6/12/11 - An Ode to the Carmike Movie Theater
As I drove on 422 with some friends the other night, we got to talking about how they're building a new movie theater in the complex where the Philadelphia Premium Outlets is located. Of course, we were on our way to see a movie in King of Prussia, because it is a well-known fact that if you want to actually enjoy the movie, you've got to get out of Pottstown. Go to Oaks at the very least. However, if it wasn't for Carmike, I wouldn't be able to appreciate Oak's plushy bucket-style seats, or K.O.P's palatable popcorn.
I remember going to the Carmike Theater as a little kid to see The Rugrats Movie, and several other cartoon films that tortured my parents to the brink of tears. I'm pretty sure that Pokemon: The First Movie was the pinnacle of my prepubescent life. I'm also sure that after that, my mom developed an intense hatred for vibrantly-colored, imaginary Japanese animals that only speak using variations on their names.
Yet my relationship with the Carmike Theater was just beginning. As I entered my preteen days, the Carmike Theater transformed from super-fun kiddie movie house, to the coolest place to go on a first date. If you went to Pottsgrove, Pottstown, or any of the schools out in Coventry, you know what I'm talking about. You'd struggle between a super cheesy comedy (any of the Scary Movies for example) or think (if you’re a guy, because no ordinary girl is leaping at the chance to see a horror flick) you’d increase your odds of making out because you took your date to see The Ring Two and they’d be scared out of their mind, and thrust themselves into your lap (I took a nap afterwards, but apparently that movie scared some people.)
Your primetime was 7:00pm or 7:30pm: right after you had walked the entire Coventry Mall 4,312,345 times. If you went on a Friday night, you were guaranteed to be in the company of at least eight of your classmates doing the same thing (although you aren’t with them of course, you’d avoid them all like crazy, unless you were doing the ever popular “double date.”) You’d eat a classy dinner together at the food court, and then you’d risk your foolish 13-year-old lives running across Schuykill road. The movie would be done by 9 or 9:30, and either your or your date’s parents would find this time reasonable to pick you up to take you and your date home while they asked you awkward questions.
I think the best movie I saw during those years was The Lizzie McGuire Movie. Holy God, that girl had no acting abilities, but her movie tickets sold about as rapidly as its more recent equivalent: the Twilight Saga. By the time my childhood best friend, her mom, and I reached the ticket window, it was completely sold out. So we did something that I don’t recommend, but found to be incredibly successful in Carmike’s zero-surveillance layout: movie hopped. Scandalous, I know. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this tactic, you purchase a ticket to a movie located in the same hallway as the movie you want to see that is sold out (this does involve a bit of strategy and a minor amount of reconnaissance on the part of one person).
Once your ticket stub is ripped in half at the entrance to the corridor, you are basically free to roam that hallway, and enter any theater in it (as long as no one catches you, so don’t screw this part up!) When we got into the theater to see the Lizzie McGuire movie, not only did I feel like a badass, I was with my best friend, and we were going to see the greatest movie of our young lives. We managed to find three seats next to each other, and BAM! I got to see my small screen heroes travel to Rome (I knew Lizzie would finally get with Gordo!) You really outdid yourself on that one, Carmike.
As I grew older and had my movie-viewing tastes refined by the infinitely preferable Oaks Theater, and the even more luxurious King of Prussia Imax, the Carmike Theater was put on the back burner. It was good for saving money, but what was the point in saving money when the experience was so awful, you didn’t even care anymore? The last time I went to Carmike with my parents was to see Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest. The only thing rolling in harder than the waves under the Black Pearl was the stench of vomit in a sweaty movie theater in the summer time. Delicious.
I ventured back to Carmike a few more times after those days. I saw Zombieland there with my best friend back in 2009. We still got into the movie even though it had started playing at least ten minutes prior and nobody even cared that we ran into the dark theater and crashed around trying to find seats. I went to Carmike on a date in the summer of 2010 (after walking around the mall and eating in the food court like it was 2004). Yes, we saw a cheesy action/comedy. I think the movie had more action than we did. Awk. My brother went to see Alice in Wonderland there in 2010, and he told me that there was a guy in the back row that was so stoned, he laughed through the entire show. Those final days at the Carmike were quality to say the least.
Alas, as the Mercury prints articles on the closing of Carmike, and the building of a bigger, better theater, I realize all good things must come to an end. I still have all of my old Carmike ticket stubs in the little “Claire’s Jewelry” wallet I carried back in those days tucked away on my bookshelf. Yes, we knew this day was coming . . . and not a moment too soon.
6/15/11- Doors Unlocked and Open (almost)
As I stepped outside my front door this evening, I caught the faint fragrance of chlorine on the breeze. Ah, suburbia. With my shaggy, bear-like dog, Ginger, by my side; we set off on a walk around my neighborhood. We walked up the hill where my friends and I used to skateboard down, or “street-luge”, in the summers past. We reached the end of the “small block” where my brother and I first learned to ride two-wheeler bicycles, and Ginger and I hiked up the next hill that marked the “big block”, where I would later ride once I had graduated to a mountain bike, and where I later still would learn to drive. On this hill I encountered four young girls, the oldest of which couldn’t have been older than ten. It reminded me of the summer days I spent on these suburban streets with my “crew”; these roads were ours for bike races, made up games, and aimless wanderings for so many years until one day we woke up and they weren’t. I can’t put my finger on the day the street lost its magic for us: it’s like knowing a secret all your life until one day you can’t remember it anymore; or passing through a door that locks behind you, but you don’t have the key in your pocket. New kids play on the streets now; they ride their bikes past my house. I wonder if they know how to make boats out of Legos and float them down the gutter in the heavy summer rains, or if they swim in the creek behind the cemetery during the hot days in May before the pools are open. Ginger and I rounded the corner that leads back to my house. The warm golden light of the setting sun spilled over the streets that were once the “El Dorado” to my friends and me. On days like this, I can almost feel the key in my pocket once more.
6/26/11
When you’ve got a heart as vast as the sea, and just as deep, you’re gonna get hurt. It’s not necessarily a bad thing: it means you have genuine experiences, and truly attempt to connect with everyone you meet. While it’s not always a happy life, it’s a real one, and that’s worth more than all the material riches in the world. If someone decides that they’re only going to make you an option when you make them a priority, do yourself a favor and leave. They’re not worth it, and if they don’t see you for who you are and what you do for them, they never will be. The world is a better place with you in it. Never forget that.
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