Adolescence is dangerous.

Sunday afternoon I got a call from Emilie.

Come on out and play.

No, I'm tired.

Come on!

Fuck you.

Let's go watch a movie.

Leave me alone.

Insistent as she was, I couldn't decline. I figured, I can sit at home and let my brain rot while watching another B-grade straight-to-TV movie, or I could go to the movies and pay Hollywood to send more shit to my town. Staying home was free ... but I just had to go out. Hadn't left the house in a bit anyway.

"What are we gonna watch?" I ask.

"The Village."

"I'm staying home."

Today's horror movies are crap. They all follow the same formula. People live normal, uneventful life. Something strange happens. People die. Sex and nudity. More people die. Hero confronts the evil and wins. Dependent on the director and script writer, you can add puns and one-liners at random anywhere in the movie. Don't forget your cliches.

"Bourne Supremacy," I suggest.

Fine.

Emilie's a good driver. She's the kind of person I want to be in the car with when I don't have a death wish. My cousin Pat, on the other hand. Driving with him is a good way to die if you like The Who.

We arrive at the movie theater. Loew's, not Island 16. Loew's, not the more comfortable, more expensive, and adolescent-unfriendly Island 16. Loew's, where teen hormones run rampant and people are generally idiots. Not Island 16, where we pay for a good environment. Damn I should have insisted on Island 16.

The entrance to the theater is packed full of kids. Age range 12-14. They're all smoking, fondling each other, and blasting rap music. Someone talks about their slutty girlfriend. Someone talks about their abusive boyfriend. There's a whole row of them sitting on the island, wearing frilly dresses and surf wear from the Gap.

Inside on the line there's a group of guys. Age range 12-14. Mental age range 3-5. One of them is bald, and prone to fits of screaming while talking. His eyes bulge out of his face when he talks about the greatest joint he ever smoked. The other guys laugh and chug out random catch phrases.

My life is a straight-to-TV movie. Everyone I come in contact with is a bad actor, and within the course of this movie, they'll be dead. Too bad it won't be by some giant black monster from outer space that feeds off of brains to live and is sustained by radiation from the conveniently nearby nuclear power plant. Instead, their killer will be cancer. Or an STD.

At least my life is a comedy.

The line to the concession stand is not too long. In fact, it'd be a lot shorter if this fatass and her posse didn't cut in front of me and Emilie. God she was annoying. If I thought the bald crackhead on the ticket line was bad, I was wrong. He's Jesus compared to this girl. This one screamed. Loudly. And right in my face too. Of course, she wasn't directing it at me. No, it was just casual conversation with her friends. About what, I don't know. Must have been a topic that completely justified obnoxious screaming in public.

She couldn't stand still either. She's the kind of person that makes you wish you could strap her down to a chair and force-feed her Riddilin.

God they're annoying, Emilie says.

I agree.

Like I said, she couldn't stand still. First she cut us in line. Emilie and I moved to the other line. Then the girl leaves her line, and walks in front of and passes us. Then she comes back again. And again.

And again.

I got my popcorn, only to find out that the butter is now self-serve. Emilie leads me over to the butter distributor. There are two of them. Two guys were there already putting butter on their stuff. Well, one guy was at least. The other couldn't figure out that pushing the red button makes butter come out. Age range: 15-17. Mental age: 2.

He finally figured out how to do it though, with an exclamation of enlightment. "A-ha! I've found it!" He sounded like he found out what happens at tangent 90. As I put my popcorn under the distributor, he cuts right in front of me and takes his dear sweet time with the butter. He drowns his popcorn with it. 30 seconds go by. One minute. Two minutes.

Artery age: 52 and clogged, susceptible to high blood pressure and heart attack. Or angina pectoris, whichever comes first.

Bourne Supremacy is awesome. No explanation needed, no review needed. My neighbor during the movie sucked.

Emilie and I are watching the movie. The guy and his girlfriend come and ask if the seats next to us are taken.

Nope.

He sits down.

Click.

Click.

Click.

He's chewing his gum. Real loud. And popping it.

Age range: 20-22.

Mental age: fetus.

At every plot twist in the movie, I'd hear, "Awwwwww shit!!!! Hoo hoo!!"

Don't go to Loew's. It's a b-grade horror movie that has no happy ending. An H.P. Lovecraft story.

Outside, the kids are still loitering in front of the theater. They're still fondling each other. Still smoking. The rap music is still really loud, but now it's coming from the parking lot. A Chevy Blazer drives by, filled to the capacity inside. And outside. Two girls hung from front door windows outside the car, and the driver would speed up and then immediately stop.

And they all laughed.

Age range: 17-19.

Life expectancy: five minutes.

Adolescence is dangerous.