The Eye of Hurricane Asshole

The Mall of America carries a strange stigma for me. Growing up, obsessed with all things amusement parks, rides, and themes, Camp Snoopy was always on my travel wishlist. The first time I visited the Mall was in seventh grade, if I'm not mistaken. I loved it. The log ride was my favorite, being that it was heavily themed, it was creative, it utilized the space it resided in beautifully. I went back the next year after that, again I loved it.

Flash forward to college, particularly the University of Minnesota Twin Cities. Freshman year, right when you started school, if you were an out of towner, the MOA was one of the only things to do outside of campus, other than going to the Metrodome to check out Gophers football and downtown to Block E to catch a movie or play video games at Gameworks before 9:00pm (when they turn into a full out bar). So, the MOA was visted often, a companion to the trepidation I held for being out of the nest and away from my parents for the first time. I go back to that place in my head still whenever I visit the MOA. Especially when I frequent the amusement park in the middle.

As time wore on, the Mall was naturally seen as a sore in the Twin Cities. The natives were done with it, we grew older and wiser . . . we worked there. I never did, but a lot of my friends have or do. Whenever I venture to suggest a MOA trip to the clan, I tend to get a lot of groans as an answer. The Mall does magnify the generation below my own in an unfavorable light. I was hissed at on two separate occasions recently by passersby teenagers. The women there are of the fake Stepford Wife hopefuls, the men the American Eagle/Abercrombie/Hollister consumers. Within Nickelodeon Universe (what the former Camp Snoopy is called now) these dour personalities dissipate, leaving happy families, couples, and goofy braces laden teenagers in their stead. I like the amusement park. It tends to separate the pretentious from the happy souls. And I find it to still be a good date spot.

You can tell a lot about a person, especially if they have or currently work at the Mall, when they are within the confines of the nucleus of the largest shopping center in America. It's like a psychological screening. People who shun the park will most likely never be called upon for many out of the house romps by my person. The pro-park peeps: I've become best friends with people at this place. It makes me realize the intricacies within the personalities of the company I keep. I'm asking them to journey into a courtyard of a compound surrounded by asshole, shallow minded consumers. The very nature of our impending demise as a society is unmasked without remorse at the MOA, and I'm asking artists/intellectuals/level headed people to go there with me to have fun in an unironic way. It makes me realize there are people willing to goof off with me, wearing immaturity on their sleeve. My kind of people.

To my companion in tonight's Universe jaunt: it was beautiful. All pure, all good. Another found soul mate revealed as we were laughing at the bottom of the Log Chute's last drop.

The Kills -- "Black Balloon"