by John Moe
“I’ll make that horse an offer he can’t refuse because he’ll be dead and also decapitated.”
“Christ, I hate horses. Damn them. Also I want something out of this other guy. What to do, what to do. Hmm.”
JULIUS EPSTEIN, PHILIP EPSTEIN, HOWARD KOCH, CASEY ROBINSON, CASABLANCA
“I am looking at you and you are a child.”
“I will call you a kid even though you are a grown woman because it is a term of affection and also, let’s get real here, because sexism is endemic in our society.”
“Here’s looking at my impending descent into alcoholism, kid.”
“Here’s looking at you, Ingrid Bergman.”
SIDNEY HOWARD, GONE WITH THE WIND
“If a damn was something I could own, this situation would not call for me to give it over to another.”
“Shit, dude, I don’t care. Whatever.”
“Scarlett! Listen to me! I. DON’T. CARE. What happens. DON’T CARE! At all. Rhett Butler out!”
“Tra-la-la! Dee-de-dee! Don’t care! Hoopie doo!” (skips off)
GEORGE LUCAS, STAR WARS
“May Jesus Christ be with you.”
“May Krishna be with you.”
“I hope Space God loves you more than the other guys!”
“Okay there’s this thing called the Space Force, right? And it’s kind of God but not reeeeeally. Anyway, I hope it works out for you.”
“Good luck, sucker!”
CAMERON CROWE, JERRY MAGUIRE
“I want to look at money!”
“Permit me to glance at piles of cash!”
“I’m not sure what money looks like, could you provide me a visual example?!”
“I promise I won’t take your money, but can I look at it a bit?!”
“I would like to receive a bunch of money which I can see but also, and this is crucial, take with me!”
“You had me at hello, here’s the money.”
JOHN HUSTON, THE TREASURE OF THE SIERRA MADRE
“We decline your request for us to present our badges. But thank you for asking!”
“Actually, it’s funny but according to our understanding, the whole badges thing was more of a ‘want’ than a ‘need.’ I mean, is that—are we off base on that?”
“Mercifully, we are free of the necessity of badges! Oh, and it feels fantastic!”
“Tell you what, if we HAD badges with us—and let’s be clear that we do not—we’d shove them up your asses! Ha HA!”
WILLIAM BROYLES JR., AL REINERT, APOLLO 13
“Houston, we’re going to die.”
“Houston, and by that I mean the NASA facility in Houston, particularly the people working on the Apollo 13 mission, we have a problem. Not the whole city of Houston, mind you. Can you imagine? ‘Hello, enormous city in Texas! Solve our problem!’ Ha ha, no, seriously, we’re really completely fucked up here.”
“Houston, I’ll frame this optimistically: we could really use a solution.”
“Whitney Houston, we have a problem.”
OLIVER STONE, SCARFACE
“Say hello to my gun whom I regard as a friend, which is a glimpse into the disturbed mind of me: Al Pacino! I mean, Tony Montana!”
“I would like you to meet my little friend. It’s not really a person but a BULLET-SHOOTING GUN! I bet you weren’t expecting that, were you? Ha ha. Oh well anyway, you’re dead now.”
“Excuse me, have you met my gun?”
JAMES ASHMORE CREELMAN, RUTH ROSE, KING KONG
“Oh, no, it wasn’t the airplanes. It was Beauty killed the Beast. Well, that and the fall off of the Empire State Building. Yeah, come to think of it, it was definitely the fall. The girl may have been a distraction but geez, ker-splat, you know. Airplanes.”
SUPREME COURT OF THE UNITED STATES
* * *
EXCERPTS FROM HOROVITZ V. HOROVITZ (2013) REGARDING THE RIGHT TO PARTY
JUSTICE KENNEDY delivered the opinion of the Court.
In this case, we consider whether this Court’s past precedents shield an individual from parental orders to cut his hair and change his clothes. In taking up this issue, this Court recognizes the opportunity it has to review its past precedents, in which was found that there is a constitutionally derived right to party. […]
The facts at issue are simple: Petitioner Horovitz—by now, no stranger to this Court—has brought before us yet another domestic spat that, when it plays out in the homes of millions of families each year, generally never makes it past the Circuit Court of Appeals. Horovitz, after numerous requests from his parents, refused to cut his hair and change his clothes. He was also made to go to school despite filing a plea of “please” in a timely manner. The instant suit followed. […]
Our rulings concerning the right to party are the foundation of modern family law, and are, by this point, well known. The nascent stages of the recognition of this right began with its observation, in dicta, that a right to cry at one’s own parties may be enforceable (Gore v. Judy 1965). That observation, and the state of the law, went undeveloped for another two decades, until the seminal case of Yauch v. Yauch (1986). In Yauch, JUSTICE DOUGLAS wrote that “specific guarantees in the Bill of Rights have penumbras, formed by emanations from those guarantees that help give them life and substance. Among these guarantees is a right to party.” Justice Douglas cited the First Amendment (regarding freedom of expression), the Third Amendment (regarding the quartering of soldiers in people’s homes, regardless of whether they were partying at the time), and the Fifth Amendment (regarding a deprivation of life, liberty, or property without due process of law), among others, in favor of partying without intrusion, and specifically in Yauch, in favor of damages when the respondent threw away the petitioner’s best porno mag.
Subsequent cases, most of them involving the same small circle of yappy, New York City-based litigants, served to expand the scope of the right to privacy to include parental limitations on smoking (Diamond v. Diamond) and being preached at like you’re some kind of jerk (Horovitz v. New York City Board of Education). In the Diamond case, despite the Court’s rejection of the argument that the limitations at issue represented his freedom of expression “being shut down with the push of your button,” the Court nevertheless ruled in favor of Mr. Diamond, recognizing the emotional distress inflicted when his parents were all up in his face, thus creating a feeling of disgrace. […]
The problem with the instant case is, as much as anything, that the claim itself makes very little sense. Horovitz complains that his parents informed him that, absent a change in Horovitz’s position, they would keep him indoors (on account of the clothes) and kick him out of the house (on account of the hair). Unlike earlier right-to-party cases, in which the repressive mechanisms were clear (e.g., the denial of smoking rights by a hypocrite who smokes two packs a day), these so-called threats seem to contradict each other. At worst, they offset each other. Once those acts are set aside, all that remains of petitioner’s complaint is respondent’s seemingly benign inquiry as to what the noise was, and purported jealousy that the noise was the Beastie Boys. Neither, even taken in the light most favorable to the petitioner, prevents him from partying one iota. […]
For this reason, and also because the petitioner’s age at the time of the suit creates obvious standing problems, we affirm.
SCALIA, J., with whom JUSTICE THOMAS joins, concurring:
I write to note, as I have in the past, that I believe Yauch to have been wrongly decided. I would overturn that case, and every case that attempts to wring a right to party out of a document that has naught to say about porno mags of any quality.
I also write to address the argument of the amicus brief submitted by Professor Griff, which suggests that this case is about the petitioner’s efforts to get power and equality and that reversal is warranted under that alternative theory. The Constitution, as written, is down with neither power nor equality. Advocate and party for it as you might, you will never succeed in convincing
this Court that there is a judicially recognized right to fight.
THOMAS, J., concurring:
Yeah!
March 13, 2000
Dear Pope,
I am writing to you from my hometown, Saint Paul, a city named after a saint. While I am not a Cardinal or anything, I think I know a thing or two about miracles. You see, Pope, Minnesota is the home of many members of the 1980 U.S. Olympic Men’s Hockey team, which beat the Soviets and won the Gold Medal. “The Miracle on Ice,” they called it. That was twenty years ago now.
Whether that win qualifies as a miracle or not in the eyes of the Catholic Church, well, I’ll leave that you, your Holiness. In my mind, it absolutely was.
What you might not know was that this was not the only miracle or potential miracle performed by this group of young men. I ask that you and the whole church take all this into account and make them all saints. We could hold the ceremony right here in Saint Paul. We got a huge church.
Allow me to list, for the first time, the accomplishments of these men.
GOALKEEPERS
Jim Craig, North Easton, MA. Played a really sweet bass solo in 1986 when his band performed at a bar in Brainerd, Minnesota. Pope, you probably don’t get out to see a lot of live rock ’n’ roll music being played, but even if you did, you would almost never see someone play a bass solo. And EVEN IF YOU DID see it, the bass solo would suck real bad. But Craig, ah geez, he was playing Goldie’s with his band The Rockin’ Gentlemen and ripped this amazing solo during their cover of Journey’s “Open Arms.” And everyone loved it. I’m not kidding around, it was really good.
Steve Janaszak, Saint Paul, MN. Figured out who shot J.R. almost immediately. I mean, did you know it was Kristin? I didn’t. Steve did. Did you watch Dallas at the Vatican? It’s a good show, Pope.
DEFENSE
Bill Baker, Grand Rapids, MI. As a 6-year-old boy, wrote a letter to The Beatles advising them to fire drummer Pete Best. How can a young boy in Minnesota know who The Beatles were or even how to reach them? No one knows. Miracle. Boom. Right there.
Dave Christian, Warroad, MN. Mostly card tricks. I admit this is probably our weakest argument, player and miracle wise. But his last name is Christian so that counts a little, huh, Pope?
Ken Morrow, Flint, MI. Invented an orange juice additive that made it so you can drink the juice immediately after brushing your teeth. Was murdered immediately afterward under mysterious circumstances. I don’t know if it was the toothpaste people or an orange juice cabal or what, but this canonization would mean a lot to his family.
Jack O’Callahan, Charlestown, MA. Served as casting consultant on Pulp Fiction and resurrected John Travolta’s film career. I know it’s not the same thing as raising the dead, but in some ways it may be more impressive. Before that movie, he was doing Look Who’s Talking sequels and something called Eyes of an Angel. Have you seen Eyes of an Angel? No, of course you haven’t. No one has. Jack changed all that.
Mike Ramsey, Minneapolis, MN. Never yelled at his cousin Glen, which, if you knew Glen, wow.
Bob Suter, Madison, WI. Got at least three of his friends to really support implementing the metric system in the United States.
FORWARDS
Neal Broten, Roseau, MN. Turned some rocks into potatoes. I did not personally witness this but it’s what Neal says and he was always an honest kid.
Steve Christoff, Richfield, MN. One of a small group of players, all forwards, who quietly spent a great deal of time converting pets to Catholicism. All told, the group converted 28 dogs, 12 guinea pigs, ten parrots, and one goldfish to the church. No cats, for obvious reasons. And this was an act of free will on the part of the pets. At least one schnauzer desperately wanted to enter the priesthood but there are rules against that, which I will not argue here. (Some other time, though, okay Pope?)
Mike Eruzione, (Captain), Winthrop, MA. Just great hair. Great fucking hair every single day. Please see the picture I’ve enclosed.
John Harrington, Virginia, MN. Can dunk a basketball.
Mark Johnson, Madison, WI. Always has correct change.
Rob McClanahan, Saint Paul, MN. (see Steve Christoff)
Mark Pavelich, Eveleth, MN. Can fit his whole fist in his mouth and put it halfway down his neck. I’d like to see Mother Teresa pull that one off! I bet he’ll figure out a way to help people like lepers with it one day. Again, the canonization would be a big boost there.
Buzz Schneider, Babbitt, MN. (see Steve Christoff)
Dave Silk, Scituate, MA. Actually produced silk from his fingertips. Like a spider. “Silk” wasn’t even his real last name, it was a nickname. Just stuck. Come to think of it, he may be a wizard of some sort. Is that a problem?
Eric Strobel, Rochester, MN. (see Steve Christoff)
Phil Verchota, Duluth, MN. Didn’t actually know how to play hockey. Funny story, Pope: We were up in Duluth getting ready to go to our first practice match when we realized we didn’t have the minimum number of hockey players needed for a roster. So Pavelich saw his buddy Phil Verchota walking by on the street and asked him to get on the bus. Verchota was a little drunk (you know how it is in Duluth) and said sure. We got him a sweater and some skates and just asked him to sit there on the bench. Well, one thing led to another, what with injuries and penalties and all that. So Verchota gets into the game and is really just guessing what to do. He’s slapping his stick around like he saw the other fellas do. Ends up playing pretty well for us that whole year and getting a gold medal. I’d call that a miracle, Pope.
Mark Wells, St. Clair Shores, MI. In a pinch, can use his head as a Zamboni to smooth out the ice. We had him do this one time in practice when our Zamboni was busted. It took him two hours using this big weird flat forehead of his. He had to go lie down for the rest of the day but it happened.
Anyways, Pope, I’m not asking to be made a saint myself. Just do the right thing for these players, huh? They’re good guys.
Yours,
Herb Brooks
Hello, Parents!
I’ve had a simply wonderful time getting to know Charlie, Lucy, Schroeder, and all of your wonderful children. Since we’re now halfway through the school year, I thought it would be a good idea to drop a line and let everyone know how things are going.
Since I’ve never met any of you moms and dads, and no one actually came to the last scheduled parent-teacher conferences, I can only hope that this letter somehow reaches you. I must admit that I find it strange how the students almost never mention their parents, but I also realize that everyone’s lives are pretty hectic these days and I don’t like to pry.
I would like to reiterate how grateful I am to the school for giving me a chance to teach this year. Due to my specific condition, it was virtually impossible to land a job in my chosen field of education. Many principals called me in for interviews based on my master’s degree in primary education and willingness to work at a remarkably low salary level. When they actually met me, however, things quickly deteriorated. They insisted that a teacher should be able to communicate verbally, which, because of my profound speech impediment, I was unable to do in a traditional manner. I frantically tried to explain that I really could be understood and that it would just require more careful listening.
Well, raising my voice only made things worse because to those employers my voice sounded like a screeching squawk of an angry bird of prey, only slower and more distorted, as if, say, a peregrine falcon had been anesthetized. By the time I had retrieved my steno pad to write out my thoughts, I was already being shown the door.
I was grateful to the point of tears when this school finally hired me. Granted, they did so without an interview, and that aided my cause considerably. And I have found it odd that halfway through the year I still haven’t met the principal or any other teachers. But again, my job is to teach, not to go nosing around.
I realize now that I’m sharing an awful lot with you here, but since I never see anyone else I have no one to talk to. And whe
n I talk, you know: my voice.
My joy about merely being employed is nothing, however, compared to the joy I feel when working with your precious children. For the first time in my life, I am being understood! Verbally! Perhaps it took the open, non-judgmental mind of a child to really listen, because now when I’m giving out homework or teaching a lesson, the kids pick up on every word. Where others have heard simply “Wa-WA-wa-wa,” your kids know that I’m really saying, “Please complete problems one through sixteen for tomorrow.” Truly, the kids and I have formed a special bond this year.
Several of them have said that I’m the only adult they know. I can’t imagine they mean it literally (though it really sounds like they do), but it’s a nice sentiment all the same.
As I’ve said already, I don’t mean to poke my nose in where it doesn’t belong, but now that I’ve been teaching here for a few months and have established myself, I think, as a qualified teacher, I do have some nagging questions about the kids. If you’d rather not tell me, that’s fine, but I thought I would just put them out there.
Are they all dwarfs? I can’t help but notice that all the students have atypically short arms and legs as well as larger heads. I realize that all kids are small, of course, but I really think there’s something else going on here.
Second, how did the children come to be so mentally advanced? Traditionally, kids at this age are almost entirely id-driven. They seek only to satisfy their immediate needs—food, physical activity, toileting—and that’s it. But these kids of yours are sort of amazing. In fact, the way they relate to their world is much more similar to how adults live. Regular kids get mad and throw tantrums; one of my students, on the other hand, seems to suffer from deep (and I believe untreated) clinical depression. Regular kids are learning the basics of music; one of my students is not only enormously talented, but even seemingly burdened by his own genius. He plays very complex compositions on a toy piano where the black keys are just painted on. Regular kids play occasional practical jokes; one of my students practices a consistent, calculated cruelty on one specific classmate (a football is involved) that borders on the sociopathic. Regular kids have a bit of a learning curve when it comes to hygiene; one of my students is literally caked in filth. (I have tried to contact this student’s parents since his condition does affect others, but I haven’t been able to deduce a last name. “Penn” perhaps?)
