Mike's Dead Quotes

She sees ghosts,” said Samuel, impatient with my whining. "I see dead people,” I deadpanned back. Oddly, it was Uncle Mike who laughed. I hadn’t thought he’d be a moviegoer.

I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said, hugging him closely. She knew better than to ask for details. He almost never talked about the difficult parts of his police work. He said that he didn’t want to bring that home with him. 

Some catastrophic moments invite clarity, explode in split moments: You smash your hand through a windowpane and then there is blood and shattered glass stained with red all over the place; you fall out a window and break some bones and scrape some skin. Stitches and casts and bandages and antiseptic solve and salve the wounds. But depression is not a sudden disaster. It is more like a cancer: At first its tumorous mass is not even noticeable to the careful eye, and then one day -- wham! -- there is a huge, deadly seven-pound lump lodged in your brain or your stomach or your shoulder blade, and this thing that your own body has produced is actually trying to kill you. Depression is a lot like that: Slowly, over the years, the data will accumulate in your heart and mind, a computer program for total negativity will build into your system, making life feel more and more unbearable. But you won't even notice it coming on, thinking that it is somehow normal, something about getting older, about turning eight or turning twelve or turning fifteen, and then one day you realize that your entire life is just awful, not worth living, a horror and a black blot on the white terrain of human existence. One morning you wake up afraid you are going to live. In my case, I was not frightened in the least bit at the thought that I might live because I was certain, quite certain, that I was already dead. The actual dying part, the withering away of my physical body, was a mere formality. My spirit, my emotional being, whatever you want to call all that inner turmoil that has nothing to do with physical existence, were long gone, dead and gone, and only a mass of the most fucking god-awful excruciating pain like a pair of boiling hot tongs clamped tight around my spine and pressing on all my nerves was left in its wake. That's the thing I want to make clear about depression: It's got nothing at all to do with life. In the course of life, there is sadness and pain and sorrow, all of which, in their right time and season, are normal -- unpleasant, but normal. Depression is an altogether different zone because it involves a complete absence: absence of affect, absence of feeling, absence of response, absence of interest. The pain you feel in the course of a major clinical depression is an attempt on nature's part (nature, after all, abhors a vacuum) to fill up the empty space. But for all intents and purposes, the deeply depressed are just the walking, waking dead. And the scariest part is that if you ask anyone in the throes of depression how he got there, to pin down the turning point, he'll never know. There is a classic moment in The Sun Also Rises when someone asks Mike Campbell how he went bankrupt, and all he can say in response is, 'Gradually and then suddenly.' When someone asks how I love my mind, that is all I can say too

It's no use analyzing your life the whole time. Those analyses won't help you when you're dead

Nihilism and irony are really neat until you're dead and the only person who remembers you is your weed dealer. Nothing but a body, only found because it hadn't resupplied on drugs in a while.

Jay sat down across from Chelsea and took both of her hands in his. The oversized lunchroom was buzzing with activity, and he practically had to yell to be heard. "Chelsea, for the love of everything good and holy, please ... please stop ruining my friend." Violet bit her lip to stop from laughing at the two of them. She knew what he was talking about before he even explained. It was the new facial hair. Chelsea jerked her hands out of his. "Oh, relax, drama queen. He's not broken. Besides, I'm gonna fix him this weekend." Jay seemed relieved.

At the 150-minute point of sitting in a standard theater chair, the human buttocks die; once dead, they cannot be revived. They cease to function, whatever that function may have been, and must be carried around like a sack, or two, of flour.

We are in an imagination battle. Trayvon Martin and Mike Brown and Renisha McBride and so many others are dead because, in some white imagination, they were dangerous. And that imagination is so respected that those who kill, based on an imagined, radicalized fear of Black people, are rarely held accountable. Imagination has people thinking they can go from being poor to a millionaire as part of a shared American dream. Imagination turns Brown bombers into terrorists and white bombers into mentally ill victims. Imagination gives us borders, gives us superiority, gives us race as an indicator of ability. I often feel I am trapped inside someone else's capability. I often feel I am trapped inside someone' else's imagination, and I must engage my own imagination in order to break free.

Part of success is just starting something, working toward a goal, and then living long enough to achieve it.

Pluto is dead.

Cal thought: A new player. Terrific. Maybe William Shatner’s in here, too. Also Mike Huckabee . . . Kim Kardashian . . . the guy who plays Opie on Sons of Anarchy and the entire cast of The Walking Dead.

You'll notice that I'll never make a quote about assholes and/or dicks in life. End of story. Dead-end. Avoid like the plague. They always multiply. They're truly the most insecure people on this planet. That pretty much says it all. In conclusion, ignore them with all your might. Never give them your energy.

Life without making progress is dead. What is life if you don't embrace new truths that scare you, meet people who intimidate you, and so on.

Life’s adventures are only possible because of life’s challenges.

So the cold barracks were spared, lonely as they were, and the armories were unscathed, empty as they were, and the larders went unmolested, depleted as they were, and only the common people burned.

I'll be fine ' Pen told me a little curtly. 'Where are you going anyway ' 'The United States. Alabama.' 'Looking for a change of scene ' 'Looking for a dead woman.' 'Get Jenna-Jane Mulbridge to come down here and I'll make you one.

An elusive creature, the fabled coincidence.

Bruce chooses the dead bodies he finds very carefully. They never have young kids.

How long have you loved me?” Mike asked, his voice low. I turned my face to his. “Since you were worried about the squirrel being dead,” I replied. “Since I saw your heart.

Religion needs spirituality. Spirituality does not need religion.

Look, here’s the thing—if you’re in this business and you can cover your overhead by writing exactly what you want, you’re living the dream.

And never again will you put off your own happiness when those you love choose to be unhappy.

Nothing frees you like the truth, and nothing holds you back more than not knowing it. Knowledge is power; it heals what hurts, fills what’s empty, clears what’s confused, lightens what’s heavy, brings friends together, turns dust to gold, and raises the sun.

her voice suddenly gone as if it had snagged on the mist and was carried off into the failing light, leaving the phone dead in my hand, a warm sliver with the screen fading like some luminous shard from outer space which had traveled across stellar distances at great speed to arrive here in my hand where its glow was now losing its heat, gone

Mr S. got angry. ‘Yes, I do have a son. He’s a good-for-nothing. A dead loss.’ I couldn’t ask which prison he was in, so I put it more tactfully: ‘What is he doing?’ He sighed deeply: ‘He’s a professor of mathematics at London University.

Your man won't be reasoned with, brother, but he isn't unreasonable.

Nothing frees you like the truth, and nothing holds you back more than not knowing it.

everything has a reason, there have been no mistakes, love makes everything better, and what doesn’t make sense yet one day will.

You are not meant to bear that which you find unpleasant; you are meant to change it.

Life suddenly makes sense and you want to live forever.

Just do your best; it’ll always be enough. And leave the past to your biographers.

See more. Look with understanding. Help others regain use of their power.

emotions can frequently hurt and cripple, until you begin to grasp that you are their source and thus their master.

To the naked eye death appears random. To the spiritually inclined it appears ordained.

Thor regaled me with his theories about a hypothetical death match between Daryl from The Walking Dead and Mike from Breaking Bad.

Mike, as the only black member of this dysfunctional group, I’m truly amazed that I’m still alive. I mean I’ve watched almost every horror movie ever made, and without fail, if a man of color is in the movie, he dies first. In recent years, however, it has gotten somewhat better. Now, we sometimes make it to second killed, after the ditzy blonde, but I’ve got to imagine that a brother’s life expectancy in any horror setting is generally a couple of hours, at most.

Every night I’d call out my usual, “Honey, I’m home” the way I had for fourteen years. Mike hadn’t been here for almost four of those years, but I greeted him anyway. I supposed it was like having coffee with him in the garden outside the wine tasting room. I couldn’t explain it to anyone without sounding crazy but I knew he was there, watching over me. Talking to him kept him alive and made me less…dead.

So what I’m getting at is this. Okay, maybe it’s cold in the grave. Maybe you come out of the light and you think, Fuck your mother, this is bad. This is worse than anything I would have guessed. But the trick is to clench your teeth, get a running start and dive. When I hit that other country, from whose bourne no traveller back-pedals, I’m going to be moving fast. I’m gambling that the first ten seconds or so will be the worst.

Understanding that one’s worthiness need not be earned. Learning that hearing or saying no is neither a denial of love nor inappropriately selfish. Realizing that it’s no one’s job or responsibility to save or redeem another. Considering that there’s no such thing as a one-and-only “soul mate.” Discovering that self-love needs to come before loving others. Finding that being happy and living in peace does not require sadness and violence.

MY NEWEST FAVORITE QUOTE •As you stir in thought, winds begin to howl, •As you smile, waves of love lap upon eternal beaches, •As you speak, the floodgates of abundance and good fortune begin to tremble, and •As you dream, the stars realign. This is your life. Your power. Know it to use it. Begin today.

It was that well-known problem of social media—with a perverse twist. When you followed a person online, they always seemed perfect. Their family was the happiest family; their trips were the best trips; every picture was wonderful, enviable, something to be desired. But it hardly ever reflected the truth.

Everybody's born to do a certain thing and if you're dead jimmy you've found it. And if you're good at something, just keep doing it until you're fed up...then do something else. look.. You're here to make babies and look after the place. You know ?" (Billy Connolly) Spoken Word on Spiritual city: -Off of Glastonbury Song

I liked DEAD GIRL BEACH. It was intense and scary. I want to read more Sam Seabury novels.” Nujoy Promsorn.…Bangkok, Thailand

Dead, blank, empty air surrounded me, like the moment after the fridge stops humming and you think the silence is a new sound.

By simply refusing to fund a president's unconstitutional conduct, Congress can stop him dead in his tracks - even after the courts have abdicated their responsibilities to do so.

If you have absolutely no idea of which direction to move in, move in any direction.

Without education we are in horrible and deadly danger of taking educated people seriously. — G.K. Chesterton

living deliberately,

happy. Which means follow your dreams, face your fears, and every single day move forward.

Understanding is the elixir of life, the soothing balm that helps dry tears and erase wrinkles.

sometimes in life you must take one step back to take many more forward.

Yet all in all, we’re still a bunch of big kids.

Usually, you’ll see, having more comes from starting with less.

Look to life’s beauty for truth. And look to what hurts for its beauty.

BT barely registered my existence as I pulled the gun from his hand. He looked up at me with a tear-soaked face. “I’ve been bit, Mike,” BT sobbed.

There are angels who dare not tread where you’ve trod and who find your courage utterly breathtaking.

the journey from knowing into unknowing into knowing that you call

Go for love. Dare to see the greater truths.

Why see life with only your eyes, when your heart has double-secret, interdimensional, X-ray vision?

Nothing made sense, except for how much you loved someone.

Why let grief for what “is not” blind you to what “still is and must always be

being of service and making a difference in the lives of others suddenly become what you most want to do.

There are only two times in your life when you get “pronounced.” You get pronounced married and you get pronounced dead. Somewhere there’s a cynic saying, “What’s the difference?

accepting personal responsibility for everything you experience is critical to ultimately

accepting personal responsibility for everything you experience is critical to ultimately discovering your power,

humans are the species that can most affect other species.

to debate which came first, the chicken or the egg, is always futile.

The thinking you, as you have sensed, is not a product of your brain; it is channeled by your brain.

You have inner senses: intellect, intuition, and feelings.

The more you can remove any stakes or pressure—just write as fast as you can type—it’s going to come out better.

Seuls les poissons morts suivent le courant' - Only dead fish follow the current

Life as you once knew it was the dream, and this “new place” is where you dreamt it from.

White Mike was a thinker, his teachers said. This is what he was thinking as he watched his mother's coffin being lowered into the ground. You will not be remembered if you die now. You will be buried and mourned by a few, and what more can you ask for. But you feel so tremendously alone, because you fear that your blood is not strong or good and your friends are few and embattled too. But so what. That is the answer. So what so what so what so what so what so what so what. The world will spiral out from underneath you, and you will find nothing to hold on to because you are either too smart or too dumb to find God, and because what the fuck will Camus ever do for you? Just ideas. You are not an artist, you will not leave something behind. Maybe you are angry only because the way out is through love and you are horny and lonely. And she's dead, of course. Maybe this is the way it is for everybody, only you are weaker, or less lucky, or have seen something they all have not. You have seen that before you lies a great stretch of road, and it is windswept or blasted by the hot sun or covered in snow, or it is dirt or concrete or shrouded in darkness or bright and clear so you have to squint, but no matter what, it is utterly empty. That was what White Mike was thinking.

As a negotiator, Abby could face deranged criminals armed to the teeth, holding numerous hostages, while her voice remained measured, each word de-escalating the situation. But when she talked to the guy she was married to for twelve years, her voice automatically adopted the style of nails dragged on a blackboard, and she couldn’t think of a single word to utter aside from expletives.

Life is not meant to be hard so that you can be happy beyond it. The happy “ending,” therefore, comes with finally understanding those tricky areas you move through while you are alive. The key is that you do indeed need to move through them and not “stop reading at the scary parts”; you must prevail, hang on, and keep trucking to emerge on the other side of whatever the tricky area was.

I know you’ve heard Mike’s side of the story. Let me guess – I cheated on him, and he was outraged, and we argued, and he slapped me, and I hit my head on something and died, right? Fucking liar.

Jules had opted out of this particular trip, declaring that she’d rather jump into a shark-infested pool wearing only a meat bikini than subject herself to a weekend of watching Chelsea gush over Mike. That, and Jules didn’t really like the snow…unless there was a board attached to her feet and she was hurtling down a mountain at Mach speed. Snowmen and hot cocoa weren’t exactly her thing.

Thank you," he said. "Welcome. Welcome especially to Mr. Coyle Mathis and the other men and women of Forster Hollow who are going to be employed at this rather strikingly energy-inefficient plant. It's a long way from Forster Hollow, isn't it?" "So, yes, welcome," he said. "Welcome to the middle class! That's what I want to say. Although, quickly, before I go any further, I also want to say to Mr. Mathis here in the front row: I know you don't like me. And I don't like you. But, you know, back when you were refusing to have anything to do with us, I respected that. I didn't like it, but I had respect for your position. For your independence. You see, because I actually came from a place a little bit like Forster Hollow myself, before I joined the middle class. And, now you're middle-class, too, and I want to welcome you all, because it's a wonderful thing, our American middle class. It's the mainstay of economies all around the globe!" "And now that you've got these jobs at this body-armor plant," he continued, "You're going to be able to participate in those economies. You, too, can help denude every last scrap of native habitat in Asia, Africa, and South America! You, too, can buy six-foot-wide plasma TV screens that consume unbelievable amounts of energy, even when they're not turned on! But that's OK, because that's why we threw you out of your homes in the first places, so we could strip-mine your ancestral hills and feed the coal-fired generators that are the number-one cause of global warming and other excellent things like acid rain. It's a perfect world, isn't it? It's a perfect system, because as long as you've got your six-foot-wide plasma TV, and the electricity to run it, you don't have to think about any of the ugly consequences. You can watch Survivor: Indonesia till there's no more Indonesia!" "Just quickly, here," he continued, "because I want to keep my remarks brief. Just a few more remarks about this perfect world. I want to mention those big new eight-miles-per-gallon vehicles you're going to be able to buy and drive as much as you want, now that you've joined me as a member of the middle class. The reason this country needs so much body armor is that certain people in certain parts of the world don't want us stealing all their oil to run your vehicles. And so the more you drive your vehicles, the more secure your jobs at this body-armor plant are going to be! Isn't that perfect?" "Just a couple more things!" Walter cried, wresting the mike from its holder and dancing away with it. "I want to welcome you all to working for one of the most corrupt and savage corporations in the world! Do you hear me? LBI doesn't give a shit about your sons and daughters bleeding in Iraq, as long as they get their thousand-percent profit! I know this for a fact! I have the facts to prove it! That's part of the perfect middle-class world you're joining! Now that you're working for LBI, you can finally make enough money to keep your kids from joining the Army and dying in LBI's broken-down trucks and shoddy body armor!" The mike had gone dead, and Walter skittered backwards, away from the mob that was forming. "And MEANWHILE," he shouted, "WE ARE ADDING THIRTEEN MILLION HUMAN BEINGS TO THE POPULATION EVERY MONTH! THIRTEEN MILLION MORE PEOPLE TO KILL EACH OTHER IN COMPETITION OVER FINITE RESOURCES! AND WIPE OUT EVERY OTHER LIVING THING ALONG THE WAY! IT IS A PERFECT FUCKING WORLD AS LONG AS YOU DON'T COUNT EVERY OTHER SPECIES IN IT! WE ARE A CANCER ON THE PLANT! A CANCER ON THE PLANET!

What about her? Does she have a name? Not that I care really, but it would be rude to call her ‘new girl’ once Mike and I are dating.” “I have an idea,” Jay suggested, leaning toward Chelsea from across the table. “Why don’t you put together a list of questions, in order of importance, and I’ll have him fill out the answers? Kind of like new-kid homework.” He smiled innocently. “You don’t have to do it now, of course; just try to get it to me before the end of the day.” “Ha-ha.” Chelsea made a face. “You’re freakin’ hilari-ous, Jay.” And then she turned to Violet. “That must be why you like him so much. ‘Cause other than that, I just don’t get it.

Being patient does not mean being passive. Move toward your dreams while you celebrate all that does work, all that you do have, and who you now are. Be with friends. Spend time alone. Don’t worry. Be happy. Look forward. This is surely easier said than done, but that’s just it: if these things were easy, they’d have been done and what would be the point? You signed up for the intensive program: harder in the beginning, more fun thereafter.

These were Odin's army of dead warriors, the Einherjar. They fought on the fields of Asgard each day, feasted and drank themselves to a stupor each night, only to rise—both the dead and the living—to repeat the cycle the next day.

You know she made me a list, don’t you?” “What do you mean?” “A list. Chelsea made me a list of questions to ask Mike.” Violet laughed, pulling herself up. It was too ridiculous to believe. But it was Chelsea, so of course it was true. “What did you do with it? You didn’t give it to him, did you?” Violet asked, her eyes wide with shock. Jay sat up too and grinned, and Violet was sure that he had. And then he shook his head. “Nah. I told her if she really wanted the answers, she’d have to give it to him herself.” Violet relaxed back into the couch. “Did she?” Jay shrugged. “I dunno. You never know with Chelsea.” He leaned forward, watching Violet closely as he ran his thumb down the side of her cheek. “Anyway,” he said, switching the subject, “I get off work at six tomorrow; maybe we can hook up after that.” He moved closer, grinning. “And you can tell me how much you missed me.” He kissed her, at first quickly. Then the kiss deepened, and she heard him groan. This time, when he pulled back, there was indecision in his eyes. Violet wanted to say something sarcastic and sharp-witted to lighten the mood, but with Jay staring at her like that, any hope of finding a clever response was lost. She could feel herself disappearing into the depths of that uncertain look.

In almost every house we’ve been, We’ve watched them gaping at the screen. They sit and stare and stare and sit . . . Until they’re hypnotized by it, But did you ever stop to think, (What) This does to your beloved tot? it rots the senses in the head! it kills imagination dead! . . . it makes a child so dull and blind he cannot think he only sees! —Roald Dahl Excerpt from the Mike Teavee poem from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory as sung by the Oompa–Loompas

Pleased to meet you, Lucy,’ he said. ‘How many crime scenes have you been to?’ ‘This is my second. I went to a suicide in Blackburn two months ago,’ she said. ‘Not technically a crime scene, sweetheart,’ Towler said, smirking. ‘It was by the time I’d finished,’ she replied, looking at Towler without flinching. ‘I told the police in Lancashire that the body had been dead at least two days before they thought it had been. Convinced the coroner to do a post-mortem and Henry confirmed it.

Jay sat down across from Chelsea and took both of her hands in his. The oversized lunchroom was buzzing with activity, and he practically had to yell to be heard. “Chelsea, for the love of everything good and holy, please…please stop ruining my friend.” Violet bit her lip to stop from laughing at the two of them. She knew what he was talking about before he even explained. It was the new facial hair. Chelsea jerked her hands out of his. “Oh, relax, drama queen. He’s not broken. Besides, I’m gonna fix him this weekend.” Jay seemed relieved. “I wish you’d do it sooner. The poor guy’s really taking a ration of crap over that thing.” “He’ll be fine. Trust me. It’s like a character-building exercise. When this is all over, he’ll be a stronger person.” She said it like she meant it. She was actually trying to convince someone that this was all for Mike’s own good. Jay wasn’t buying it, but he let the subject drop when Mike came up behind Chelsea and panted an enthusiastic kiss on her cheek. Obviously, Mike wasn’t too much from Chelsea’s little experiment. Chelsea rubbed the spot where his lips had touched her and made a face that only they could see. “There’s my guy!” she said. “Jay was just telling me that he doesn’t like your ‘stache, baby. But I told him he’s crazy. I think it’s hot.” Mike looked embarrassed that they were talking about it again. Violet realized that it was a sore subject and wondered what Chelsea had done to make him so eager to please her.

It’s the confluence of all this—all that you think, believe, and expect—that shapes your life and death. And just as a gold coin might lie on your horizon, so can and does all else you dwell upon, including new relationships, promotions, relocations, adventures, and more. Some of these will appear quicker than others, some won’t show up at all, and then there’ll be some surprises the logistics and choreography of which are far too complicated for the human mind to track—but not for divine mind.

I really doubt my parents are going to let me stay the night in a remote cabin with a bunch of boys.” “Oh, please, Snow White, Mike’s dad’ll be there. He’s actually kinda funny…you know, in a weird dad kind of way. Don’t worry, your purity will remain intact. Scout’s honor.” She made some sort of gesture with her fingers that Violet assumed was supposed to be an oath, but since Chelsea had never actually been a Girl Scout, it ended up looking more like a peace sign. Or something. Violet maintained her dubious expression. But Chelsea wasn’t about to be discouraged, and she tried to be the voice of reason. “Come on, I think Jay’s checking to see if he can get the time off work. The least you can do is ask your parents. If they say no, then no harm, no foul, right? If they say yes, then we’ll have a kick-ass time. We’ll go hiking in the snow and hang out in front of the fireplace in the evening. We’ll sleep in sleeping bags and maybe even roast some marshmallows. It’ll be like we’re camping.” She beamed a superfake smile at Violet and clasped her hands together like she was begging. “Do it for me. Ple-eease.” Jules came back with their milk shake. It was strawberry, and Chelsea flashed Violet an I-told-you-so grin. Violet finished her tea, mulling over the idea of spending the weekend in a snowy cabin with Jay and Chelsea. Away from town. Away from whoever was leaving her dead animals and creepy notes. It did sound fun, and Violet did love the snow. And the woods. And Jay. She could at least ask. Like Chelsea said, No harm, no foul.

What are you thinking about?” Jay asked as he plopped down next to her. She blinked, wondering if she was wearing her frustration on her face. “Nothing,” she lied, pushing her salad around her plate. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t just tell him. “Doesn’t look like nothing,” Jules interrupted from across the table. Violet cast a quick glare at her friend for inconveniently pointing out the obvious. “What?” Jay asked, nudging Violet with his shoulder. “Tell me.” Violet hesitated, suddenly embarrassed over her new insecurity. Yet, inside her head, she bitterly referred to Mike as “Jay’s boyfriend.” Ironically, though, it was Mike who saved Violet from having to confess those very thoughts, when he slid into an open space on the other side of the table. “What’d I miss?” His lazy smile reached all the way into his tawny-colored eyes, and even the dimples on his cheek made a fleeting appearance. Violet could see the draw for Chelsea; he was sort of stunning to look at. So then what was Jay’s excuse? She jokingly hoped it wasn’t the adorable dimple too.

Hey, baby,” Chelsea said in a voice that bordered on baby talk as Mike bent down to give her a quick kiss. “Miss me?” Violet almost rolled her eyes. “I thought about you all period,” he answered, his voice husky. “Did you get the note I left in your backpack?” Violet couldn’t hold back any longer; she rolled her eyes. Neither of them noticed. “I did. You’re so sweet.” The cooing verged on sickening. “Did anyone say anything about your mustache?” Mike winced, as if he suddenly remembered the patchy hair on his upper lip. “A coupla’ people,” he reluctantly responded, and Violet suspected that he’d taken his hair share of ribbing over it. Chelsea ignored the obvious distress in his voice. “Vi and I gotta run or we’ll be late.” She stretched up to kiss him and then rubbed her thumb across the hairs above his lip as if she were petting them. “See you after class.” Chelsea tugged at Violet, who was still staring at his unsightly mustache. It was like seeing a car accident…hard to look away. “So do you? Like it, I mean?” Violet asked as she was being dragged down the hallway. “The mustache?” Chelsea grimaced. “God, no. It’s hideous on him.” “Then, why?” “I told you, to see if he’d actually do it. Don’t worry. I’m gonna make him shave it this weekend.” Violet wasn’t sure whether to congratulate her friend on her training abilities or reprimand her for being so cruel. In the end, she didn’t do either, mostly because she knew it wouldn’t make any difference. Chelsea was Chelsea. Trying to convince her that what she’d done was wrong would be like banging your head against a brick wall. It would be painful to you but accomplish nothing.

What about her? Does she have a name? Not that I care really, but it would be rude to call her ‘new girl’ once Mike and I are dating.” “I have an idea,” Jay suggested, leaning toward Chelsea from across the table. “Why don’t you put together a list of questions, in order of importance, and I’ll have him fill out the answers? Kind of like new-kid homework.” He smiled innocently. “You don’t have to do it now, of course; just try to get it to me before the end of the day.” “Ha-ha.” Chelsea made a face. “You’re freakin’ hilarious, Jay.” And then she turned to Violet. “That must be why you like him so much. ‘Cause other than that, I just don’t get it.” Claire’s brow creased, as though Chelsea’s statement didn’t make sense. She decided to help Violet out. “No, he’s cute too.” And when Jules started laughing, she added, “Well, he is!” Chelsea was unmoved by Claire’s explanation and, as usual, had to have the last word. “No offense, Violet, but no one’s that cute. That’s all I have to say about it.” And then, in usual Chelsea fashion, she changed the subject before Jay had the chance to remind them all that he was sitting right there.

Never mind, Mrs. Hertzog, don’t worry about it. You don’t have the information I need.” Chelsea smirked at the woman and then pretended to salute her, a dismissal if Violet had ever seen one. To her credit, Mrs. Hertzog didn’t react to Chelsea’s lack of respect. Instead she issued a veiled warning: “All right, but if you change your mind, I’ll be right over there.” Chelsea’s eyes narrowed as she watched the librarian walk away. “Thanks a lot, Violet. Aren’t you supposed to have my back or something?” “For what? The big throw down? Were you planning to fight her? Besides, she likes me. Why should I get on her bad side just because you are?” “As long as you guys are still tight, right, Vi?” Chelsea drawled. “Seriously, though, I need to figure out a way to get Mike Russo to notice me.” “I’m pretty sure he’s noticed you.” “You know what I mean.” Chelsea huffed. “By the way, what’s up with the uptight lady and the hot dude at your car yesterday? And by ‘hot,’ I mean dark and dangerous, of course. Please tell me they’re some distant relatives come to tell you you’ve inherited a family fortune or something. I could use some good news.

What happened?” Violet asked Jay, when Mike went to join the girls in the kitchen, giving them a moment alone in front of the fire. Jay shook his head, his expression dark. “You tell me. One minute you were leaning on me, and the next you passed out. It freaked the shit out of me.” “Claire actually screamed,” Chelsea added, rejoining them. She sat down on a wooden chair across from Violet. “I can’t believe you didn’t hear her. I’m with Jay though-it was pretty scary. You’re lucky he caught you before you hit the ground.” Violet cringed. She glanced up at Jay, humiliated. “You…caught me?” He nodded, and she could tell from the look on his face that he was enjoying this part. A lot. “You’re welcome,” he said with a completely straight face. She looked at him again and rolled her eyes, stubbornly refusing to thank him after he’d already so clearly patted himself on the back. Megan came back in, carrying a mug of hot chocolate, and Claire trailed behind her. “Be careful,” Megan warned quietly, handing it to Violet. “It’s kind of hot.” Their fingertips brushed as the mug exchanged hands. Violet locked eyes with the younger girl. “Thank you.” She imparted as much meaning as she could in the two simple words and hoped that it was gesture enough, even if only for herself. She felt bad for the things she’d suspected her of doing. Megan pulled her hand away and glanced down nervously. “You’re welcome.” Her voice was timid and hesitant. “So she gives you hot chocolate and you thank her. I save your life and get nothing. That’s messed up,” Jay complained. Violet smirked at him over the top of her hot cocoa. “Hers tastes better,” she teased, blowing on the steaming liquid and then taking a sip. “Besides, I think you’ve already thanked yourself.

So it wasn’t a total surprise that Jay would turn a few heads while they were out tonight. She just hadn’t anticipated the power of the two of them together. Two good-looking guys more than doubled the attention they drew. Even among people they knew at the Java Hut that night, Violet and Chelsea became instantly invisible. Girls not only noticed the pair of boys but also giggled behind cupped hands and waved at the two of them. Jay was either unaware or chose to ignore them altogether. Mike, on the other hand, was not. And did not. Not only did he notice the interest he attracted, he seemed to enjoy it. Violet recognized it immediately for what it was: Mike was as much an attention whore as Chelsea. Violet was fine with that. Chelsea, not so much. Violet let Jay draw her through the crowds that bottlenecked near the entrance. She liked knowing that he belonged to her while all those envious eyes looked on. “I guess Chelsea’s not the only one who’s into Mike,” Violet whispered while Jay dragged her over to stand in line at the counter. Jay glanced back to where Chelsea stood on the outskirts of three girls from school who were animatedly chatting with Mike. “Yeah. She’s not doing too good, is she?” Jay agreed. “I thought she’d have him eating out of her hand by now.” Violet wrinkled her nose, worrying over her friend. “You mean like you have me doing?” Violet smiled up at him and then bumped him with her shoulder. “Yes. Exactly like that.” Chelsea caught the two of them spying on her, and Violet flashed an apologetic smile. Chelsea rolled her eyes in response. She sulked as she made her way over to join them. “Get me some fries.” The lack of a question in her statement was somewhat reassuring. She was still Chelsea. Disheartened but bossy.

When they stopped to pick up Mike, Violet started to get out so she could climb in back with Chelsea, giving Mike’s longer legs the front seat, but Jay reached out and caught her wrist. “What are you doing? I want you to sit with me.” His fingers moved to lace through hers as he drew her back inside. “Mike can sit in back.” Violet felt herself blush with satisfaction. Mike came out of his house and jumped down the porch without ever touching the steps. Behind the darkened curtains, the television flickered. “Here he comes!” Chelsea squealed, sounding like a little girl as she bounced up and down in the backseat, shaking the entire car. She clapped her hands with excitement. Violet pulled her seat as far forward as she could to give Mike some extra room. He’d need it if he was going to be confined back there with Chelsea. “Heeyyy, Mike.” Chelsea managed to drawl the two words into several long syllables as Mike slid into the car. The syrupiness of it sounded so foreign oozing from Chelsea’s mouth. “Hey,” Mike said back to her. One word, one syllable. “So I guess it’s just the four of us tonight,” she purred. “Really? I thought we were meeting a buncha people.” “Nope. Just us. Everyone else bailed.” Violet smiled to herself as she listened to Chelsea’s account, amazed that her words came out sounding so…sincere. But Violet knew better. And she realized from the look Jay flashed her that he knew too. Mike, on the other hand, was too new to understand the disturbing way that Chelsea’s mind worked. There was a brief pause, and then Violet swore she could hear a smile in his voice when he answered, “That’s cool.” He might rethink that later, Violet thought, when Chelsea stops holding back and decides to assault him right in the middle of a crowded movie theater. Unless he’s into that kind of thing. She grinned wickedly to herself. And then she wondered if Jay would attack her. She hoped so.

If one wishes to ‘see’ a travelling wave, one must therefore chart air pressure changes through time. One of the first to attempt this was Alexander Graham Bell, who in 1874 procured an ear from a corpse, impregnated it with oil to keep it flexible, and attached a thin straw to its drum. The other end of the straw was allowed to trace a line on a strip of soot-covered glass which was moved along as the ear was shouted at. This wobbly line was the first recording of a sound wave and the device was called an ear phonautograph. To the relief of those who had to construct them, later versions dispensed with dead ears in favour of metal diaphragms.

One night, when Violet’s parents had gone out, he teased her about it, whispering against her throat, “I should probably be dating girls my own age now that you’ll be over-the-hill.” Jay was stretched out on Violet’s bed as she curled against him. Violet laughed, rising to the bait. “Fine,” she challenged, pulling away and leaning up on her elbow. “I’m sure there are plenty of men my own age who would be willing to finish what you’ve started.” Jay stiffened, and Violet realized that she’d struck a nerve. “What is it?” He shook his head, and Violet thought he might say, “Nothing,” so when he answered, his words caught her off guard. “Is there someone else, Vi?” Violet frowned, baffled by the unfamiliar jealousy she saw on his face. She wondered what in the world he meant as she reached down and smoothed a strand of hair from his forehead. “What are you talking about, Jay?” His eyes met hers. “I saw you with that guy at the movies, Vi. Who was he?” Violet closed her eyes. She wasn’t ready yet. She didn’t want to tell him about the FBI, about Sara and Rafe or what she’d learned about Mike’s mother. She wondered briefly if he knew about Mike’s mom-if his friend had ever confided in him. But somehow she doubted it. Jay wasn’t like her; he didn’t keep secrets. “It’s not like that,” she explained, hoping that would be enough. Jay got up and went to the window, pushing the curtain aside. Every muscle in his body was rigid. “Like what, Vi? What’s going on? Something’s been bothering you lately. Why can’t you tell me?” He was right. She owed it to him to at least try. “I don’t know how to explain, but I just feel like everything’s changed between us-“ “Of course it’s changed, Violet, what’d you expect?” Violet tried to ignore the bitterness in his voice, telling herself she had no right to be hurt. “It used to be that I would never keep secrets from you. You were my best friend. But now that we’re dating, it’s just…different. I feel like I have to watc what I say, or you get all worried. Sometimes I just want you to be the old Jay again, so I can talk to you.” Violet crept up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek against his back.

I saw a guy the other day at a wedding, and I told him my theory on why we’ve seen this explosion in comedies in the past fifteen years. Number one, America is tacking hard to the right. That sort of extremism always kind of kicks up the need to create comedy. But the second thing is Avid. What’s Avid? It’s a digital movie-editing program that directors use, and it’s incredibly helpful. I think Avid is hugely responsible for this boom in comedy. In the past, one would have to shoot the film and edit it, which was a big deal. Now, filmmakers can record the laughs from a test audience at a screening, and we can then cut to the rhythm of those laughs, the rhythm of the audience. We synchronize the laughs with the film. We can really get our timing down to a hundredth of a second. You can decide where you want your story to kick in, where you want a little bit of mood, where you want a hard laugh line. All of this can really be calibrated to these test screenings that we do. It doesn’t mean that it becomes mathematical. It still ultimately means that you have to make creative choices, but you can just really get a lot out of it. Sort of like surgery with a laser compared with a regular scalpel. We’re able to download a movie onto the computer and literally do all our edits in minutes. The precision is incredible. You play back the audio of the test screening and get everything timed just right. Like, “This laugh is losing this next line; let’s split the difference here.” You’re able to achieve this rolling energy. You can try experimental edits, and do multiple test screenings, and it’s all because you can move so fast with this program. Comedy is the one genre that I think has just really benefited from this more than any other.

So what do you guys want to do first?” Claire asked excitedly from the backseat. “Oh my God, Claire. I don’t know, but maybe you should ask us again in five minutes. We haven’t had enough time to think about it since the last time you asked.” Chelsea’s mood had gone downhill quickly during the car ride into the mountains, and she had lost her patience for everyone-including Claire-who was usually safe from her temper. “Effin’-A, Chels, I was just asking.” Claire’s lips drew together tightly as she crossed her arms in front of her. It was as close to swearing as Claire ever got. Claire must have really been tired of Chelsea’s snippy tone. Chelsea didn’t apologize; instead she closed her eyes and took another deep breath, leaning her head back against her seat. “Do you want me to pull over again?” Jay asked, glancing anxiously at Chelsea in his rearview mirror. He shot a nervous look at Violet, and Violet knew exactly what he was thinking. He didn’t want Chelsea to puke…in his car. Chelsea sighed with annoyance. “Why, Jay? So I can walk around in the cold again, talking about how fucking-yeah, that’s right, Claire, I said fucking-sick I feel? No, thank you. Just keep driving. The sooner we get there, the sooner I get out of this hellhole.” “No offense taken. Right, Jay?” Mike laughed, hitting Jay’s headrest playfully. Apparently he thought he was safe from Chelsea’s caustic remarks. He wasn’t. “That’s too bad,” Chelsea shot back without opening her eyes. “Maybe someone should take offense. Maybe it’s not the car making me sick, maybe it’s the driving.” Violet started to laugh but caught herself, just barely, in time to stop the sound from actually escaping her lips. She covered her mouth with her hand so that only those with their eyes open could see her. Ha-ha, Jay mouthed, when she glanced sideways in his direction, making it even harder to contain herself. Sorry, she mouthed back to him, when she finally felt like she had enough control not to laugh.

A couple of years later, I found out an angry hog is even worse than an angry beaver. My buddy Mike Williams invited me to go hog-hunting with him on a cantaloupe farm. Wild boars were destroying the cantaloupe crop, and the Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries gave the landowner permission to have hunters kill the hogs. They even let us chase the boars and shoot them from the back of a truck while the game wardens watched the proceedings from a distance! Now, I’d never hunted hogs, but a few of the guys I was hunting with claimed they were experts. We shot one or two hogs apiece and then chased a 360-pound boar into an adjoining cotton field. My buddies convinced me to go into the overgrown cotton field and attempt to flush the hog out into the open. About a hundred yards into the thick brush, I heard the hog grunt. The hog was so close to me that when I put my scope on it to shoot, I couldn’t tell if it was its front end or rear end! I fired my gun. Unfortunately, I shot the hog in the rear, which only made it madder! The hog turned around and charged toward me. I turned and ran out of the cotton field. I felt its tusks clipping at my ankles as I ran. Fortunately, I stayed ahead of the hog until we reached the cantaloupe field, and then to my surprise the hog fell into a heap. It was dead. I looked at my buddies and they were laughing and rolling on the ground. I thought it was a very strange response to my almost getting devoured by a vicious wild hog. I didn’t know I’d lost control of my bladder during the chase!

Chelsea was something else. Like an unstoppable force of nature. Similar to a hurricane or a tornado. Or a pit bull. Violet admired that about her. And, in this instance, Chelsea had proven to be nothing less than formidable. So when Jay had mentioned earlier in the week that they might be able to go to the movies over the weekend, Chelsea held him to it. A time and a place were chosen. And word spread. And, somehow, Chelsea managed to unravel it all. She still wanted the Saturday night plans; she just didn’t want the crowd that came with them. She’d decided it should be more of a “double date.” With Mike. Except Mike would never see it coming. By the time the bell rang at the end of lunch on Friday, everyone had agreed to meet up for the seven o’clock showing the next night. But when they split up to go to their classes, Chelsea set her own plan into motion. She began to separate the others from the pack and, one by one, they all fell. She started with Andrew Lauthner. Poor Andrew didn’t know what hit him. “Hey, Andy, did you hear?” From the look on his face, he didn’t hear anything other than that Chelsea-his Chelsea-was talking to him. Out of the blue. Violet needed to get to class, but she was dying to see what Chelsea had up her sleeve, so she stuck it out instead. “What?” His huge frozen grin looked like it had been plastered there and dried overnight. Chelsea’s expression was apologetic, something that may have actually been difficult for her to pull off. “The movie’s been canceled. Plans are off.” She stuck out her lower lip in a disappointed pout. “But I thought…” He seemed confused. So was Violet. “…didn’t we just make the plans at lunch?” he asked. “I know.” Chelsea managed to sound as surprised as he did. “But you know how Jay is, always talking out of his ass. He forgot to mention that he has to work tomorrow night and can’t make it.” She looked at Violet and said, again apologetically, “Sorry you had to hear that, Vi.” Violet just stood there gaping and thinking that she should deny what Chelsea was saying, but she wasn’t even sure where to start. She knew Jules would have done it. Where was Jules when she needed her? “What about everyone else?” Andrew asked, still clinging to hope. Chelsea shrugged and placed a sympathetic hand on Andrew’s arm. “Nope. No one else can make it either. Mike’s got family plans. Jules has a date. Claire has to study. And Violet here is grounded.” She draped an arm around Violet’s shoulder. “Right, Vi?” Violet was saved from having to answer, since Andrew didn’t seem to need one. Apparently, if Chelsea said it, it was the gospel truth. But the pathetic look on his face made Violet want to hug him right then and there. "Oh," he finally said. And then, "Well, maybe next time." "Yeah. Sure. Of course," Chelsea called over her shoulder, already dragging Violet away from the painful scene. "Geez, Chels, break his heart, why don't you? Why didn't you just say you have some rare disease or something?" Violet made a face at her friend. "Not cool." Chelsea scoffed. "He'll be fine. Besides, if I said 'disease,' he would have made me some chicken soup and offered to give me a sponge bath or something." She wrinkled her nose. "Eww." The rest of the afternoon went pretty much the same way, with a few escalations: Family obligations. Big tests to study for. House arrests. Chelsea made excuses to nearly everyone who'd planned on going, including Clair. She was relentless. By Saturday night, it was just the four of them...Violet, Jay, Chelsea, and, of course, Mike. It was everything Chelsea had dreamed of, everything she'd worked for.