Traumatized by the Movies

I like going to the movies. I've always liked the movies. When I was a kid, growing up in a town of twelve thousand Midwest souls, I went to the movies twice a week. My favorites were cowboy movies and horror shows. Sometimes, I had to go with my older sister. That was yucky since she always liked musicals or the Doris Day type of lovey movies. You remember; seems like she and Rock Hudson were always in them; eventually kissin' and huggin'.
There are certain movies that stick in your mind and you get shivers up your spine just thinking about a cinema memory. I try to avoid these movies because of the bad feelings I get. Life's tough enough without self-inflicting mental suicide. Saving Private Ryan is considered a classic film. It most likely is but I can't watch it anymore. There was a hand to hand combat scene when a German plunged a bayonet into an American soldier's abdomen. I dislike war movies. I don't enjoy seeing people being blown to bits and I don't like seeing people die in massive numbers. Movies with swords, arrows, and boiling oil fall into the same category.
I used to love vampire flicks. Stick with me now. I also had a tendancy to put ketchup on almost everything I ate. I saw a Dracula show when I was around age ten. It was in black and white but just as some guy plunged a stake into the chest of a female vampire the movie went to color. It was horrible; blood sprayed like an erupting geyser. The scene reminded me of ketchup on a ham sandwich. To this day I cannot eat it. I like ham and I like ketchup, just not on the same slice of bread.
Every kid in the world has seen Bambi. Talk about trauma. How sad was it when Bambi's mom got killed? I don't like crying in a movie but I did. So, thanks Walt Disney. Today, there are about a gazillion deer running around smashing into cars because he made a food source human.
Our good friends, Craig and Pat Burroughs, were over to the house yesterday and told us about seeing a movie that came out on Christmas Day called Marley and Me. Lizzie and I had seen previews of it. I gave a lot of thought to going. The trailers showed a yellow Lab pup reeking havoc on humankind due to bad puppy behavior.
It's owners were doing everything possible to love their cute, furry friend. The previews showed them taking the pooch to a "Dog Whisperer" person. The movie appeared to be happy and funny and it looked like something my four year old grandson could see. I thought it was a comedy and I could just imagine my little buddy giggling all the way through. We lucked out. Craig told us that Marley the dog was, at movie's end, put to sleep; killed; euthanized; died, whatever. What is wrong with Hollywood! These people killed the damned dog and I wouldn't have known if I hadn't heard it from friends. And, it was a Christmas movie to boot! I have to wonder how many millions of little boys and girls are crying themselves to sleep at night thinking about their own, Old Yeller.
The wife and I are going to the movies today. It's her pick and I won't know what it's going to be until we get there. I do know it's at an avant- garde theater so this means, for me, it'll be nap time. She likes movies where somebody reads a poem for two hours. The English Patient was that way. That's okay, though. I'll take a bottle of ketchup for my popcorn and I won't want to jump off a cliff when it's over.