The Life Of Christ, As Told By That Scene From Moonstruck Where Nic Cage Tells Chrissy To Bring Him The Big Knife

Matthew 3:4-11

“Now John himself was clothed in camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist; and his food was locusts and wild honey. Then Jerusalem, all Judea, and all the region around the Jordan went out to him and were baptized by him in the Jordan, confessing their sins…[He said]:

‘Therefore every tree which does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. I indeed baptize you with water unto repentance, but He who is coming after me is mightier than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.”

John 8:54

“Jesus answered, “If I glorify myself, my glory is nothing.”

Matthew 6:2

“Truly I tell you, they have already received their reward.”

John 2:1-4

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.”

John 6:34-35

They said to him, “Sir, give us this bread always.”

Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life.”

Matthew 26:33-52

Peter said to him, “Though all become deserters because of you, I will never desert you.” Jesus said to him, “Truly I tell you, this very night, before the cock crows, you will deny me three times.” Peter said to him, “Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you.”

Then he came to the disciples and found them sleeping; and he said to Peter, “So, could you not stay awake with me one hour? Stay awake and pray that you may not come into the time of trial; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak…”

Then Jesus said to him, “Put your sword back into its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword. 

Matthew 18:7

"Woe unto the world because of offenses; for it must needs be that offenses come, but woe to that man by whom the offense cometh."

Matthew 21:18-19

Now in the morning, as He returned to the city, He was hungry. And seeing a fig tree by the road, He came to it and found nothing on it but leaves, and said to it, “Let no fruit grow on you ever again.” Immediately the fig tree withered away.

Matthew 8:20
And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head.”

Luke 7:37-38

And behold, a woman in the city who was a sinner, when she knew that Jesus sat at the table in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster flask of fragrant oil, and stood at His feet behind Him weeping; and she began to wash His feet with her tears, and wiped them with the hair of her head; and she kissed His feet and anointed them with the fragrant oil.

A Working Script For Any Extreme Sports Documentary

[V.O. - offscreen talking head]

So if the _____ doesn’t get you, then the _____ will. And if there’s no _____, you’re not off the hook yet, because that means the _____ is on the way. So at this point it’s just you and yourself out there, after ____ hours and _____ miles of _____. Your last _____ left hours ago. You don’t know what time it is, you don’t know if there’s anyone left out there still competing, and it’s like: Why am I doing this again?

[Cut to VISIBLY-UNHINGED OLD-TIMER with a backcountry beard]

Yeah, I started the competition back in ‘71…couple of us guys had been doing a local version of it for three, four years when we heard about the D.B. Cooper manhunt on the shortwave. I turned to my buddy Teeth Garrity – we called him that on account of how he still had all of his teeth even after a decade of [name of extreme sport] – and I said, Hell, I could do that. And that’s how things really got started.


Sometimes you have to ask if someone has to be crazy to do this.


I’ve heard crazy – obsessed – fanatic – addicted –

[Cut to shot of CONTENDERS milling around by the start point; in the background several WIVES and GIRLFRIENDS put together meal packs, assemble trail gear, and set up camp.]


It’s not, heh, a game of tiddlywinks down at the malt shop with your kid grandmother.


Oh yeah, you definitely get addicted to it.


And I’m bleeding, I’ve got tears running down my face, I’m missing most of my shoes, and I have to ask myself – am I crazy? [Laughs] But maybe it’s everyone else who’s crazy.


Imagine, okay, imagine like a pickup game with the 1960 national basketball team. Nothing but hall of famers – Adrian Smith, Terry Dischinger, Walt Bellamy. Now imagine instead of a ball it’s a nine-day course without a map or an anchor rope. And if you miss a free throw, you die. And the referee is the Donner Party. That’s basically it.


It’s, heh, it’s not the annual Harvard-Yale boat race.

THE LONE FEMALE COMPETITOR, WITH UNBELIEVABLY MUSCULAR ARMS [Last seen in the background of the “setting-up-base-camp” sequence, quietly assembling her own gear and talking to no one]

I’ve been coming back every year since 1988, my second year in grad school.


And have you ever completed the course?


No, sir. Not yet. But every year I fail out on a different part of the course. I never make the same mistake twice. And I get a little farther than the year before.


Everyone tells you, you know, okay, go ahead and live for the weekend, just put in the hours and get a great job and make a ton of money and then when you’re sixty you can retire and do all the things you didn’t have time to do before. But you could die any minute.


I mean, could I go buy, I don’t know, some closed-toed shoes and like, walk into a job interview and start licking envelopes all day like my dad did? Sure. All my girlfriends wanted me to. And they were great girlfriends, with lots of envelopes. But I think you can’t really appreciate those envelopes until you’re out here, you know, getting eaten by wolves while you have to saw off one of your feet, to really appreciate just how great not getting eaten by wolves while you have to saw off one of your feet is. And, you know, my dad died before he even got to retire, so what’s the point of wearing shoes that cover your toes up if you can’t even be sure you’re going to make it to retirement?


It’s not, heh, the Akron Soap Box Derby with your daddy’s manicurist at the wheel.


Look, some people, they maybe train to do a little city marathon for their thirtieth birthday or something, and that’s great. Maybe you take it a little farther, maybe you get accepted to ____ and you manage to get through the first loop, make it home with a nice little war story. But I’m here to do something no one’s ever done before. I didn’t come here to lick envelopes with my dead dad.


Back in ‘82 we started handing out a trophy to the first guy to quit and come down off the mountain: The Blister Pack.


Yeah, I guess I got pretty sick of looking at the Blister Pack.


Same guy won it ‘85, ‘86, ‘87, ‘88, and ‘90-’92.


I lost a foot in ‘88 so I had to take the next year off. But I was back the next year.


Some people have no business _____.


I’m just hoping not to get the Blister Pack. Obviously I want to finish. But as long as I’m not the first off the mountain, I’ll be happy. [Laughs] Although I guess we have a different definition of “happy” than most people. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here.


Three days in, I’m bleeding, I’ve got tears running down my face, I’m missing most of my shoes, I don’t know where the next check-in station is, and I’m saying to myself: This is the happiest I’ve ever been.


I’m not happy unless I’m out there. You know? Sure, you might die out there, but dying’s mostly fake. Or it’s like, a fake idea.


Maybe you have to be a little crazy to be happy doing this. Or maybe you have to be happy doing this in order to be crazy. I don’t know, you know? I’m just a particle physicist.


I do not accept this word, crazy. Excuse me, my soup is ready and I must ingest 600 calories in the next 45 seconds to stay on schedule without losing consciousness.


It’s not, heh, a leg of the Tour de France with pretty little baskets to hold your flowers and your baguettes in as you cruise down the Pyrenees. You want to go do that, they’ve got a signup sheet a mile long.

"My Clean Floor" And The Battles You're Only Aware Of Once You've Lost

The other day I caught myself about to say the following to someone I love very much: You need to dry your feet so you don’t track water all over my clean floors.

I didn’t say it, obviously; I choked it back in horror and crept into a cave for several days to reflect on how things had gotten this bad without my realizing it – how on earth I could have turned into the type of person who refers to something as as unlovable and quotidian as a floor as something that could ever be mine? A person doesn’t just say “Careful of my clean floors” once and then never again. It’s the beginning of a lifetime of calling out “I just mopped!” and having rules about not opening the windows after sunset because of the bad night air and having a favorite cleaning rag and monitoring how many paper towels your guests use. If you claim the floors like that, that’s it, everything’s over. The floors will claim you right back, and for the rest of your life, you’re responsible for keeping them clean. It’s like alcoholism where the real problem is that first drink. Once you’ve said – once you’ve had the conscious thought – “You’re tracking water all over my clean floors,” that’s it. The show’s over. In fifteen years you’ll be telling your daughter things like “blue isn’t really her color” and “I’m just trying to help you look your best; there’s no point in getting snippy with me” and I don’t even have kids.

It wasn’t one of those “Oh my God, I’m turning into my mother” moments because to the best of my recollection my mother has never said anything like that. Maybe June Cleaver, or Diane Amos the Pine-Sol lady, but I’m definitely going to have to reach way further back in time than my mother for the origins of “my clean floors” deep within my soul. Better to look to the past than to the future, because what is there to hope for? People who say “Careful of my clean floors” never also say things like, “I’ve noticed the floors are getting dirty. Have you noticed it too? Can we set aside some time to clean them together?” They clean the floors secretly, and in the dead of night, and for the primary of purpose of getting one over on the other people they live with. It’s a hop, skip and a jump away from saying things like “When I’m dead, then you’ll realize how much I always did around the house,” and all I want people to realize when I’m dead is how much they were all in love with me.

I cast my mind back. I investigate my own spirit. But I find no source, no origin. When did it begin, this rot in my soul? When did the house claim me? When did I become The House Noticer? Walk past the fridge, register idly There are thumbprints on the handle. Gotta clean them off. Crumbs in the vegetable drawer, too; someone’s going to have to lift them out with a damp paper towel. And the Pledge gets the dust off the kitchen table but it doesn’t do a thing about the water-glass rings, so someone’s going to have to find out what does that. Are any of the bath mats damp? Wait for the afternoon light to come in the windows so you can see just how not-really-clean all the surfaces really are, giving the lie to the idea that you live in a world filled with order and sense. The house has a secret language all for you, and the last thing in the world it wants is for you to share that language with someone – anyone – else.

The house doesn’t want the floors clean. What the house wants is a Clean Floors Monitor, eternally bound to the state of the floors, always admonishing, always testing, ever vigilant, eyes trained forever downward to catch an errant crumb or a shower-fresh footprint. What the house wants is for you to leave your mother and your father, set up enmity between brothers and sisters, and marry the floors. Well, I won’t do it. Come on over and keep your shoes on.

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