Ugh. The Humanity.

Having come to a good plateau in my weekend’s work, I decided it was a good time to get us hence to the mall to grab a new pair of boots for John. The sub-zero weather and drifts made this kind of necessary.

Seeing that we would be there, anyway, we decided to go see Harry Potter while we were at it. I wanted to get it over with, especially before the two Potter fiends in my life come to visit over break. (Anyone out there who doesn’t consider themselves a dyed-in-the-wool Potter Head will sympathize with my lack of enthusiasm over going to the movie with big fans of the franchise.)

The sidewalks here seem never to have met a plow or shovel, but we eventually made it to the Conestoga Mall. Excitement! Absolutely crawling with scowling, unhygienic and possibly insane Christmas shoppers, and dripping with gaudy and horrible Christmas tackiness. I had forgotten that the American Thanksgiving marks the official start of the holiday crapulence at shopping centers. Yet, there I was, in the middle of Santa’s worst nightmare, watching sad people buy intently cheerful crap while threatening to rip their children’s limbs off if they didn’t shut up. Ah, yes. Christmas.

What better way to celebrate the birth of Jesus than to buy a Made-in-China plastic non-essential for your child and then spend a month threatening to take it away from him if he doesn’t sit down and shut up? It warms the heart.

Anyway, we managed to work our way through Payless, which was completely wall-to-wall soccer mom, and then to Zellers to grab a winter’s supply of dry cat food (the only place in town to get his brand). By the time we figured out there was no place in the mall to get food that hadn’t been slapped with a million cold cuts and a hundred dirty service gloves, it was about the time to head to the theatre for the bloody, freaking “magic” that is Harry Potter. All I could think of was getting home, but I said I’d go, so I went.

But when we entered the Galaxy such a sight hit me that I very nearly wet myself. Fifteen different lines, without signs telling us which one was for what. Flashing lights everywhere. Dozens of teenage theatre employees walking around like bomb survivors. Kids EVERYWHERE! It was horrible. If I close my eyes now, I can still hear the screams.

So, needless to say we did not deem it worth while to see a movie that I can take or leave, in a situation like that, for nearly thirty bucks. For that price I could BUY the freaking thing on DVD when it comes out. We came home and watched the Nibelungen (1923), instead. I stand by my decision.

So do not expect a review of Goblet on this blog for some time. Harry, it seems you and I will once again wait and meet in home entertainment format. I think I’ll live.

Say, “Goodbye, money,” Galaxy Cinemas. Say, “Goodbye.”