Zombie rules

I'm a fan of zombie movies.  Long-time readers will know that I've watched a ton of them, and I'm always looking for more.  I've seen good ones, bad ones, many that blur that line, and some that were so awful I was surprised I bothered to finish them.  After viewing all of those films and having quite a few conversations with other zombie fans, I've come to believe that a few basic rules should govern all zombie films.

Those rules all stem from a basic axiom that many zombie filmmakers and writers fail to believe:  Zombies are a metaphor for death.  They are inevitable.  They come for all of us.  They are not quick, but they never stop coming.

Once you accept this axiom, the rules are clear and simple.

Zombies shamble.  Period.  They do not run, fly, leap, or engage in any sort of acrobatics.  They don't need to.  They'll find us inevitably.

Zombies don't organize themselves.  They hear, they may smell, and they make noises that lead other zombies to follow them, but that's as far as zombie communication goes.  They most certainly do not form groups or split up to make escape harder on us.

Beyond seeking out humans to eat, zombies don't think.  They don't fall in love, operate heavy machinery, make a plan, or do anything more complicated than tracking down and eating people.  

If a zombie bites you, you become a zombie.  There's no way around it.  The bite of the zombie is the touch of death's cold hand.  The best you can do is take a bullet to the brain so you die rather than turn into one of death's agents.

Zombies will eat anyone.  They don't care if you're male or female, young or old, healthy or sick, strong or frail--none of that matters.  If a zombie gets its hands on you, you're zombie chow. 

There is no zombie zero.  You don't get to know where zombies started.  Like death, they've simply always been.  

A zombie is a zombie is a zombie.  They're effectively all the same.  There are no super-zombies, no scarier-than-all-the-others zombies.  A zombie is frightening enough all on its own.

There is no cure for being a zombie.  Once you're bitten, you become a zombie until someone destroys you.  

The only way to destroy a zombie is to stop its brain.  You can decapitate a zombie, put a bullet in its head, burn it so the brain is gone, nuke it--anything as long as you stop its brain.  Until you do, though, it will keep on trying to come for you.  Nothing else will stop it.


Simple, right? So simple that you'd think more filmmakers would adhere to them, but in the constant quest to create something new, people invent new rules and new types of zombies. 

I'm fine with people doing that, but the results are never true zombie films; they're hybrids, part zombie flicks and part something else.

None of this, by the way, means that I can't greatly enjoy a semi-zombie film that breaks many of these rules.  Warm Bodies, for example, is a fun, touching movie that breaks almost all of the rules, and I loved it. 

It's just not a pure zombie movie. 

A great idea for a video game feature: Personalize your zombies

Many of us enjoy first-person-shooter games in which you roam some setting and kill wave upon wave of zombies.  Yeah, the zombies eventually win--they are, after all, zombies--but along the way you have great fun slaying them by the dozens.  Though I quite like such games, I have to admit that they are not to everyone's taste.

Today, I realized that there is a way to make almost everyone want to play one of these:  create a game that lets you personalize your zombies.

Imagine it.  All you need is a picture of the face of that co-worker you can't stand, or the irrational boss, or the woman or man who dumped you, the kid who's bullying you--anyone who's pissing you off right now.  Let's be completely honest:  those you care about most are frequently the ones who piss you off the most, so include pictures of their faces, too.  Friends, families, lovers, co-workers, you name it--anyone close to you is a candidate.

Once you have the face shots, you pair them with a set of the usual built-in avatar bodies, customize as you see fit and the software allows, and then you have your potential cast of zombies.

At the start of each game, you can choose the built-in zombies, any casts you've saved, or any new casts.  To create a new cast, you pick any of your uploaded zombie buddies, assign a percentage of the zombies to look like them, a percentage for the game to pick, and start the game.

Bam!  Really pissed at the boss?  Shoot a few thousand of him, and you might feel better.  Just got dumped?  Take him/her out for a few hours, and you'll feel better.

Just mad at everyone?  Throw them all in the mix, and go to town.

Now, let's get to what the critics will say.

That's sick.  Maybe, but it's also fun, and I bet it will sell like crazy.

You're encouraging real-world violence (or the specific subset) You're encouraging violence against (women OR men OR children OR co-workers OR whatever).  No, I'm not.  I'm saying it could be therapeutic fun to shoot zombies with their faces.  Be honest:  How many of us have gotten mad enough to want to punch or kick someone?  Almost everyone.  (Dalai Lama, maybe you haven't; sorry, dude.)  I've never bought the notion, by the way, that video-game violence leads to real-world violence in any general sense.  Do I believe that some folks are sufficiently off-kilter that the wrong thing can throw them into a bad place?  Yes, but video games aren't alone in being able to be that wrong thing.

No one would really enjoy doing this, so it won't sell.  There we must disagree.  What I will concede is that few folks would want to admit they enjoy it, so most people will buy it for the general zombie shooting--and then secretly personalize their zombies.  It will be key to sales, by the way, to have a secret "room" (storage area) in which to store your personalized zombies. 

You're invading the privacy of others by putting their faces online.  Nope.  These rooms full of zombies would be on local storage. 

What happens when you're shooting zombies who look like people you live with and those people walk in the room and discover you doing it?  You'll be in trouble then.  Not at all.  Either they'll confront you, in which case you'll finally have that talk you've been needing to have, or they'll walk away, in which case you'll go back to killing zombies until you feel better. 

You do realize that you will be a zombie for a lot of people at your company--and in your life.  Of course!  I hope they use a particularly bad picture of me.

People are better than that.  If they try this game, they will realize they are hurting real people, people they love, people with families, and they will stop in revulsion and never do it again.  I disagree; I think people will enjoy it.  The good news, though, is that by design I win either way on this one.  If this criticism proves true, I will have created a game that helps people appreciate more the others in their lives.  If this criticism is wrong, I will have created a fun game and a stress reliever.  Either way, I win.

So, what video game publisher wants to hook up with me to make this happen?



Oh, before you ask:  Yeah, it's been that kind of day.

Dystopia, zombies, art, food

I awoke at nine this morning after way, way too little sleep with the utter certainty that I was getting out of bed early on a rainy, dreary Sunday morning for absolutely no purpose whatsoever.  After all, how many people at the gaming-oriented Escapist Expo convention could possibly want to show up at this panel on dystopian futures?

It’s probably a safe bet to say that none of us really want to dwell in a radioactive wasteland, live under thumb of 1984-like government, or wander endless fields of ice in search of the day’s single meal. So, why are we so fascinated with those ideas? Join popular science-fiction authors David Drake, Mark Van Name, Mur Lafferty, and Richard Dansky as they attempt to explain our fascination with bleak futures.

I already knew that Mur couldn't make it, so it would be up to just Richard (who had agreed to moderate the affair), Dave, and me. 

Still, I dragged myself out of bed, showered, and headed to the con. 

When I arrived at the meeting room about 15 minutes before the panel was due to start, a waiting line had already formed and snaked around the corner from the room.  Dave was already there.  After Richard arrived a couple minutes later, the con organizers started letting in people.

To my amazement, the large room was nearly packed, as you can see from this picture I took of the audience (without their permission, for which I apologize). 

 As always, click on an image to see a larger version.

As best I could figure, over 200 people showed up to hear us talk, which was astounding. 

And talk we did.  Richard did a great job moderating the conversation and keeping it rolling smoothly.  We had so many attendees that he took questions from the audience for ten minutes before the official start time.  At that point, he turned to his agenda, and we were off to the races.  

We ranged all over the place, from zombies to Diodorus Siculus, Milla Jovovich to William Makepeace Thackeray, the strange quiet horrors of childhood to the extreme traumatizing horrors of war, and beyond.  (Trust me:  it all worked.)

The audience was great.  People asked smart questions, seemed fully engaged, and were extremely well-mannered.

I learned that I don't know shit about gaming conventions and their attendees, but if the good folks at the Escapist Expo are kind enough to ask me back next year, I'll do my best to attend.

We then wandered through more of Durham's lovely CenterFest, where the weather had greatly diminished the crowd,  ate a tasty Stoke & Smoke barbecue brisket sandwich for lunch, and met up with Sarah, who decided to swing by for a second visit to the show.  We shared a flight of the best mini-cupcakes I've ever had, courtesy of The Cupcake Bar, and walked some more.

As I was getting into the van to drive home, I noticed the following on the ground beside me in the parking garage. 

I've never understood littering, but this at least was vaguely surreal and artfully arranged litter.

My hat is off to the folks at the Escapist Expo.  I hope they run it again next year.

Two cool zombie links

I'm keeping it short today, because I didn't sleep much last night and will sleep even less tonight. So, while I work, enjoy these two goodies, both of which came to me from the kindness of others.

First, Elizabeth turned me on to the original series, Woke Up Dead, over at Crackle. I have to confess that due to an insane workload I've watched only the trailer, but it and the fact that Jon Heder (of Napoleon Dynamite fame) is the star are enough to make me give it a go.

Next, Lynn showed me this article, which explains why Zombieland beats Titanic. This guy's analysis is spot on. Check it out.

Yo, Internets! I'm wearing my reading glasses

and I'm watching you.

Don't think I'm not.

Now, go about your business, but be nice to one another--and keep an eagle eye out for zombies.

Fireworks, by the way, make nifty zombie decapitation devices. That is, they are good for zombie destruction provided, of course, that you can get close enough to a zombie to firmly attach a large aerial repeater to the zombie's chest, tie its head forward so it's looking down into the repeater, and then light the fuse--and run away, of course. You wouldn't want flying zombie head bits all over your clothes.

I'm just sayin'.

Guest blog: Don't Panic

(Today's guest blog explores the serious and always fascinating topic of zombies. It comes from Ticia, initially my Balticon 43 handler and now my friend.)

All of my friends are speculating, at great length, about the inevitable Zombie Apocalypse. They all seem to have elaborate plans with escape routes, meeting places, weapons stashes, and phone trees with the important contact numbers listed on speed dial. All know how to spot the undead immediately. They know which weapons will be effective and which will just create more moving parts, which leads this discussion to me.

I have no weapons stash, no elaborate escape routes, and I live in a rambling suburban sub-division where, when the shambling dead come to call, I will be the cheese in a zombie maze. My destiny is to suffer the same fate as every poor nameless red shirted Star Trek Security Officer that dies on an away mission. I am zombie fodder.

I know that if my family were threatened, wading in with my machete and taking care of business would be no problem. Give me motivation, and I can saw and hack away with the best of them. However, as any true Survivalist will tell you, although my heart may be in the right place, my machete puts me too close to the zombie action. The experts say a small-caliber high-capacity semiautomatic rifle, such as an AR-15 would be an ideal weapon choice.

Because knowledge is power, I purchased The Zombie Survival Guide by Max Brooks. It reveals that short hair and tight clothes are ideal protection. It also highlights many subjects and problems that have never occurred to me. The debate between weapon weight and accuracy at range is a real eye opener for this novice.

This is a great starting place for anyone who has concerns about how to actually survive a zombie infestation.

Do not accept your fate meekly, go forth and read.

Give those zombies a deader tomorrow.

When you want zombies

you want zombies, and hellspawn simply won't do. That was the lesson of last night's late-show screening of Trailer Park of Terror. The Amazon page for the DVD specifically refers to "hillbilly zombies," so Kyle and I quite reasonably assumed we'd get to see zombies. The movie otherwise sounded promising; after all, the undead shambling amuck in a trailer park could easily provide great entertainment value.

Instead, we watched a truly horrifying opening trailer-park bit, a sequence that showed more promise than the rest of the movie put together, and then the film devolved into a relatively standard almost-every-kid-dies slasheresque flick. The best parts were the trailer-park actors, who ate the scenery (if no brains) extremely well, and the moments of inspired trailer-park lunacy.

If you're a horror-film fan in search of a hit of something on the odd side, check out Trailer Park of Terror. If you're in the mood for zombies, though, give it a pass.

Strange moments

So we're watching Diary of the Dead late last night, "we" being Kyle, Sarah, and me. We're crowded on the sofa in the darkened living room hoping for at least a tolerable trip down zombie lane in this, the fifth installment of George Romero's Night of the Living Dead trilogy. Though the movie as a whole was weak and frequently annoying--we would have paid extra for a version without the voice-over--it had two scenes that are worth the cost of the DVD.

I don't want to spoil the first for you, but let me just say that when you combine a deaf Amish dude, a chalkboard, a trio of zombies, and some lost college students, then mix in a little dynamite and a scythe, well, the result is movie magic.

I'm going to tell you about the second scene because even knowing what happens will not detract from its great amusement. A PC is playing a video, one we are to believe has been uploaded to the Web by innocent victims. A child's birthday party is taking place on a house's deck. Onto the deck from the house steps a clown. We three exclaim in hopeful unison, "Zombie clown?!?" The dad points out the clown to the birthday kid, then goes over to the clown and tweaks his nose. The nose comes off in the dad's hand. The clown then bites the dad on the neck.

It was a beautiful thing.

On the non-zombie front, a friend from high school, Lynn, had contacted me a few weeks ago. She asked me if I would sign some books if she sent them to me, and I said, sure. Lynn is a great person, but I'll sign books for anyone who sends them to me and includes a return envelope with postage. Because Lynn was a friend, I ate the postage and envelope costs, a gesture that figures prominently in the story below.

She sent the books, I signed them, and today I struck out to the island Post Office to mail them. I first needed to buy something to put them in, but, hey, the USPS sells this sort of stuff, so how hard can it be?

Here at the beach, pretty hard.

The Post Office here occupies half of the second floor of a small house. The following is what happened once I was inside this tiny space.

*********************************

Me: I'd like to mail these books, but I first need to buy something to put them in. I'll take anything that works.

Clerk (insert your favorite female southern accent here): You could use one of these here boxes. (She points to a stack of them.)

Me: Okay, I'll take one.

Clerk: But they won't fit in it.

Me (from here on, picture me getting angrier and angrier as I struggle to maintain a calm and polite facade): Do you have anything they will fit in?

Clerk: One of these Priority Mail envelopes should do the trick.

Me: I'll take one.

Clerk: You'll want to put some stuff in it to stop them from knocking around.

Me: Okay, I'll buy some of that, too.

Clerk: Oh, we don't have any of that stuff.

Me: I'll send them as they are and take my chances. (I stuff the books and address the envelope.) How much do I owe you?

Clerk: We have to send them Priority Mail because we used that envelope.

Me: Fine. How much do I owe you?

Clerk: Well, I'll have to look that up. (Rifles through book and studies multiple pages.) It could be this one here (points) or that one there; I'm not sure which. Do you know?

Me: No. I'll pay anything that will get them to their destination.

Clerk: (Studies more book pages.) Yup, this is it.

*********************************

Though I think I aged two years trying to mail the books, at least, as Kyle noted, I got a blog entry out of it.

Remind me next time, though, to drive back to Raleigh and send my mail from there.

I can't dance

Okay, I can dance, in the sense that I can move my arms slightly, shuffle my feet, and generally look like a Night of the Living Dead zombie minus all the grace and poise. I can also execute with moderate mechanical precision the basic box versions of the waltz and the fox trot.

But, really, in any meaningful sense, I can't dance.

Most guys can't either, at least as best I can tell from watching random dance scenes in movies and many real-world dances in a variety of settings.

I don't care enough to take lessons--though lessons gave me the minimal waltz and fox-trot skills I have--but I do regret this inability.

What brought all this to mind was a scene in a movie, Playing By Heart, that we watched on DVD tonight. Ryan Phillippe was rocking out in the middle of a crowd, and I can't for the life of me tell if he was supposed to look like a lousy dancer; I know only that he did. (I quite like this unabashedly sentimental film, by the way, so don't let this one scene turn you away from it.)

I've seen, given, and even own the card that advises one and all to dance like nobody's watching, but I've never quite been able to do that. I suppose that inability, as opposed to my lack of dance skill, has more to do with inhibitions and self-consciousness than my pitiful repetoire of dance skills, but I do believe that if I thought I were a better dancer, I'd be less inhibited.

If you're also a bad dancer, I encourage you to completely ignore my example and dance your heart out every chance you get. Maybe in the process you'll either become a better dancer or simply lose your self-consciousness; either one would be a win.

I even took my own advice when the kids were little. We'd hold House of Dance, put up a strobe light, and dance around the den. They didn't know then what a good dancer looked like, so I like to think that on those manic, laugh-filled evenings, in their eyes I was the dancer I wish I was. I miss House of Dance for that joy, but I don't think I could go back to it, because now I know they'd see me for the bad dancer I am.

Pity.

Rules for attending zombie flicks

I like a good zombie flick as much as the next person, maybe even the next several people. Three of us went to see 28 Weeks Later earlier tonight, and I enjoyed it well enough. I didn't love it, mind you, for it had too many flaws and not enough heart for me to really fall for it. Chief among its flaws were that it didn't break any new ground thematically, its plot was more formulaic than I'd have preferred, and it often tried too hard to be visually arresting.

I left the film convinced of one thing, however, and it had nothing to do with the movie: we need rules for zombie movie attendees. I came to this conclusion not because of my companions, who were as normal as my extended family gets, but because of my encounters with fellow audience members. Here's my initial rule list:

Rule 1: You must look cleaner than the zombies.

I don't care if it's Friday night and bath day is still 36 hours away; take a chance, and clean up.

Rule 2: You must smell better than the zombies.

Okay, I don't technically know how zombies smell, but you get the picture...um, odor. See the advice for Rule 1.

Rule 3: Keep the videogame jokes to yourself.

The crack about how many damage points the zombies could absorb wasn't original when the first guy said it, but when the fifth repeated it, the joke officially smelled as bad as the zombies.

Rule 4: Unless you're better built than the zombies, your clothing should contain fewer tears than the outfits they wear.

I know how you guys feel. I love some of my tee shirts, too. Still, when the number of square inches of exposed belly passes your height in feet, it's time to retire that old favorite and break out a new(er) one.

Follow these four simple rules, and life will be better for all of us who attend zombie films.