Humans are my species

I love to watch people. I love to think about why they do things. For instance, the father of a friend of mine has a weekly routine. On Saturday mornings when he takes the dog for a walk, he puts an old dishtowel around his forehead to be his “sweat band,” finds his cigarettes and rolls them up in his T-shirt sleeve ’50s style, and fills his water bottle with his “Bloody Maria,” which is a bloody Mary made with tequila instead of vodka.

Now, c’mon. How can you not love that guy already? I’m not sure where I’m using him, but that father is going in a story or a novel of mine somewhere.

Last night, Nate and I watched “Harold and Maude,” a great character movie. H&M reminds me of what I love about my favorite films and books. There’s something about the people that makes me want to keep watching what they do. Like Maude stealing cars and explaining, “Well, if some people get upset because they feel they have a hold on some things, I’m merely acting as a gentle reminder: here today, gone tomorrow, so don’t get attached to things.” Some of my other favorites in the movie: Harold’s constant fake suicide attempts; Maude: “Get the shovel, Harold.”; the hearse; the funerals; the nude modeling. And, finally, “Oh, Harold ... that's wonderful. Go and love some more.”