Dick: Tommy, how are you coming along with our histories?
Tommy: Oh, I have them right here. Legal documents, school records, doctored pictures, the works. Dick Solomon, class nerd, held back by a domineering mother, went to work for NASA in '74, but was fired after a minor procurement scandal. Newspaper clippings are enclosed. Major burnout led to a string of second-rate teaching jobs... yada, yada, yada, ending up here.
Dick: Well, this is excellent.
Sally: What about me?
Tommy: Sally. Stockbroker during the greedy '80s. Made and lost several fortunes before psychological problems and gender confusion led to a sex change operation in 1988.
Harry: I'm next.
Tommy: Harry. Harry, you're adopted, but we haven't told you yet.
Harry: Oh, that's gonna hurt.

Nina: The administration office called. They contacted Stanford about transferring your graduate records, but they don't seem to have them.
Dick: Are you implying that I don't have records? All humans have records, and I'm a human. Therefore, I have records.
Nina: I'm sorry, but Stanford says they have no record of you at all.
Dick: Oh, those incompetents. Do I have to fly out to Denver and straighten this out myself?
Nina: Stanford's in California, not Denver.
Dick: Well, that explains it. They lost my records in the move.

Mrs. Dubcek: Oh, the '60s. What a lovely, lovely decade. You know, a lot of the stuff in this apartment is from the '60s.
Dick: Boy, classic things never go out of style.
Mrs. Dubcek: Well, those long-haired freaks thought they were so cool. Let me tell you one thing. I was reading poetry with Jack Kerouac in a cage in 1956, both of us buck naked.
Dick: Yes, well, thank you for that disturbing visual.
Mrs. Dubcek: I didn't hear Kerouac complain.

Tommy: All right, I found another box in the basement.
Dick: What's "X-mas"?
Tommy: I don't know, but it's got to be something psychedelic. Check this out. [holds up Christmas lights]
Dick: This is heavy.
Sally: Far out.
Harry: My mind is blown.
Dick: Who is this?
Tommy: [holds toy Santa] I think it's Jerry Garcia.

Mary: You know, I think I have something. I found it when I moved eight years ago. It's in the freezer. It's a joint.
Dick: Oh, a doobie. Let's Bogart that fat boy.
Mary: You know what I regret? I never made it to Woodstock.
Dick: Ah, yes, Woodstock, the three-day concert held on a farm in upstate New York that included many of the most popular music bands of the time, felt to be the culmination of the counterculture movement, captured by the song, "Woodstock," by Joni Mitchell.
Mary: Found it!
Dick: The song was popularized by Crosby, Stills & Nash, which is ironic since theirs was the more commercial version which is the antithesis of the spirit of the festival.
Mary: Here we go. [Mary lights up] This isn't a joint. It's a frozen French fry. Oh, well, I guess we'll just settle for wine.

Sally: These deodorants are a rip-off. They always run out by the time I get to my feet.

Harry: Dick, the mail's here. Ooh, it's my package from the Carousel CD club.
Dick: You infiltrated a club?
Sally: Good work, Harry!
Harry: I got 10 CDs for one penny. All I've got to do is buy eight more at regular store prices, which are often at or below retail store prices.
Tommy: Well, way to go.
Harry: Like taking candy from a baby.
Dick: Such primitive technology. I wonder if the people on this planet will ever discover the superior sound of vinyl.

Mary: Isn't this interesting? They opened up a hard rock cafe in Vietnam. The world has changed, huh?
Dick: It sure has. Once it was completely covered with ice.

Dick: "Enriched wheat flour, butylated hydroxyanisole, sodium acid pyrophosphate." [eats Twinkie] Needs more butylated hydroxyanisole.

[As Trisha Yearwood's "She's in Love with the Boy" plays]
Sally: This is so sad. Country singers have really tough lives. Why?
Harry: What's her complaint? She lives in a trailer. She could just roll away somewhere, and the CD club would never find her.
Sally: What are you talking about?
Harry: Do you have any idea what's involved with this? The paperwork, the decisions. Why didn't I go with the Cheese of the Month club? No guesswork, just cheese.