...busting up my brains for the words

Sunday, August 01, 2004

"The Beloved Mall Of America"

I haven't directed you, dear blog-reader to the streaming NARN program because it still doesn't seem to work. When it does work, you should be able to hear me in the final half hour of the show. They'd conducted an audience quiz. Somehow I came up with the wrong answer. Instead of the Rev. Jesse Jackson, I shoulda said the Rev. Al Sharpton.
It's hard to keep track of all the looney things being said by the Democrats.
Loading into the Mathias van (Their children number nine! And boy, are they ever a well-behaved bunch. Seriously. Beautiful family.) , we struck out from Diamond Bluff back to the Twin Cities.
The Mall Of America is not beloved, so far as I know, as Hugh Hewitt claims in a local radio ad. It is popular and noisy and serves a need....but beloved? Perhaps it is beloved by the merchants who profit there. Nevertheless, I suggested to Dan Mathias that he could drop me off there as it is a major Metro Transit hub and I could bus home from there. Sure, good plan.

While I was there (and on this day it seemed particularly noisy and unsavory...not beloved at all) I decided it has simply been too long since I'd gone to the cinema. There are something like 17 screens at the MOA. After not too much weighing of the possibilities, I chose The Village; M. Night Shyamalan's latest picture. (Couldn't Sayamalan have simply anglicized his name to M. Night? Everyone else in Hollywood seems to understand that in show business, one must have a nom de glam; a glamorous pseudonym that film-goers will remember and be able to spell easily in their blogs. Michael Curtiz understood this. His christened name was Mihaly Kertesz. He went on to direct a little film called Casablanca.) But I digress.

I'm not ga-ga over M. Night Shyamalan's (spspspsps) films, such as The Sixth Sense. But I respect what he's doing. And what he is doing is he is making films (spspspsps) that have a refreshing stamp of singular individuality and creativity. He dares to make films that sometimes feel like embarrassing(spspspsps) student films. So, while I just might judge The Village to be a failure as a film, I have to say it was a success in that it is at the very least an interesting failure. And (spspspspps...)
I had to endure this annoying whispering coming from my right as I sat watching the movie. Maybe they'll stop on their own, I'd thought. Or maybe I can get used to it and it won't distract me from the reason we all presumably paid $8 to see this picture. (spspspsps) There was at least one moment when I'd pondered what the result would be if I stood and yelled in a loud and bellowing voice, "If you don't shut the fuck up I am going to rip off your heads and piss down your neck." I rejected this as it is obvious to me that then I would become more of a problem to my neighbors than these whisperers ever were. (spspspsps) Okay, that's it. I had to, first of all, learn who the perpetrators were.
I leaned down low in my seat, placed my chin in my propped hand and turned my head in the direction of the emanations. Not only were two teenaged girls sitting directly across the aisle.
But they were beaming...BEAMING directly at me. I was in awe. What was so interesting about me that I should be noticed in this auditorium? Was I the subject of all this distracting whispering? I don't see why. As I deliberately watched them, they suddenly realized that I had scoped them out and was scrutinizing their aspect. Sudden fear overcame them. Eyes redirected to the screen. Beaming grins were wiped clean. I continued to study, never taking my own eyes off them. A sneak peak was darted back to me to see if I was still watching. OMG, yes, I was. Look back at the screen!
Now it was time to act and act I did. I got up out of my seat and walked over to these girls and asked in a hushed tone, "What is so funny?"
"What?" They were scared.
"Will you please stop talking?"
"Thank you."
Mission accomplished, as W once said. But was the mission really accomplished? Or would an insurgency arise, making a mockery of the giant sign I'd hung on the conning tower?
No. They actually respected our agreement. And I watched the rest of the movie in focused peace and pleasure.
When it ended the two chatty teenagers were right behind me. I guess they couldn't have been too afraid of me after all.
"What were the two of you talking about in there?", I asked.
"The movie."
"Oh, I see, just like you would at home when you're watching a video, right? Didn't it ever occur to you that you might be disturbing others?
No response.
"Well, I hope you'll not talk in movies again. People want to watch the movie without distractions."
They were now walking away from me. Guess I made my point. What else can I do? Stalk them into the next movie they go to an police their actions? No. That would be too difficult to explain to the authorities. I'd done my job. One or two persons at a time, as I make my way through this disorderly world, I correct the abhorrent behaviors of miscreants and thoughtless teens.

I walked to the Metro Transit station. As usual, it was overcome with loud, abrasive, gum-snapping rabble. A fare of $1.75 got me to the intersection of 35W and Lake Street. And wouldn't you know it, just as I stepped off (debussed?) the 180 express bus, my transfer #21 was whooshing by. Dumb luck. Oh well, it was a beautiful evening and I hadn't gotten my usual Saturday exercise. Why not walk home?
And so I did. While I walked, I pondered. Why can't more kids be well-behaved like the Mathias children? Another good reason to vote for Daniel Mathias.


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