Sugar Town

Keep... in shape.

Perform a random act of kindness,

at least once a day.

Like, uh...

give a lowlife a dollar or something.

Go veggie.

'Cause eating anything that has a face produces bad karma.

And avoid sugar.

Avoid cocaine.

But don't give attitude.

Remember, it's just as easy to have rich friends

as it is to have poor ones.

That is so true.

Make album with hot producer.

Must have at least one Grammy under his belt.

Appear on David Letterman...

get to know Dave. Those dumbasses

from high school are, like, servicing the Slurpy machine.

And there you are,

staring at them from the cover of Entertainment Weekly.

Attend Grammys...

with, um...

Tony Bennett, or, uh... Tony Curtis.

Some other cool old guy.

Or Stevie Nicks!

I want to do it all.

And there's no reason I can't,

as long as I work at it.

After all, stardom is one percent inspiration

and ninety-nine percent perspiration.

I think Cher said that.

Hey! Here we are again.

Mr. Rock 'n' Roll himself. Is this your vehicle, sir?

I'm going to have to ask you to move it.

- What's up, dude? - Come on.

- Yeah. - Come on, come on.

Well?

They hated it.

- Fuck! - Fucking wankers!

What do you mean, they hated it?

- They didn't hear a single. - Well,

a single... I mean, that's all in the production, isn't it?

If the fuckers hadn't've been so cheap,

they could've had a proper demo. - We're totally fucked.

The I Ching says "Surely all things are unfolding as they should."

And there are plenty more record companies--

- Plenty... - It's probably a blessing in disguise.

Be a real blessing when you lose your house!

What about my alimony?! - I'd rather be paying off a tart

than a fucking smashed-up Lear jet, I'll tell you that for nothing.

This is not about the money

for me.

I mean, we've all done that, right? - None of us

were ever as rich as you, you fuck. - Yeah,

you got all the teeny-boppers and Mr. Classic Rocker

was filling football stadiums! - Those were very expensive tours.

I mean, we had staging-- - We were all

in fucking great bands, seminal bands, and we're all great musicians.

And we should be making records. That's the point.

- Hey, where's the cordless? - Over there where you left it.

- Hello? - Hey, Burt,

it's Carl. - Carl, what's going on?

What's going on? Well, there's my wife, three kids,

a baby due any minute,

three horse, six pigs,

a bunch of dogs. - Yeah, that's a lot of mouths to feed.

Isn't it, though. Where's my cheque, Burt?

Carl, I thought that we discussed this. You remember?

It's when the demo gets picked up that everybody gets paid, Carl.

You remember?

Well, the demo did not get picked up.

In fact, it got rejected.

- When can I expect it? - Carl?

Hello! Burt King. This is Burt King.

I do not stiff studio players, all right?

Now, I've got a little cash-flow problem,

I'm gonna resolve it. You know what that's like, right?

These fucking record company pussies...

You know what? I'm gonna give you one week.

Shit.

- Are you off? - Yes, ma'am. Off to rehab.

Take me about an hour. - Okay. Here, finish up.

Thanks, honey. Okay? I'll make you guys lunch.

Who's coming for lunch?

Uncle Rick, the junkie.

The junkie's coming home! The junkie's coming home!

They're your kids.

So, is there any particular... area you want me to work on?

Um...

openness.

Just openness.

Okay. Open to what?

Um, love.

Oh, God, that's just so embarrassing.

I... Does it sound really dopey? - No.

Of course not.

I'm, uh...

you know, taking a hiatus from...

work.

Uh, 'cause I think

if I'm gonna attract a successful, loving relationship, you know,

into my life, that I need to devote...

at least as much time to... be open to that happening

as I have to my career so far.

What do you do?

Um, I'm a production designer. You know, for movies.

Well...

your first chakra, your genital area, is completely blocked.

- Really? - Uh-huh.

And your heart chakra... - Mm-hmm?

- You think too much. - Oh.

Stop thinking.

- Okay. - Turn around, please.

Sssso...

you're gonna...

unblock my chakra?

- Yes, I am. - Uh-huh.

And then what happens?

Well, the rest is up to you.

- Oh, God. - I can't bring you a lover...

but if you want to be open, I can help you with that.

Oh, that's far out.

Hi, honey.

How was the audition?

I don't wanna talk about it.

They want me to play Christina Ricci's mother.

Well, that's great.

Isn't it?

As of today,

I am officially one of those guys without a recording contract.

- Shit. - The label

rejected the demo. We've been dropped.

Oh, honey, I'm so sorry.

Yeah, it's not so bad, actually.

Even so, I know how much this meant to you guys.

Burt must be crushed. - Well, he's not gonna go out that easy.

He's got a plan.

He thinks we should go ahead and record the album anyway.

He thinks we can get a private investor

to bankroll us.

We can sell the album on the Internet.

- Burt and his plans. - You know,

we can make, like, $5 a unit, as opposed to one with the label.

Gotta love Burt.

Yeah, I dunno, I think it's worth a try.

The label said there wasn't a single on the demo.

Since when do you listen to those pigs?

I haven't had a song in the Top 20 for five years now.

Neither has Dylan.

So what's wrong with playing Christina Ricci's mother?

Well, for one thing...

she's not a child anymore. She's a goddamn ingénue.

So?

She's, like, 18 years old.

And?

Do the math, Clive!

I'm too young to be that girl's mother!

Right. Right.

You'd rather be anywhere but here...

- What do you want? - What do I want?

The songs I paid you $200 to write for me? That's what I want.

Come back tomorrow. I'm sick today.

Kevin, don't be an asshole. Let me in.

Jesus.

Well?

It's awful.

Fuck you. You know I'm sick, man.

Look, Kevin, I know

that you're strung out and everything,

but look at Exile on Main Street. Okay?

The Stones were on smack through, like, the whole thing

and it's probably their best record.

The Stones had Spanish Tony to bring them their dope

on a silver platter. I can't even cop a bag

of shitty Mexican this week. - I don't even know

what that song is supposed to be about.

I mean, I asked you very specifically for three things.

Okay, I want one first-person song about a girl, okay?

And she's in a mental hospital

and, like, society doesn't understand her--

- Yeah, yeah-- - And I want

one upbeat dance song

and I want one Fiona-type sensitive ballad about a rape.

Look, Gwen, you know, it's fine to ask for all that stuff,

but something else to, you know, write it

and make it good. You can't just, like,

shit it out. It's gotta come from someplace.

You're just a greedy junkie, that's all.

You're just trying to manipulate me

here to help you get some dope, huh?

- Wouldn't hurt. - Fine,

I'll see what I can do, okay? But you better finish my fucking songs.

And they better be hits.

- Hi, Clive! - Good morning, ladies.

Oh, Clive, I wanted you to have this.

Uh, thank you. Very much.

What do you want me to do with these?

- Wear'em. - Yeah?

Could you sign this for me?

- Sure. What's your name? - Elise.