READ ME!


READ ME ... yeah, right. Right?

I'm sick of everyone else having on-line diaries. I want one too.

What is this all about? Maybe you should read the READ ME READ ME.


may 24, 1997:
just a short note about my favorite movie ...


Harold and Maude is the story about a young man who is obsessed with death and suicide and finds what appears to be no joy from living in any way other than tormenting his overbearing mother -- who wants nothing more than to marry him off so that he can be 'normal' -- by faking suicide, and his relationship with an 80-year-old woman who lives life to its fullest through every sense imaginable. Through Maude's death, Harold is given life.

It was (and still is) a controversial film primarily because it shows (gasp) the 18-year-old man and 80-year-old woman in bed together, which was (and still is) considered fairly scandalous. But a lot of my women friends have been dating men a lot younger than them -- some with an age difference as big as a decade or more -- and I think that the world is now changing to be more accepting of Harold and Maude. But that's not the main reason that I like the movie. I like it because of Maude, who reminds me of my grandmother and says some of the most insightful words that any character, in any movie, has ever uttered.

Here are a few:

"Harold, everyone has the right to make an ass out of themselves. You can't let the world judge you too much."

and

Harold: You sure have a way with people.

Maude: Well, they are my species!

(Harold gives Maude the ring)

Harold: Maude, here.

Maude: A gift! (reading the ring) "Harold loves Maude. " (turning to Harold) And Maude loves Harold. This is the nicest present that I have received in years.

(Maude tosses the ring into the ocean)

Maude: So I'll always know where it is.

When Maude is dying:

Harold: I love you. I love you.

Maude: Oh Harold, that's wonderful. Go love some more.

I think that a lot of people are like Harold, not really living their lives, afraid to dive in, to feel. Or they punish themselves for experiencing pleasure. It sounds trite, and I may be exposed as a hippie, but what's so bad about being completely unreasonable and impractical sometimes? What's so bad about taking those risks?

For some reason, I have been fairly happy lately. I cannot put my finger on it, but I think it has something to do with the weather, which reminds me of all of the things there are to do and to experience -- and how absolutely indescribable it feels to be content with the fact that I, like Harold, will probably never fit into the cardboard cut-out that the world wants us to fit into. And that I, like Maude, couldn't care less.


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Copyright 1996, 1997 Rebecca L. Eisenberg mars@bossanova.com. All rights 17 Reserved.