We live about five miles from the Mall of America, so every ten years or so I go. Today was the day for the 2010s. The occasion was a kid's birthday party at Build-A-Bear. Some places (Target Field) I love and others (like everywhere retirees move to) have for me no appeal at all. (Line from Seinfeld: "My parents live in Florida now. They hate it, but they're retired, and there are laws.") I'm conflicted about Mall of America, however.
If I liked The Mall (as we call it here, "Southdale" being Southdale and "Ridgedale" being Ridgedale but "The Mall" being The Big One that you hear tourists talking about in the seat behind you while landing at our airport) I'd go more than once a decade. The Cathedral of Consumerism aspect of it repels me, and I felt sort of nostalgic today for the era when birthday parties were at the birthday kid's house and cost mom and dad a Duncan Hines cake mix and some candles. Also, if you are inclined to sneer--and I am--The Mall allows you to practice. Every ten minutes or so you see something not less eye-opening than, say, a morbidly obese woman of indeterminate age sipping a vat-sized soft drink while blocking the escalator's passing lane: she is wearing slippers [sic], sweatpants, and a tent of a t-shirt that, you realize when you spot her again later, bears a message advancing the cause of the National Rifle Association. If I never left south Minneapolis, I'd doubt the polls showing Trump at 40% and rising.
On the other hand. What a critic said of The Canterbury Tales--"Here is God's plenty"--could be said of MOA. If you don't like it, you must not like life. All the people, to all appearances from every conceivable demographic group, out on a Sunday afternoon to have a little fun. Who can be against that? So what if I'd rather read a book or watch the Twins. Someone correctly observed that the Puritans opposed bear baiting not because it was cruel to animals but because people enjoyed it. They'd hate MOA, too. Therefore it gets a mark in the credit column.
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