Alexander Payne

How it's a living thing. I like to think about what was going on the year the grapes were growing; how the sun was shining; if it rained. I like to think about all the people who tended and picked the grapes. And if it's an old wine, how many of them must be dead by now. I like how wine continues to evolve, like if I opened a bottle of wine today it would taste different than if I'd opened it on any other day, because a bottle of wine is actually alive. And it's constantly evolving and gaining complexity. That is, until it peaks, like your '61. And then it begins its steady, inevitable decline.

Hello, Miles. It's Maya. Thanks for your letter. I-I would have called sooner, but I think I needed some time to think about everything that happened and... what you wrote to me. Another reason, um, I didn't call you sooner is because I wanted to finish your book, which I finally did last night. And I think it's really lovely, Miles. You're so good with words. Who cares if it's not getting published? There are so many beautiful and... painful things about it. Did you really go through all that? Must have been awful. And the sister character - jeez, what a wreck. But I have to say that, well, I was really confused by the ending. I mean, did the father finally commit suicide, or what? It's driving me crazy. Anyway, it's turned cold and rainy here lately, but I like winter. So, listen, if you ever do decide to come up here again, you should let me know. I would say stop by the restaurant, but to tell you the truth, I'm not sure how much longer I'm gonna be working there, because I'm going to graduate soon. So, I'll probably want to relocate. I mean, we'll see. Anyway, like I said, I really loved your novel. Don't give up, Miles. Keep writing. I hope you're well. Bye.

You know, the day you open a '61 Cheval Blanc... that's the special occasion.

I'm the queen of typos.

Uh, I don't know, I don't know. Um, it's a hard grape to grow, as you know. Right? It's uh, it's thin-skinned, temperamental, ripens early. It's, you know, it's not a survivor like Cabernet, which can just grow anywhere and uh, thrive even when it's neglected. No, Pinot needs constant care and attention. You know? And in fact it can only grow in these really specific, little, tucked away corners of the world. And, and only the most patient and nurturing of growers can do it, really. Only somebody who really takes the time to understand Pinot's potential can then coax it into its fullest expression. Then, I mean, oh its flavors, they're just the most haunting and brilliant and thrilling and subtle and... ancient on the planet.

I'm finished. I'm not a writer, I'm a middle school English teacher. Well, the world doesn't give a shit what I have to say. I'm unnecessary. Ha! I'm so insignificant I can't even kill myself.

Come on, man. You know. Hemingway, Sexton, Plath, Woolf. You can't kill yourself before you're even published!

Half my life is over and I have nothing to show for it. Nothing. I'm a thumbprint on the window of a skyscraper. I'm a smudge of excrement on a tissue surging out to sea with a million tons of raw sewage.

It tastes like the back of a fucking L.A. school bus. Now they probably didn't de-stem, hoping for some semblance of concentration, crushed it up with leaves and mice, and then wound up with this rancid tar and turpentine bullshit. Fuckin' Raid.

Explain the situation? Yes. 'Excuse me, sir, my friend was the one balling your wife couple of hours ago. Really sorry. He seems to have left his wallet behind. I was wondering if I come in, just poke around, I don't know'

Let me show you how this is done. First thing, hold the glass up and examine the wine against the light. You're looking for color and clarity. Just, get a sense of it. OK? Uhh, thick? Thin? Watery? Syrupy? OK? Alright. Now, tip it. What you're doing here is checking for color density as it thins out towards the rim. Uhh, that's gonna tell you how old it is, among other things. It's usually more important with reds. OK? Now, stick your nose in it. Don't be shy, really get your nose in there. Mmm... a little citrus... maybe some strawberry...

... passion fruit...

... and, oh, there's just like the faintest soupçon of like asparagus and just a flutter of a, like a, nutty Edam cheese...

Yeah, right. Yup, I'm a homo. Yeah. Yeah. Just make up whatever you want and that's what happened. Okay? Write out my gay confession and I'll sign it. Okay? Just stop pushing me all the time. You're an infant, Jack. This is all a big party for you... but not for me.

Victoria and I used to like this view. You know, once we had a picnic here. We drank a '95 Opus One with smoked salmon and artichokes. But, we didn't care. Oh, man, she has the best palate of any woman I've ever known. She could even differentiate all different kinds of Italian wines.

Yeah, I know. You told me. I'm all right with it.

A little citrus. Maybe some strawberry. Mmm. Passion fruit, mmm, and, oh, there's just like the faintest soupçon of like, uh, asparagus, and, there's a, just a flutter of, like a, like a nutty Edam cheese.

Mrnmm, yeah… but not really. It shifts around a lot. Like you also start to see everything from the point of view of the father. And some other stuff happens, some parallel narrative, and then it evolves - or devolves - into a kind of a Robbe-Grillet mystery - with no real resolution.

This week is not about me. It is about you. I'm gonna show you a good time. We're gonna drink a lot of good wine. We're gonna play some golf. We're gonna eat some great food and enjoy the scenery and we are going to send you off in style, mon frere.

You see, the reason that this region is so good for pinot, is that the cold air off the Pacific flows in at night and it just cools down the berries. Pinot's a very thin-skinned grape. It doesn't like constant heat or humidity. Very delicate.

It's not like I'm a lesbian or anything. I'm attracted to the person. It's just that all the people I've been attracted to happen to be girls.

Who cares about this stupid election? We all know it doesn't matter who gets elected president of Carver. Do you really think it's going to change anything around here? Make one single person smarter or happier or nicer? The only person it does matter to is the one who gets elected. The same pathetic charade happens every year, and everyone makes the same pathetic promises just so they can put it on their transcripts to get into college. So vote for me, because I don't even want to go to college, and I don't care, and as president I won't do anything. The only promise I will make is that if elected I will immediately dismantle the student government, so that none of us will ever have to sit through one of these stupid assemblies again!

Or don't vote for me! Who cares? Don't vote at all!

Dear God, I know I don't believe in you, but since I'll be starting Catholic school soon, I thought I should at least practice. Let's see, what do I want? I want Lisa to realize what a bitch she is and feel really bad and apologize for how she hurt me and know how much I still love her. In spite of everything, I still want Paul to win the election tomorrow, not that cunt Tracy. Oh, and I also want a really expensive pair of leather pants and someday I wanna be really good friends with Madonna. Love, Tammy.

If you died right now, I would throw myself into one of my Dad's cement trucks and get poured into your tomb.

I don't why, but Lisa decided she wanted to hurt me, and she knew exactly what to do.

Being suspended is like getting a paid vacation. Why do they think it's a punishment? It's like your dog pees on the carpet and you give him a treat. Then you get in trouble for skipping school, it's so stupid! Hendricks told me, "One more time" and I'd be expelled. Sounded good to me.

Sometimes when I'm sad, I sit and watch the power station. They say if you lie between two of the main wires, your body just evaporates, you become a gas. I wonder what that would feel like.

I don't know what you're referring to, but maybe if certain older, wiser people hadn't acted like such little babies and gotten so mushy, then everything would be OK.

And I think certain older people, like you and your colleague, shouldn't be leching after their students, especially when some of them can't even get their own wives pregnant. And they certainly shouldn't be making slanderous accusations, especially when certain young, naive people's mothers are paralegal secretaries at the city's biggest law firm, and have won many successful law suits. And if you want to keep questioning me like this, I won't continue without my attorney present.

Dear Lord Jesus, I do not often speak with you and ask for things, but now I really must insist that you help me win the election tomorrow because I deserve it and Paul Metzler doesn't, as you well know. I realize that it was your divine hand that disqualified Tammy Metzler and now I'm asking that you go that one last mile and make sure to put me in office where I belong so that I may carry out your will on earth as it is in heaven. Amen.

Yeah, but you know, Coca-Cola is by far the world's number one soft drink and they spend more money than anybody on advertising. I guess that's how come they stay number one.

You might think it upset me that Paul Metzler had decided to run against me, but nothing could be further from the truth. He was no competition for me, it was like apples and oranges. I had to work a little harder, that's all. You see, I believe in the voters. They understand that elections aren't just popularity contests. They know this country was built by people just like me who work very hard and don't have everything handed to them on a silver spoon. Not like some rich kids who everybody likes because their fathers own Metzler Cement and give them trucks on their 16th birthday and throw them big parties all the time. No, they don't ever have to work for anything. They think they can just, all of a sudden, one day out of the blue, waltz right in with no qualifications whatsoever and try to take away what other people have worked for VERY, VERY hard for their entire lives! No, didn't bother me at all!

Some people say I'm an overachiever, but I think they're just jealous.

None of this would have happened if Mr. McAllister hadn't meddled the way he did. He should have just accepted things as they are instead of trying to interfere with destiny. You see, you can't interfere with destiny, that's why it's destiny. And if you try to interfere, the same thing's just going to happen anyway, and you'll just suffer.

One thing that's important to know about me is that I'm an only child, so my mom is really devoted to me. And I love her so much. She wants me to do all the things that she wanted to do in life but couldn't.

When I win the Presidency, we're gonna be spending a lot of time together... Lots and lots and lots of time. President and advisor. Harmonious and productive. Close and special. You and I.

Act surprised. Walk slowly to the podium. Be modest. Thank them for this incredible honour.

Now that I have more life experience, I feel sorry for Mr. McAllister. I mean, anyone who's stuck in the same little room, wearing the same stupid clothes, saying the exact same things year after year for his whole life, while his students go on to good colleges, move to big cities and do great things and make loads of money... He's got to be at least a little jealous. It's like my mom says, the weak are always trying to sabatoge the strong.

Poet Henry David Thoreau once wrote "I cannot make my days longer, so I strive to make them better." With this election, we here at Carver also have an opportunity to make our high school days better. During this campaign, I've spoken with many of you about your many concerns. I spoke with Eliza Ramirez, a freshman, who says she feels alienated from her own homeroom. I spoke with sophomore Reggie Banks, who said his mother works in the cafeteria and can't afford to buy him enough spiral notebooks for his classes.

Tracy, you're a very intelligent girl. You have a lot of admirable qualities. But one day maybe you'll learn that being smart and doing whatever you need to do to get ahead, and stepping on other people to get there... well, there's a whole lot more to life than that. And in the end you're only cheating yourself.

This isn't the time or the place to get into it, but there is, for just one example, a certain former colleage of mine, who made a very big mistake, a life mistake. Now, I think the lesson here is, old or young, we all make mistakes. And we have to learn that our actions, all of them, can carry serious consequences.

I agree. And I also think that certain young and naive people need to thank their lucky stars and be very, very grateful that the entire school didn't find out about certain indiscretions that could have ruined their reputations and their chances to win certain elections.

Dave, I'm just saying this as your friend, what you're doing is really, really wrong and you've gotta stop. The line you've crossed is… it's immoral, and it's illegal.

I'm not talking about ethics, I'm talking about morals.

You might ask if I ever saw Tracy Flick again. Well, I did, just once. I was down in Washington for a museum educators conference, and I stayed an extra day to do some sightseeing. After an inspiring morning on the Mall, I was on my way to the Holocaust Museum, when...

I'll never know if she saw me. Probably not. But in that moment, all the bad memories, all the things I'd ever wanted to say to her, it all came flooding back. My first impulse was to run over there, pound on her window and demand that she admit she tore down those posters, and lied and cheated her way into winning that election. But instead, I just stood there. And I suddenly realised I wasn't angry at her anymore, I just felt sorry for her. I mean, when I think about my new life and all the exciting things I'm doing, and then I think about what her life must be like... Probably still getting up at 5 in the morning to pursue her pathetic little dreams. It just makes me sad. I mean, where is she really trying to get to anyway? And what is she doing in that limo? Who the fuck does she think she is?

The sight of Tracy at that moment affected me in a way I can't fully explain. Part of it was that she was spying, but mostly it was her face. Who knew how high she would climb in life? How many people would suffer because of her? I had to stop her, now.

"Mr. McAllister, Mr. McAllister, somebody tore down my posters, it's not fair, it's not fair. Can I get an A? Can I get a recommendation? Can I? Can I?" Fuck them.

Apples. Fine.

Let's say all you ever knew were apples. Apples, apples, and more apples. You might think apples were pretty good, even if you got a rotten one every once in a while. But then one day...

...there's an orange. And now you can make a decision, do you want an apple or do you want an orange? That's democracy.

What happens to a man when he loses everything? Everything he's worked for... everything he believes in? Driven from his home... cast out of society... how can he survive? Where can he go? New York City! For centuries people have come to New York seeking refuge from their troubled lives. Now I am one of them.

Linda never came home that night. I know, because I waited 10 hours waiting outside her house.

So would that make this an igneous rock or a sedimentary rock? What's the difference between igneous and sedimentary anyway?

Tracy Flick. Tracy Flick. I'd seen a lot of ambitious students come and go over the years, but Tracy Flick, she was a special case.