head of the class. You skip band practice this afternoon.
Why? I just started.
Laundry.
What?
Your mother's behind on laundry. Hence, the bad underwear. This you know.
Ok, and this you should know. There's seriously weird laundry rules in my house.
Like mom won't let anyone touch it except for dad. He likes to do his own. But we're talking serious dysfunction.
Surprise her. She'll be grateful. Sometimes people need the choice taken out of their hands.
Isn't that your job?
No. This afternoon, it's yours. Do the laundry.
You're the one who made us shamed to be naked!
Ooh, I should stop doing that.
Oh, this is bad.
I'm doing laundry.
Mom doesn't let people do laundry.
Yeah, well, I'm taking the choice out of her hands.
You're standing in the washing machine.
I'm improvising. I can't be here all day.
That doesn't look safe.
Like laundry is not safe?
Look, when I say go, I want you to hit the on button.
Uh, what's the on button look like?
I don't know. It should say "on."
Well, it doesn't. It says "whites" or "colours."
Uh, both.
There's not a "both" button.
Well, hit something.
Ach, Joan, there's--
Luke! Oh, no! Stop! Press stop!
There's no "stop!"
Aah! Call 911! Ohh! Luke! Aah! Aah! Aah! Luke! Call 911! Uhh! Ohh! Aah!
Oh, my god!
Here, you can have this back.
Thanks.
It's just a sprain. Keep the ice on it and stay on crutches for a couple of days.
Crutches?
Unless you prefer hobbling.
Uh, crutches. Thank you. Great. I'm tiny Tim.
Ok, to start, no one in the house touches my washing machine.
I was just trying to help. It's bad enough to be called a bad artist.
I'm not a bad artist.
I'm just saying.
Ok, Luke, what was your involvement?
I hit a button. It was scientifically unsound.
Huh! I don't want you people in my laundry room.
Mom, too little, too late.
No, I feel I've been clear on this issue.
How about I meet you guys in the lobby, hmm?
Come on, Luke
You know how to use these?
I know how to make electricity from sugar.
No, you don't. You just memorized it for the test.
Why are you punishing me? I haven't even done anything yet.
Yet.
Oh, wow. So thoughts really do count.
Thoughts are things, Joan.
And I don't punish people, you punish yourselves.
You're so good at it, I can almost retire.
Well, why don't you?
I like my work.
You know, it might help to think of these things as distractions.
>From what?
Yourself, ways you've been wronged.
Well, somebody has to take care of it.
Yes, perhaps someone who knows better than to stand in a washing machine.
Ha! You know, the more I get to know you, the less I like you.
Oh, that is seriously screwed up.
Ibuprofen 3. The directions on the bottle are wrong.
You should really learn to avoid unnecessary pain.
Oh, you-- you should really learn how to... pick on a supreme being your own size.
I'm, uh, sorry you have to be here, Mrs. Kerr, but we need to interview everyone involved.
It's all right. If I can help put that man away.
Ok, now.
I was with my kids. They love the farmers market.
Amy is 3, and my little one Jill just started talking.
I was pushing her through the market, and she was pointing, saying "apple. Red apple."
I'm ok. Thanks.
She was pointing and laughing. And that's when I heard the screeching of the tires.
I didn't have any time. I turned around, and I saw the car. I had to get out of the way.
I was holding Amy's hand, but the stroller, it tipped.
I tried to pull it, but it tipped...
and he ran over her. He didn't even slow down. He ran right over my baby.
Do you want me to heat up some dinner for you?
No, thanks. I ate something chicken-related at the station.
Oh. I gave blood. They put a sticker on you, you forget to take it off, it looks like you're cracking.
That was good of you.
Any more casualties?
6 isn't enough?
Oh, I hate the ones where there's no bad guy.
There's not?
Good citizen. Conscientious objector. Sat out Korea on principle. Married 40 years.
He hit the wrong pedal.
He shouldn't have been driving.
Andy baker shouldn't have been driving.
You're the one who said we're not gonna sue a stupid kid for making a mistake.
I wasn't wrong. I'm just saying.
Brings it all up again, doesn't it?
Yeah. It travels all 2 inches above the surface.
The thing is... Kevin's still here, and he's doing ok.
That's just luck.
I don't believe in luck.
That's all I believe in.
What are you, Chinese?
I'm a man with a paralyzed son.
Gee... what am I?
You're a woman. We don't understand what makes you tick.
The heart, stupid. You understand anatomy.
Good morning, heh, everyone.
Um... let's begin with some free drawing. 5 minutes worth, I guess.
Slammin' show, Mrs. Girardi.
Um, thank you.
That critic is a wipe, yo.
Um... so, you read the review?
Well, he's just doing his job, I guess.
He wrote that Rossetti was an impressionist.
Which is like saying Monet was a pre-Raphaelite.
Really? He wrote that?
Yeah. He's a total poser, Mrs. G. The establishment press is, like, totally whack.
Look at Manet, Lautrec, Van Gogh.
Yeah. Critics have this, like, you know, great tradition of being totally clueless.
That's true, isn't it?
But... our job as artists is to press on, continue creating, 'cause that's who we are.
Um, even if some...critic does squash you like a bug. That's who we are.
Let me tell you what I put in place.
First order of business: Clear up old business. I asked Friedman to put his nerd cells to use...
ok, he's gonna hack in and destroy the photo.
He knows how to replace your body with Christy Brinkley's.
Pre-babies, like early eighties.
Now all we have to do is narrow down our course of action. Rove is against physical violence, but I overrode him.
Yeah, apparently, it's like the U.N. Her vote counts for more.
Here are my ideas, in order of inspiration. A--whoopee cushion.
Not evolved, but always effective. B--water balloons on the morning bus. Bad hair all day.
C--the classic trip-and-fall with loaded trays in the cafeteria. D--gum in the seat. E--
wait, wait, wait, wait. You're losing me.
Retribution-- the oldest profession.
I thought that was farming.
Listen to me, don't whimp.
Hey! I'm injured, I'm tired, and I don't know if I can pull this off.
The beauty part, Joan, is that your friends do it for you.
I'm your friend?
You're A's friend. I'm about "A."
Do you have to talk? Is there, like, an off switch?
She's joking Yeah. Ring, ring. That's my life calling.
It's just her voice.
- Yeah, good luck with that. - It is!
All right. Hold up, everybody.
Let's be honest now. Have you ever played drums before?
No.
Then why are you here?
I really want to be in the band.
Hey, what are you doing after school?
Oh, I have my other band practice.
You're in another marching band?
No, it's rock. Well, it's alternative. There's not really a name for it.
So, you play music for fun?
Is there another way to do it?
Yeah, but 2 bands? I mean, I can't even do one load of laundry.
Well, you know, it's pretty easy when you're the school piŅata.
Getting dumped on is like fossil fuel. I can't hit back, so I play music.
Why can't you hit back?
I'm not allowed. I'm Quaker.
Oh. Wait, like oatmeal?
Like weird outfits, like Richard Nixon.
Is god in that?
Sure.
So god kind of tells you, you can't hit back?
Yeah. Uh... I don't... I don't always understand why he wants me to do the things that he wants, but yeah.
Have you ever seen him?
No. Ha ha ha. Have you? What are you, catholic?
No. My parents are. I was baptized, but--but I'm nothing.
But you-- you've seen god?
I didn't say that.
Um, any--any time you want to talk about--
oh, I don't.
Ok. Yeah.
Ok. Um, I'll see you later.
Ok. Bye.
Looks like you're all set to go.
Mr. Hansen?
How can I just leave?
I explained it to you. We're not pressing charges at this time.
I know you did.
I'm not senile, for god's sake.
All I can say is, how can I go home after what I did?
You feel bad. I understand. It would be simple if that was enough,
but 6 people are dead, their families changed forever, and no amount of remorse or apology can change that.
Now, all you can do is walk out of here and try to face the rest of your life.
Jane, there's something you should know.
Yeah, yeah, you're all about baby voice. Yeah, I get it, ok? I swear on my honour to tolerate it, but only for you.
No, no, no. The act of revenge, it's big.
I didn't do anything.
It's Friedman, ok, the hired hit. He hacked into Angela's diaries, Spam e-mail, now she's hunting him down like a wild animal.
Ok?
He's hiding out in the cafeteria. Come on.
This is gonna be better than a million love letters.
What is wrong with you?
What?
You made my personal and private thoughts a public spectacle.
You mess with scientists, my friend, you're gonna get science.
You freak, I want to kill you!
Le petite mort. The little death. I have some conversational French in my arsenal.
Laurie, do you know what they did?
I know you said my hair's dyed. It's not, it's highlighted.
>From the diary of Angela nobody.
"My breasts-- I've obsessed about them, wanting them to grow enough to make a c-cup by prom.
But today I hate them. I hate my breasts, because today my mom told me she has breast cancer.
I'm so scared I can't--
Stop. Just stop.
Ordinarily, I'd give you a back rub, but I'm afraid my callused hands might turn dada into doo-doo.
So we've moved on from the review.
Oh, yeah.
I, uh, did a bad thing today.
Tell me.
I made that little old man feel guilty for killing people.
He didn't feel guilty enough?
Not for me.
You needed revenge?
For a baby in a stroller? I kind of did.
God forgives it.
God?
The universe, Whatever.
I needed to hurt him.
More than he was already hurt?
Yeah. Am I going to hell?
You don't believe in hell.
I believe in someplace... where you aren't.
There's no place like that.
Adam. It's late.
It is?
Heh, yeah. Come in.
Are you cold? You want something to eat?
Uh... I want to talk.
So, does it, like, hurt?
Not so bad anymore. You get used to it.
Did you know about Angela's mother?
No. Did you?
No. We're both behind this whole thing.
No. Friedman was.
Jane, we were.
Yeah. We'll apologize.
I mean, that's enough, right?
I don't know.
Wow, this is the most awesome sandwich I have ever seen.
Have it. Heh. Bored with it already. Too much chewing.
I'm not hungry.
Hmm. So why are you here?
Iris is a good person.
I know.
It--ahem--it's just that her voice... drives me crazy. Heh heh.
It's her real voice.
It drives me crazy, too.
But you love her?
I--I like her a lot.
And you want me to like her, too?
No.
But I want you to like me.
Adam, I don't just like you.
Heh. Yeah. Yeah, me, too.
Good night, Jane.
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