Zombie revival

Zombies. First they were slow (Night of the Living Dead (1968)). Then they were fast (28 Days Later (2002)). And now they like to party.

This week Tara brings us her firsthand account of a (mostly) real night of the living dead.

Eat it up.

The Perks of Being Un-Dead

Walking along Washington Avenue during the early morning hours of October 19, it isn’t likely one could miss the blood. Little spatters and streaks and puddles that weave between the sidewalk cracks and cloud the corners of store windows, fading on the edges as finger paint does. It oozes into the sleepiness of a Minneapolis Sunday so subtly that the usual Monday traffickers might not notice them at all. Fall breezes had dried up the sticky smatterings overnight, returning with the day to taunt the Avenue’s cars and bars and street signs, and to awaken the blood -drenched strips of cloth and Kleenex that cluttered it. In less than a minute, the mischievous wind had given legs to those little horrors, whisking them into a flimsy, disgusting dance; a nauseating tribute to some happening that must have been momentous but can only be conveyed halfheartedly by its vague yet enticing entrails.

What one wouldn’t encounter on this morning stroll are the many thousands of photographs and boozy memories that had been born alongside the dancing horrors. But even without them, the breeze would betray their secret, for it would not carry with it the smell of death or carnage. In fact it couldn’t, because the blood crusted on Washington Avenue is not real blood, and the only crime it traces is perhaps not even a crime at all. You see, the dark but not-so-stormy night of Saturday, October 18, marked the fourth annual Zombie Pub Crawl, the attendees of which could be accused of nothing more than partying too hard and leaving their “bloody” litter behind. The “blood” being of any combination of make-up, imitation blood and fake ooze contained in all sizes of tanks, tubs and tubes – all of which could be purchased at Twin Cities Magic & Costume Co. in St. Paul for 10 percent off with a printed coupon from Zombie Pub Crawl IV: Spawn of Death’s official web site. “Go Get Zombified!”

And Zombified they were. Young and old, sober and not, from every corner of Minnesota and beyond, the undead marched in droves.

Seeping, groaning, limping, drooling,

squirting, spooking, gnashing, stalking,

spitting, grimacing –

Reapplying, reattaching,

retracing, resonating, reeling,

reentering, repositioning, repeating –

“Braaaaaiins!”

From the Stone Arch Bridge, a group of four zombie cohorts could hear the cry. Rising from what they knew to be the legendary Gold Medal Park, a grassy knoll next door to the Guthrie Theater, it came from the hordes of living humans who were gathering to “undeaden” before the commencement of the ZPC. The sound of those monstrous voices mingling caused the foursome to quicken in walk – er, stalk – and let out their own zombie cacophony in reply:

“Muurrrrrrm... Guuuuuugg…Braaaaaiins!”

Their humor wasn’t well-received.

“Don’t worry, they’re not real,” one man said to the wide-eyed little girl he pushed in a stroller. His gaze was more menacing than the hooligans who had provoked it.

The guilt must have made Justin Michlig’s skin melt. Decked in a plaid shirt which appeared to have been used as a napkin for someone’s bloody fingers, Justin stopped shortly after the encounter to peel off a plastic scar from above his left eyebrow. He tossed it onto the bridge in distaste – much to the delight and horror of another child crossing the zombies’ staggered path. Wary to scare the pudgy, black-haired boy, the gang compensated for their deviltry by straightening their backbones and smiling sheepishly. Their teeth had been made as rotten as their faces.

“You look kinda dumb!” the pudgy boy called, causing a surprised eruption of very human cackles. Quickly gaining composure, John Pozniak, a pale, shortish zombie with a bolt sticking haphazardly out of his forehead, mustered for the child his signature shriek – the sound of which was something in between a pterodactyl and a whistle.

The child gobbled it right up.

Meanwhile, more zombie frenzies – fiercer now – flared in the distance.

From somewhere within the fray, which swallowed up Jake, Justin and John with frightful ease, Heather Esperson and her own band of zombies undeadened, slathering their pretty, upper-twenty-something faces with gauzy white cream and rimming their eyes to the cheekbone with filthy-grey rings of costume eyeliner. In a frightful flurry of “scabbing” fingers and dollar-bin brushes, they transformed like squirming caterpillars into a larger, more hauntingly graceful version of the laughing corpses they had been during their college days in Winona, Minnesota. There they had been few in a tiny fistful – 50 zombies maximum – of marching, boozing, breathing shadows of un-death.

In those days, Heather and her friends were just glad to be around those of “similar humor – as in they all enjoy wearing makeup and getting drunk.” But as age can not elude un-death, the draw of the Minneapolis ZPC for the Winonians was not the alcohol.

“Some people feel they have to be drunk in order to justify wearing a costume and makeup in public… But I think I have reached a point where I’m just happy to be dressed up… with a bunch of other creative people that find it fun as well.”

Such creativity!

And not even on Halloween!

For many of the zombies, it’s the makeup and costumes that have them staggering back year after year. Some are a little grayer. Some are a little greener. Some are a little whiter. Some have dripping blood. Some have exposed bone. Some have worms or ripped skin or rotting flesh. “It’s fun because there’s no generic zombie,” said Jim Berg of Twin Cities Magic & Costume Co. –

Just

zombie

babies

zombie prom queens zombie police officers zombie workmen zombie clowns zombie athletes zombie Jesus zombie scientists

zombie Michael Jackson zombie photographers

zombie wedding party

zombie pirates

zombie doctors zombie Hooters girls

zombie housewives zombie soldiers zombie bikers zombie bakers zombie bumblebees zombie Statue of Liberty

zombie hoboes:

“Will work for Braaaaaiins!”

Avid horror fan and two-time crawler William Earl Wheeler led the pack.

“The biggest lure of the Zombie Pub Crawl is dressing like a zombie... Sometimes you need to step outside the box, the comfort zone or the every drone of a life stuck in a rut. Try something new, change a parameter or cause a little jolt in somebody’s life to make an impression. It does not have to be a bad impression, but an impression to get a smile, a laugh, a chat or even meet somebody as a friend. This event can, and [it] has done that for myself and friends in my group. Even though it's scary to some, morbid to others; yet to us it's unique and built around people that love to be very open-minded.”

It started with 15 people four years ago, and the hype has groan and groan (and grown). “I hear ZPC: IV was estimated around 1,500 zombies,” Wheeler said. “The hype is real.”

By the time evening sets in on October 19, the blood along Washington Avenue has lost its squeamish sheen. Makeup has been washed down drains in torrents, and shredded, stained and scandalous costumes alike have been tossed away or hung behind very-human suits and scarves and Sunday best to await next year’s crawl. Thousands of pictures have been posted online, which will decorate Facebook pages and Flickr websites until Halloween snapshots come to haunt in their place.

At the bars, it’s business as usual.

Except you can’t moan for discounted drinks.

Fly-By-Night

The days are longer and the nights are hotter, but the ghosts of summer are not detoured.

Tara brings us a narrative of a summer haunting, worry, and faith.

Enjoy.

Relationship Status: No really, it's complicated.

“So there’s this boy...”

Uh oh. Now I’ve done it – again. What started off as a casual encounter in the school library (he let me take the copy of The Secret Agent without the bent cover, and I helped him find the last 1984 amongst the cluttered shelves) has now become a full-fledged crush, complete with twittering heart, “Did I actually say that?” moments, and permanently crossed fingers that maybe my search for the one who would sweep me clean off my wow-I’m-just-realizing-how-awkwardly-large-they-are feet is finally over. I can already see it: my very own epic study abroad romance. We’ll hold hands in Camden Market and skip through Hyde Park and take a train to some quaint little European city with a name we can’t even pronounce. It’ll be perfect.

Well, almost.

This crush has a potentially tragic flaw. I’m pretending it doesn’t bother me as much as it does. Maybe I’m just being shallow. Really, he’s only a couple of inches shorter than me. It could be worse. I don’t really care about perfect posture and I loathe wearing heels anyways. Besides, if that couch-jumping wacko Tom Cruise and ex-Dawson’s Creek punk Katie Holmes can pull it off, then so can (not quite so) little old me, right?

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the first of many steps ascending to the DTR.

And what is a DTR, you might ask? Short for “defining the relationship,” the DTR is that conversation. You know, the one that is generally avoided for as long as possible because it can make things really awkward, really fast[1], and nobody wants to come across as one of those crazy control freaks who feels the need to put a label on things too quickly.[2] A successful DTR will result in both parties coming to a mutual understanding of where each one stands in regards to the relationship. Are we a couple? Are we friends with benefits? Are we breaking up, or just on a break? Are we ready to take our relationship to the next level… and change our Facebook statuses? Are we happy with the way things are but are agreeing not to label said things?

So you’re probably thinking this sounds complicated. I mean, when our grandparents were ruddy-faced lads and lasses, the DTR consisted of a simple yes or no answer to a single question: “Want to go steady?” And while I’m sure that “going steady” wasn’t always as peachy as sharing an ice cream soda at the malt shop, the traditional dating rules simply don’t seem to apply in a generation that sees casual dating as the norm and is overall much more flexible when it comes to relationships. In our society, it is conventional for non-married couples to live together, divorce is anything but uncommon, online dating, albeit being slightly creepy, is perfectly acceptable, and every other college student could probably name at least one “friend” with whom they’ve shared a little bit more than a love for beer pong and How I Met Your Mother. With so many different ways to define not only an individual’s relationship with another human being, but one’s relationship with the world of relationships, it’s no wonder that a DTR could get a little uncomfortable. But the irony of our generation exists in the fact that even though our options are endless when it comes to relationships, we still struggle to put some kind of label on them (my grandfather has never even heard of a DTR). That being said, the question that plagues me is this: Does what actually goes on in a relationship determine the relationship status, or does the pressure to have a status end up defining the relationship?

As if things weren’t complicated enough, DTR can also be seen as an ongoing process. Sure, at some point or another the mother DTR conversation is bound to occur, but that conversation alone should not serve as the be all end all of how a couple relates to one another throughout coupledom – especially considering the number of outside factors[3] that can, and often do, influence a relationship. The most influential of factors, however, may indeed be internal. Few things are more potentially disastrous to a relationship than one or both partner’s individual perceptions and expectations as to what being a couple should be like – especially when these criteria don’t match up. Most DTRs don’t address these questions, instead answering “how we feel about one another” as opposed to “how we feel about relationships.” If both parties agree that things should be more serious (or stay casual), then, generally speaking, that’s that. In that sense, it is almost necessary that DTR progresses as the relationship progresses, so as to avoid confusion and heartache for one or both sides. But the problem here in lies in the fact that liking someone – I mean, really liking someone – almost always means that we will go to great lengths to ensure that said someone likes us back. In the case of DTRs, that generally means concealing certain pieces of our “how we feel about relationships” puzzle that don’t quite seem to fit with our beloved playmate’s. Maybe I’m stretching the metaphor, but am I the only one who can’t stand the sight of a puzzle with missing pieces?

This trap is especially dangerous for women, who, by nature, tend to overanalyze every little text message or body signal and who have likely had every detail of their weddings planned since the age of six.[4] Furthermore, any women’s magazine will tell us matter-of-factly that successful couples are ones who plan romantic getaways, send flirty e-mails, and try a spicy new position every week. While there is nothing wrong with any of these suggestions, having such a destination-driven approach to a relationship unnecessarily idealizes the couple status – like being an official couple is some sort of club for which the big DTR is the entrance fee and the right to exercise nauseating movie theater PDA is one of many benefits. But as nobody really wants to wear black on Valentine’s Day or have a oh-so-cutesy, long-term “it’s complicated” Facebook relationship with their best (also single) friend, can you blame us for conjuring expectations of just how green the grass is – and should be – on the other side? But while this phenomenon is highly explainable, that doesn’t stop it from being destructive. Just because Lisa P. and Greg F. from Cincinnati surprise each other with poetry and weekend trips to Paris doesn’t mean a couple who stays in to make late night pancakes and watch LOTR three nights in a row is automatically lackluster. After all, a truly D’d R should ultimately revolve around how a couple feels as opposed to what it does.

But DTRs aren’t strictly reserved for couples. Perhaps the biggest crock ever invented is the glamorous single life. Sure, not having arm candy does leave you plenty of opportunity to grow as an individual. It’s less messy for a single person to transfer jobs to a new city, and it’s nice not having to share toothpaste or feel guilty for making eyes at a cute bartender. But let’s be honest, does every single gal really want to spend the next howevermany Friday nights buying her own G&Ts and rocking out on the dance floor to Beyonce’s “Single Ladies”? I highly doubt it, and I’m a girl who loves her gin. Can’t we singles simply not be in a relationship and leave it at that? Do we really have to throw anti-Valentines parties, eat popcorn for dinner three nights in a row, and/or mingle[5]?

It seems to me that hiding behind the façade of singledom is a pretty scary place to be. In fact, many women I know who have found themselves perpetually single have adopted their relationship status as a large part of their identity. One of my dearest friends has never had a boyfriend, and she has grown to perceive the dating world with much skepticism. This girl is striking – blonde-haired, blue-eyed, intelligent, socially conscious, spent a year living in Argentina – she basically has a lot to offer someone, but the right person just hasn’t come to sweep her off her feet just yet. She has expressed to me on many occasions how insecure this makes her, and I often observe her judging her worth based upon how invisible she feels to men.

My friend is by no means alone. The ever-thriving nature of the beauty industry alone is enough to make anyone wonder if not having a ring on it really is the life of the party. But while it breaks my heart to see my friend struggle with issues of identity, I realize the problem is much more universal than the dance floor during “Single Ladies” would suggest. Most women – and men – could probably think of a time when they have changed, hidden, or invented some aspect of their personality in order to impress a crush. For me, it’s not wearing heels – this time. In the past I’ve learned to snowboard (I hate being outdoorsy), dedicated all of my creative energy to photography (I’ve wanted to write since I could speak), and started listening to ska bands (ummm… what?). And while none of these new activities harmed me in any lasting way (ska did lose me a few style points), I concealed parts of who I was from the guys with whom I was supposed to be building an honest and healthy relationship. Human nature causes us to crave intimacy and connection, but how connected can we really be if we keep hiding the things that make us who we are?

Which brings me back to library boy. Interestingly enough, I found myself saying over red wine and curry something along the lines of “I’ve come to realize that most girls will do anything for the guy they like.”

Did I actually say that?

I really hope he didn’t get any bright ideas. And I really really hope I don’t end up fulfilling my own observation in a way that could end up hurting to one or both of us should the relationship develop into something more than dinner and puddle jumping on Brick Lane. Am I really willing (or able) to hide the part of me that has always been hyper-self-conscious about her 5’10” frame? And even if we did have a whirlwind romance in the shadow of Big Ben, he’ll be going back to Pittsburgh in December and I to Minneapolis. Am I really willing to push aside my deep-rooted belief that long distance relationships are doomed to fail?[6] I dunno, so I guess I’ll just avoid any sort of DTR for now. Besides, part of me is still holding out for Robert Pattinson. And I’m perfectly happy being Facebook married to my freshman year roommate anyways.

---

[1] Because let’s be honest, any awkward situation is synonymous to a downright snafu in our generation.

[2] Because let’s be honest, keeping your options open is just so much more fun to our generation.

[3] Friends/family approval, emotional baggage, Cosmo quizzes, Edward Cullen

[4] Orchids, Vera Wang, and extra buttercream frosting, please.

[5] Single and ready to mingle? Excuse me while I vomit profusely.

[6] That, my friends, is another story. (I’ve always wanted to say that).