PHILADELPHIA: A man enraged by a noisy family sitting near him in a movie theatre on Christmas night shot the father of the family in the arm,
police said.
James Joseph Cialella, 29, of Philadelphia, told the man's family to be quiet, then threw popcorn at the man's son, police said. The victim told police that Cialella was walking toward his family when he stood up and was shot.
Detectives called to the United Artists Riverview Stadium theatre in South Philadelphia found Cialella carrying the weapon, a .380-caliber handgun, in his waistband, police said.
Cialella faces six charges that include attempted murder and aggravated assault. He remained in custody on Saturday. Police said bail had been set, but they did not know the amount.
Lt Frank Vanore called the incident “scary that it gets to that level of violence from being too noisy during a movie.''
Vanore said the 31-year-old victim from suburban Yeadon was hospitalized in stable condition after the shooting. His name had not been released.
It was not immediately known whether Cialella had a lawyer. A woman who answered a call to Cialella's home number on Saturday declined to comment.
A theatre manager referred calls to Regal Entertainment Group spokesman Dick Westerling, who did not immediately return a phone message on Saturday.
Police could not confirm what movie was playing in the theatre, but The Philadelphia Inquirer reported that it was ``The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.''
Showing posts with label christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label christmas. Show all posts
Matt Keenan: We wish you a gory Christmas
Christmas is different when your children don’t believe.
For boys at least, the anticipation, the excitement, the magic — gone. The secular and spiritual holiday traditions relegated to a list of demands of overpriced and completely unnecessary items. Still, you remain steadfast. The Advent calendar, picking out a tree (with daughter), decorating it (same), baking (same), Christmas cards — all go on.
Nevertheless, the Christmas list remains foremost in your mind. So, sensing a collective bargaining session on a par with the UAW, I raised the issue first with the boys: “We are in a recession. People are getting laid off everywhere. So let’s cut to the chase. What do you really need this year? Forget the iPhone, car, TV for your room, satellite radio, or Apple laptop, OK? Shoes, shirts, pants? What?” They grunt a couple of times, look up from the computer, and then tune me out. So I move on to more pleasant tasks, like plunging the toilet.
Days turn to weeks and suddenly it’s a December weekend and your wife says “we have to get the boys something. Tonight is probably the best time.”
So last Friday we went to Best Buy. Immediately I noticed bunches of other 50ish parents who, like us, were pretending to have a life. Once there, my wife sent son #3 — who was on a bus enroute to a concert in Lawrence — this text: “tell me exactly what you want. Now.” His reply was quick — a short list of games, and happily none of the non-negotiables.
So we quickly filled the list, and when we got to the cashier, there was no line behind me. So I figured I’d inquire of the dude about to ring us up what we were about to buy. A big gamer, no doubt. He was pleasant and informed.
“What you have here are the latest popular games. I’ve played them all. Take this first one.” On the cover was a man draped in body armor, holding a gun that could bring down small planets. Like a T-Rex — big muscles, tiny brain. “Gears of War 2. Does your son have Gears 1?” Blank stares.
“He probably does. This is an extension of 1 and is quite good. I’ve played it a lot. It’s pretty violent with gore and rough language but it represents a new level for live action games. Like Call of Duty, only I think it’s better.”
“This second game — I like this one, too.” Holding up a game cover that features a hand missing a thumb, splattered with apparent blood, pasted against a toxic green color background. “I would describe this as a cooperative first-person shooter game. It’s cool. It pits four survivors of an apocalyptic pandemic against armies of infected zombies. If you’ve seen the movie ‘28 Days Later,’ it’s kinda like that.”
I perk up. “I saw that movie.” “Really? Cool. So that’s Left 4 Dead. He will like that one.”
“Then you have this game, Crysis: Warhead. Like the other ones, this has multi-player modes. They’ve added new weapons, vehicles and enemies to use in your arsenal. The new protagonist is this guy named Pyscho, and the action is sick.
“The next one, Prince of Persia, did he want this game too?”
My wife shook her head. “No. I picked this one out.”
“OK, it’s rated teen, but it’s still a fun game, a fantasy game where the good guys get big swords and chase bad guys. And the last game, NCAA Basketball. Fun game.”
In 10 minutes we turned a holiday emblematic of spiritual gift-giving into fantasy games with infected zombies and battles with Psycho. So maybe this year we will start a new Christmas tradition, a perfect fit for night-owl gamers: Christmas Eve Mass. That should raise their spirits.
Merry Christmas!
For boys at least, the anticipation, the excitement, the magic — gone. The secular and spiritual holiday traditions relegated to a list of demands of overpriced and completely unnecessary items. Still, you remain steadfast. The Advent calendar, picking out a tree (with daughter), decorating it (same), baking (same), Christmas cards — all go on.
Nevertheless, the Christmas list remains foremost in your mind. So, sensing a collective bargaining session on a par with the UAW, I raised the issue first with the boys: “We are in a recession. People are getting laid off everywhere. So let’s cut to the chase. What do you really need this year? Forget the iPhone, car, TV for your room, satellite radio, or Apple laptop, OK? Shoes, shirts, pants? What?” They grunt a couple of times, look up from the computer, and then tune me out. So I move on to more pleasant tasks, like plunging the toilet.
Days turn to weeks and suddenly it’s a December weekend and your wife says “we have to get the boys something. Tonight is probably the best time.”
So last Friday we went to Best Buy. Immediately I noticed bunches of other 50ish parents who, like us, were pretending to have a life. Once there, my wife sent son #3 — who was on a bus enroute to a concert in Lawrence — this text: “tell me exactly what you want. Now.” His reply was quick — a short list of games, and happily none of the non-negotiables.
So we quickly filled the list, and when we got to the cashier, there was no line behind me. So I figured I’d inquire of the dude about to ring us up what we were about to buy. A big gamer, no doubt. He was pleasant and informed.
“What you have here are the latest popular games. I’ve played them all. Take this first one.” On the cover was a man draped in body armor, holding a gun that could bring down small planets. Like a T-Rex — big muscles, tiny brain. “Gears of War 2. Does your son have Gears 1?” Blank stares.
“He probably does. This is an extension of 1 and is quite good. I’ve played it a lot. It’s pretty violent with gore and rough language but it represents a new level for live action games. Like Call of Duty, only I think it’s better.”
“This second game — I like this one, too.” Holding up a game cover that features a hand missing a thumb, splattered with apparent blood, pasted against a toxic green color background. “I would describe this as a cooperative first-person shooter game. It’s cool. It pits four survivors of an apocalyptic pandemic against armies of infected zombies. If you’ve seen the movie ‘28 Days Later,’ it’s kinda like that.”
I perk up. “I saw that movie.” “Really? Cool. So that’s Left 4 Dead. He will like that one.”
“Then you have this game, Crysis: Warhead. Like the other ones, this has multi-player modes. They’ve added new weapons, vehicles and enemies to use in your arsenal. The new protagonist is this guy named Pyscho, and the action is sick.
“The next one, Prince of Persia, did he want this game too?”
My wife shook her head. “No. I picked this one out.”
“OK, it’s rated teen, but it’s still a fun game, a fantasy game where the good guys get big swords and chase bad guys. And the last game, NCAA Basketball. Fun game.”
In 10 minutes we turned a holiday emblematic of spiritual gift-giving into fantasy games with infected zombies and battles with Psycho. So maybe this year we will start a new Christmas tradition, a perfect fit for night-owl gamers: Christmas Eve Mass. That should raise their spirits.
Merry Christmas!
Matt Keenan’s book, Call Me Dad, Not Dude, is available at Borders and online at thekansascitystore.com. Write to Matt at his Web site, matthewkeenan.com.
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