Can we stop with all the zombie stuff? For all the talk about the impending Zombie Apocalypse, I’m beginning to believe it’s here.
Maybe it’s because I’m a bit challenged when it comes to zombie trivia. I’ve never seen a zombie movie, so when the topic comes up and I say things like, “Well, why don’t they just call in the armed forces?” people laugh hysterically.
Despite my not being a fan of zombies, it’s been a topic in our household as much as anywhere else. Dinner conversations often resemble a Fox News show with debate and analysis over all things zombie: “During the Zombie Apocalypse and food is in short supply, what if you come across a dead zombie and eat a zombie? Would you become one?” I’d ask my boys, trying to get myself up to speed in case the Zombie Apocalypse is, indeed, upon us.
Chase would add, “No, because after all you aren’t being eaten by the zombie; you would be the one doing the eating. You only become a zombie if they eat you.”
Then Jake, my scientific thinker, would debate, “It depends on whether you become a zombie because of exposure to zombie blood or zombie saliva when it bites you. Because if it’s saliva, then … .”
Chase will interrupt: “Jake, leave your science out of it. While you’re doing your scientific calculations, a zombie would already be eating you.”
I was even recently invited by my friends at Anytime Fitness to join in on a “Zombie Run For Your Life 5K.” That, I admit, sounds like a thrilling time. Running alongside my friends through an obstacle course in the woods, fleeing hidden zombies, might have to make it onto my race list this year, if for nothing else but to see how I fare in a race against the undead. My husband, Ron, who usually doesn’t entertain the slightest bit of zombie talk, doesn’t think that’s a good idea.
I announced at the dinner table that I wanted to join my gym friends in the race, and my boys got wide eyed. I explained that if you don’t make it to the end, you are listed as the “undead” in the race results.
“Are the zombies real?” one of them asked.
Ron decided to get back at us for all the zombie talk he has to endure: “Did you notice that everyone from last year is listed as ‘undead’ in the race results?”
“They are?” Chase asked, worried.
“Yeah, no one is listed as ‘survivor.’ How do you think they get the zombies for the following year?”
OK. Hint taken. I agreed I wouldn’t initiate any more zombie talk so as not to scare our sons, but you can’t get away from it these days.
Outside of the house, there’s just as much discussion, from the CDC’s release of the Zombie Apocalypse Disaster Guide last year (which claims “if you are generally well equipped to deal with a zombie apocalypse, you will be prepared for a hurricane, pandemic, earthquake, or terrorist attack”) to their recent statement denying the existence of zombie-causing viruses. “CDC does not know of a virus or condition that would reanimate the dead (or one that would present zombie-like symptoms),” they stated in light of the rash of recent zombie-like cannibalistic incidents.
Despite all that, the zombie thing didn’t really hit home until my son Jake was asked to do a report on George Washington. Then, I knew it had to stop.
As he was researching the first president, he came across something online called Zombie George Washington, which he showed my middle son. And then they both “accidentally” showed my 4-year-old Sebastian. Of course, we didn’t know this until Sebastian began to show great interest in Jake’s history book. Particularly the photo of George Washington, which—I assume by the lack of green skin and bloodstained lips—was taken prior to him becoming a zombie. Still, Sebastian took the book into a corner and stared at it for long periods of time. We thought he must be tired and tucked him into bed.
“You know, he has one eye bigger than the other,” Sebastian said, totally out of the blue, as we walked out.
“Who does?” we asked.
“Zombie George Washington,” he said.
“You mean George Washington, the president?” I asked.
“Shhhh. Don’t say his name—he’ll come here,” Sebastian whispered.
Then, of course, things became worse. Jake was also supposed to dress as George Washington for his report.
The next morning, Sebastian saw Jake in his costume and ran to me asking, “Is he the real Zombie George Washington?”
“No, he’s just the regular George Washington,” I said, still confused.
“Shhhh! Don’t say his name!” Sebastian insisted.
That’s when my sons came clean about showing him the video and the ban came down, disallowing zombie talk, videos, commercials, anything. And we got back to the topic that previously obsessed my boys prior to zombies: The Beatles.
One day, we were looking for a particular image of Paul McCartney. I typed his name in Google and clicked on images. A page full of Paul McCartney thumbnail images filled the screen. Then, as the boys scanned the thumbnails, looking for the picture we wanted, we spotted him, smack in the center of all the Paul McCartneys, looking as scary as ever: Our first president, George Washington.
“What is he doing there?” Jake asked, and Sebastian squealed and ran away.
Learning about American history will never be the same in our house.
Arts Editor Shelly Cone may not know a lot about zombies, but she’s a pretty good shot. If you’re not a zombie, you can contact her at scone@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Jun 14-21, 2012.
