Wannabe Zombie

Zombies are my guiltiest of guilty pleasures. I know there is utter silliness at the core of zombielore but I can’t help it. I just enjoy it so much. I love zombie movies, love zombie fiction – one of my favorite TV shows is “The Walking Dead”, which is set in the zombie apocalypse. And the zombie apocalypse itself is the perfect marriage of two of my favorite genres: tales of the undead, and tales about the end of the world.

The website makemezombie.com transformed my facebook profile pic into a work of ghoulish art.

I grew up on monster movies. Back in the 70’s, Oregon had a local television station that would broadcast old 50’s horror films late on Saturday nights on a program called “Sinister Cinema”, and that is how I was introduced to Dracula, Frankenstein, the Wolfman… all the classics. I would stay up (or try to stay up) and watch these movies, for they fascinated me in ways that I didn’t understand then, and don’t totally understand now.

By the time I was 13, I’d seen all sorts of scary movies, retro and modern, and thought there was nothing I hadn’t seen before. Vampires, aliens, creatures, slashers — they all entertained me. Then one Halloween, I caught an airing of “Night of the Living Dead” on TV, and was forever changed. Good lord, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The dead — coming back to life! Terrorizing the living! Eating their flesh! It was crazy, low budget, black-and-white, and totally, absurdly horrifying. Did they really make a movie that featured a child eating her mother?

Since then, I’ve seen all the sequels, all the tributes, all the knock-offs. I’ve enjoyed the resurgence of zombie stories in the last decade, and when newer stories featured zombies that didn’t stagger along slow and stupid, but could move swiftly and run fast, my interest only increased. I have come to accept that zombie stories satisfy some weird craving I have for macabre entertainment. So when I saw that a local theater group in Orange County was putting on a stage version of the George Romero classic story, I was all in. Read On


The “V” Word

I post a lot of personal stuff on this blog. I try to write honestly here in pursuit of my truth. And while some people might say that there’s a difference between ‘My Truth’ and ‘The Truth’, it’s my blog so as far as I’m concerned, my truth IS the truth. But honesty prevents me from getting all revisionist here and telling outright lies. What’s the point of lying on a blog? It’s about as useful as cheating at solitaire.

Anyway, frequent readers of this blog have read some deeply personal accounts and have been witness to some real growth over the past year. Most probably find it as interesting as watching a plant grow, but from the feedback I’ve received, my ramblings here have helped at least a few people to relax and watch the blinking lights.

Regular readers of my blog have read two previous posts that dealt with something intensely difficult, painful, yet also revelatory to me. The posts “A Flourish of Hate” and “A Flourish of Hate Redux” dealt with someone who –in my judgment– betrayed me. The essays did not focus so much on the betrayal as the effects that it had on me. After all, it would be –I don’t know, ‘wrong’, somehow– to use this blog as a platform to bag on someone who isn’t here to defend himself. So I focused not on the act of betrayal but the aftereffects — and the incredible lessons I received as a result. Read On