Rest assured, I wouldn't write an entire post about my love of mall food courts if I didn't think it was absolutely vital to do so. At the same time, I freely admit this love is a touch strange, since I'm highly sophisticated in every other way. I have accomplished many things in this lifetime, and have received several major awards. Here is a brief synopsis of my achievements. Fourth place trophy soccer trophy when I was 12--accomplished. Knew someone who knew someone who joined the peace corps--accomplished. Wooed exotic foreign women. Who only wanted my money. Because I'm an American. Accomplished. I can't pretend I'm not impressed by all of it, because I am--what's problematic is attempting to reconcile my past successes with my current love of food courts. Since that likely can't be done, the only thing left is to tell the truth about why food courts rock so hard.

First, let's take a peek-see at the numbers. Most malls usually have about 12 restaurants in their FC (food court). Picture, in your mind's eye, 12 restaurants in a 30 yard radius. That's like winning a food lottery, but all you have to do is go to the mall. Granted, a vast majority of these restaurants may be Hot Dog On A Stick. There's a very real danger of that. Yet it's possible that 2 of the restaurants might not be Hot Dog On A Stick, so eat up. The second, and most important benefit to a typical food court, is that it represents the broad spectrum of emotion and experience that is the human condition. Just yesterday I was at "the court", and a man sits down 2 tables over, deeply engaged in conversation with himself. What terrible and wonderful things had this wandering soul been witness to? Where was he travelling from? Sears? Possibly, but I didn't see him until he sat down, so I couldn't be sure. Regardless, it was a Saturday, so Two-For-One Tuesdays at Cinnabon was still 3 days off. If that man really liked Cinnabon, then think of his torment, his anger. Can you even enter into that? It is inexplicably beautiful.

Across the way, a pale-faced adolescent female with jet-black hair speaks in hushed and solemn tones to her equally gothic teenage boyfriend, eyeliner hastily-applied. And now he is her ex-boyfriend, because she broke up with him. He probably deserved it. One table over, a baby laughs. Then it vomits all over everything. As you can see, the typical components are there. Sorrow, joy, disappoinment. Stomach discharge. It is inexplicably beautiful.

If what I'm saying doesn't make any sense to you, then you have not the proper regard for life's beauty. I liken you unto an enormous apathetic robot that only makes beeping sounds, and bumps into everything. Perhaps this food court drawing I made will appeal to the last pitiful remnants of humanity which remain within you. Down the road I will explain how this picture is similar to all of Michaelangelo's works put together multiplied by one thousand, but for now, you'll have to take my word for it.

If it makes you feel less sorry for me, that drawing only took me about 3 hours. So I definitely think it was worth it.

In closing, mall food courts teach us first about life. Then, they teach us how there are some seriously weird people out there. And that kind of entertainment can't be bought. Someday you will understand that what I've shared with you today sums up everything there is to learn about the nature of man, as well as human history. But if you can think of anything else, by all means. You can buy me some Hot Dog On A Stick, and we'll talk about it.