As I Sit Here

waiting for Nelson to return from work, the question that I'm so often asked runs across my mind: what's your deal with shopping malls?

It's something that I really can't cohesively explain. I'm not a shopaholic. Shopaholics will go anywhere to shop. There are lots of places I try to avoid - Wal-Mart being one of them. Shopping is really the least of my concerns when malling. If I come across something I like, and I have the money, I'll buy it. If not, then not. Often times, I come away without buying anything.

I like to go just to look. I love the architecture. I love the layouts. I love the design. I just love being there. The mall is its' own little unique universe, and I enjoy checking it out.

Don't worry. I've seen the looks before - like the one this entry is probably being given right now. It's nothing new to me, and I'm not offended. I used to hide my love for malls, like some sort of shameful disease. I wasn't a mall chick per se. I didn't go to watch guys or get my nails done. You were more apt to find me in the record store, or the arcade.

I was in my first real mall when I was 3 or 4, with my Uncle. It was somewhere in the Dallas area. He took me for a ride on the escalator. I demanded we go up and down several times. Upon leaving, I wanted to be taken back so I could ride the "eskimo" a little more. I still haven't lived that down. We got our own mall in 1977. I was very disappointed that there were no "eskimos" to be found. It's a smaller one story mall. On my first trip to our mall, when it was brand new, I was so taken by the sights that I walked away from my mom and grandma, and got lost.

Over the years, my affection for malls has not dwindled. I got good at spotting who owned (or formerly owned) a mall just by the look of it. I could spot a Crown American or DeBartolo mall at 20 paces. I also began discovering that little slice of heaven known as a dead mall.

Dead malls come in varying degrees of deadness, and I found my first one when I was preparing to leave for college. My mom was diappoined that the place was a bust, but I was enthralled by the emptiness - the eerieness of the muzak playing, lights and fountains going, and hardly anyone shopping. Dead malling becomes a game after a while. Trying to figure out what store was where, and laughing at attempts to make a go of a former store facade without changing it much. I hid my delight in finding such an establishment. Then came the internet.

One day, someone turned me on to deadmalls.com, and I found out I wasn't alone. There's a vast network of people out there who enjoy doing what I do. I've made a lot of friends through that site, and I proudly proclaim my love of shopping malls.

My name is Railyn........and I'm a mall addict. Hey, it could be worse.