I didn't let any Christmas happen. I Grinched it up so hard I didn't even let it snow! Thanks to me. Our agreement. Our pledge. Our oath!
Yes. Sheer force of will. We said no Christmas, so I had no Christmas.
You must have had a little Christmas.
No egg. No nog. I sat in the dark with the lights off and ate gruel.
Yeah. I did an anti-snow dance. It was humiliating and arduous but I had made a promise to my daughter.
[Rory, Lorelai and Gigi are making popcorn-and-cranberry strands for their Christmas tree. Rory and Lorelai are talking about the letter Luke has asked Lorelai to write]
OK, so what guidelines did he give you?
None. None, no guidelines whatsoever. I'm supposed to write a character reference, so I thought I'd reference his character.
Sounds like you're on the right track.
No, I'm not, because it turns out I can't write.
No, I can't. I stare at the blank page and I just keep staring and staring and eventually I have to get up and lubricate my eyeballs, otherwise they'll fall out of my head like raisins. [Gigi giggles]
Well, are you using a pen? You can't just stare at the paper, you have to have a writing implement of some kind.
[holds up her strand] Look!
You know what I really like? Your cranberry-to-popcorn ratio -- Rory's more of a one-to-one kind of gal, but I'm like you, I like a lot of cranberry, a little popcorn thrown in for flair. [aside to Rory] Yours is pretty too.
I have a writing implement. The problem is that everything I write just sounds so schmucky.
I'm sure that's not true...we're running low on cranberries.
[mocking herself] "Luke Danes is a highly regarded member of this community." Ugh! "Not an ill word can be spoken of Mr. Danes." It's like I'm some documentary narrator from the History Channel. And you know what phrase I keep using?! "Stand-up." "Luke Danes is a stand-up guy. He's an upstanding member of Stars Hollow. A real stand-up citizen." People are gonna think he's turned into a comedian.
Sounds like you're overthinking this. Maybe if you just put pen to paper --
I tried that. I thought, I'll just sit down and write whatever comes. No judgment, no inner critic -- boy, was that a bad idea.
Because my brain is a wild jungle full of scary gibberish. "I'm writing a letter. I can't write a letter. Why can't I write a letter? I'm wearing a green dress. I wish I was wearing my blue dress. My blue dress is at the cleaners'. 'The Germans wore gray, you wore blue.' Casablanca. Casablanca's such a good movie. Casablanca. The White House. Bush. Why don't I drive a hybrid car? I should really drive a hybrid car. I should really take my bicycle to work. Bicycle, unicycle, unitard, hockey puck, rattlesnake monkey monkey underpants." [Gigi giggles]
"Hockey puck rattlesnake monkey monkey underpants"?
Exactly! That's what I'm saying. It's a big bag of weird in there. So I think, well, I need inspiration. I need a muse. Perhaps I need The Muse. Maybe it would help if Sharon Stone would appear to me in an alarming kaftan and coo inspirational words in my ear.
[Lorelai and Babette are carrying a tree in a basket, the phone is ringing]
Hey! Is that your inside phone?
Yeah, well, I'll call them back.
So anyway, I got this negligee with a kind of snake pattern...
So I told Paris, I don't care if it would theoretically increase my chances of getting a grant to go study in Russia, I'm not willing to pretend to be an accomplished rhythmic gymnast.
How do you pretend to be a rhythmic gymnast anyway?
I don't even know. I mean, you whirl around some ribbons, balance a ball on your nose?
Just so you know, that young guy who's been visiting Mrs. Santiago in 236, not her son, he's her boyfriend!
But he's at least 20 years younger than she is.
32 according to the night nurse.
What could they possibly have to talk about?
I don't think they're doing a lot of talking if you know what I mean..
