INT. JACOB’S DORM ROOM. LATER.

 

Spencer, Nick, Jacob, and Bill lounge around Jacob’s room, passing around a joint. Outside is blue and snowy. Nick is opening a second bottle of wine and Spencer is rifling through Jacob’s record collection. Faust IV plays on the record player.

 

NICK

No way, dude. You’re telling me you think

Neu! 75 is a better album than Low?

 

SPENCER

(smiling)

I don’t think it, I know it.

 

NICK

Fuck off, man. You’re just being contrarian.

 

SPENCER

I’m not! I’m fucking not. You’re the

contrarian.

​

NICK

Sure, I’m the contrarian.

 

SPENCER

You are. If you listen to those back to back

it’s indisputable the musicianship is more

solid on Neu; it just is.

 

JACOB

“Indisputable.”

 

SPENCER

It is! Have you heard that record, man?

Besides, it came out two years before Low.

 

JACOB

That doesn’t make it better, though. Does it?

 

BILL

Kind of an interesting question...

​

NICK

Low’s better. Sorry, dude. It just is.

 

SPENCER

“Sorry, dude.” Says the guy who thinks

fucking Basement Tapes is better than Blood

on the Tracks.

 

NICK

I didn’t say that, man, Jesus! I said I listen

to it more, not that it’s better.

 

SPENCER

Pretty sure that means you think it’s better.

 

NICK

You’re putting fucking words in my mouth.

 

The music abruptly stops. Spencer has lifted the needle. Bill is almost worried a brawl is about to break up but of course not; Spencer removes the record.

 

SPENCER

Bill.

 

Everyone is looking at him. Suddenly he has a sinking feeling in his stomach.

 

SPENCER (CONT’D)

Put something on.

 

He tries not to gulp too visibly.

 

BILL

Yeah?

 

JACOB

Yeah! Be our DJ!

 

BILL

Cool. Yeah.

 

He crawls over to Jacob’s record collection and rifles through slowly. It’s a beautiful mess of seemingly everything that’s ever been recorded -- who knew it could fit into such a small crate? The Germs beside Yes beside Carly Simon beside Klaus Sculze. There are records that don’t even ring the dimmest bell for Bill -- who the fuck are The Flying Burrito Brothers? As he looks, the others talk:

 

JACOB

What about Five Card Stud?

 

NICK

I don’t like it.

 

The Clash? No -- too easy. Not even Sandinista.

 

SPENCER

Stud?

 

JACOB

Fuck. You’re right.

 

Fairport Convention? He doesn’t know the album well enough -- for all he knows there could be a bagpipe interlude from which he could never recover.

 

JACOB (CONT’D)

I just like the thought of using the name

of some classic game. Game names are good

because they’re catchy but, like,

arbitrary.

 

NICK

Old Maid?

 

Laughter.

 

Gladys Knight? Might feel too much like a wedding. Todd Rundgren? Might seem like he just saw Dazed and Confused for the first time. It feels like anything he puts on will symbolize the entirety of his taste -- how can indicate that he shares their omnivorousness, their virtuosity, their whole unwitting ethos? Especially when he’s not totally sure that he does?

 

SPENCER

I kinda like Old Maid. But no, we can’t be

called Old Maid.

 

NICK

“Yo, I’m seeing Old Maid at Webster Hall

tonight...”

 

JACOB

More like, “I’m seeing Old Maid at Madison

Square Garden tonight...”

 

More laughter. Suddenly Bill finds it.

 

SPENCER

What about Trivial Pursuit?

 

JACOB

That’s pretty good.

 

Should he do it? It’s a gamble...

 

NICK

Yeah, maybe. It’s a little wordy, but

I like it.

 

JACOB

Back burner.

 

He’s gonna fucking do it. They may laugh him out of the room, they may kick him out of the band, but if he’s right about his hunch, this is the edgiest choice he could make. It could make him the band member they never realized they needed. He lowers the record and drops the needle. Everyone quiets as the record begins to spin, the needle tracing the blank part of the groove and making making dusty noises. After a moment the sound of a fingerpicked guitar begins to play, quiet and contemplative, accompanied by a similarly wistful piano.

 

JACOB (CONT’D)

Wait, I know this! What is it?

 

Bill has butterflies as the verse begins:

​

DOLLY PARTON

(singing)

Hey, maybe I'll dye my hair...                     JACOB

Maybe I'll move somewhere /            Oh my God, Bill.

Maybe I'll get a car /

Maybe I'll drive so far that I                     NICK

lose track /                           What the fuck is this?

Me, I'll bounce right back

​

 

Shit.

 

SPENCER

It’s so beautiful.

 

NICK

(laughing)

Yeah. Holy shit.

 

Um!!!

 

JACOB

Dolly Parton! It’s from a musical.

 

After another beat:

 

JACOB (CONT’D)

We should do a cover of this.

 

Bill smiles like someone who knows a secret. Spencer points at Jacob approvingly.

 

SPENCER

Good call. That’s really good. A super

straightforward cover; not, like, a punk

version of it.

(to Bill)

Nice choice.

 

NICK

Yeah, man. Thanks for this.

 

DOLLY

I’ll be fine and dandy /

Lord, it’s like a hard candy Christmas /
I’m barely getting through tomorrow /
but still I won’t let sorrow bring me

way down

 

As the chorus continues:

 

JACOB

You guys ever listen to the Sugarcubes?

 

Spencer and Nick nod, though cautiously.

 

JACOB (CONT’D)

I was obsessed with them in ninth grade.

'Cause Homogenic had come out the year

before and I'd , like, played it into the

ground. But yeah, I just listened to

the Sugarcubes again for the first time

since then -- since, like, 1998 -- and was

remembering that time period so well.

Thinking of shit I hadn’t thought of since

it happened. It was Sugarcubes and Neutral

Milk Hotel. And XO.

 

SPENCER

Shit, that’s the real deal.

 

NICK

I wonder what music I’m gonna associate

with this time in my life. I wonder what

I’m gonna think about in general when I

think of this time in my life, other

than, y’know, Percocet.

 

JACOB

Probably, like, the classes you’ve

been taking, the books you’ve been

reading...

 

Nick looks at him blankly, shaking his head.

 

JACOB (CONT’D)

(turning to Bill)

I know what you’d say.

 

BILL

(nervous but also

somehow honored)

What?

 

JACOB

The election!

 

Spencer and Nick look at him with confused but not dismissive expressions on their faces, like they kind of take him seriously.

 

NICK 

Yeah?

 

BILL

(guardedly, transitioning

into heartfelt)

Yeah, man. I... I just keep feeling like I

only have half a life while it’s going on.

Like there’s this big epic battle for the

country happening while I’m, like, figuring

out what I put in my stir fry at the

cafeteria. My life feels so small and, like,

insubstantial in comparison. But then it’s

weird, because...

 

Fuck. He’s stoned and yammering.

 

SPENCER

Because?

 

BILL

Well, because it’s like, the election is

the one that feels more important, but it’s

also the one that’s happening at a

distance. So I get confused, like, which

experience am I supposed to take more

seriously - my day to day life, my

girlfriend, my classes? Or this thing that

involves so much smoke and mirrors, and

millions and millions of people, and tons

of media manipulation, but which has way

bigger stakes? Y’know? Which one takes

priority?

 

A beat as everyone, seemingly somewhat impressed, takes in what Bill just said.

 

NICK

Fuck, man. You’re making me want to

kinda care about this shit.

 

JACOB

Imagine what Howard Dean is doing right

now. Right this minute. He’s probably

really fucking sad.

 

NICK

Or clinging to his last shreds of power.

 

SPENCER

He’s like, “Has anyone picked up my dry cleaning?”

 

NICK

Imagine what he’s been listening to recently.

 

SPENCER

“Loser” by Beck.

 

More laughter. A beat.

 

JACOB

I wonder how he goes back to his day to day life after this.

 

BILL

I know, man. Right? What’s his life

without that dream?

 

The song reaches its fade out:

 

DOLLY

‘Cause I’ll be fine...

(whispering)

I’ll be fine.

 

A beat.

 

SPENCER

Yo, let’s egg shit.

 

SMASH TO:

 

CLOSEUP: SPENCER DOING A LINE OF COKE.

 

CLOSEUP: NICK DOING A LINE OF COKE.

 

CLOSEUP: JACOB DOING A LINE OF COKE.

 

CLOSEUP: BILL DOING A LINE OF COKE.

 

SMASH TO:

​

EXT. ACADEMIC QUAD. A LITTLE LATER.

 

SPLAT! An egg hits the door of the Center for Film Studies.

 

SPLAT! against the windows of the Library department.

 

SPLAT! on the steps to the President’s office.

 

SPLAT! after SPLAT! after SPLAT! on the row of buildings no one’s ever entered: the Peer Assistance Center, the Steinbaum Blackbox, the Geology Museum, the Financial Aid Office. And cheer after cheer, a bump of coke for every bullseye.

 

NICK

Anarchy in the U.S.A., motherfuckers!

 

BILL

Don’t...

 

SPLAT!

 

BILL (CONT’D)

...tread on me!

 

Laughter. Suddenly, headlights illuminate the furthest-off building, gradually moving closer...

 

SPENCER

Duck, guys!

 

They four jump behind the nearby bushes, peering through the leafless branches as the beams glare at them and then pass right by, not slowing at all.

 

NICK

Wasn’t even security.

 

They rise and climb out from behind the bushes.

 

JACOB

This school’s gonna wake up tomorrow

and no one’s gonna know what hit it.

 

BILL

No one.

 

They walk victoriously back to the residential quad, generating enough heat that tonight’s stinging February chill feels exhilarating and slightly mournful, flush with the fleeting but perfect mania of youth fulfilled, of youth gone by.

 

CUT TO: