Episode 59 - Dude, Where's My Zombie Story?

Seven years ago I insulated over the ceiling in our cold master bath.  When I stuck my head up there, I found a weird old magazine from the '70s called 'Nude Teens' or something like that.  It wasn't pornographic, but it featured black and white pics of teens of both genders, mostly underage, all in their birthday suits, doing every day type 'stuff': performing various chores while naked, playing volleyball while naked, hanging out with their friends while naked.   You know... stuff.  Naked stuff.  Peculiar item, to say the least.  And peculiar hiding spot, above the ceiling over the shower. 

An older gentleman named Robert owned the house before us.  According to our neighbors who knew him, Robert had been long-divorced and estranged from his family.  We bought the house from Robert's daughter, Mary, after he passed away. 

Shortly after we moved in, I talked to Mary on the phone and expressed my condolences for her father's passing.  "I'm really sorry about your dad, Mary," I told her.  Mary responded, as short and as cold as I can imagine, with, "Well he was old," and then abruptly moved on to another subject.

There was not a lot of affection there and Mary wanted me to know it.  Later, when I discovered the magazine tucked into its hiding spot, I didn't want to imagine why. 

That old ceiling came down today and went into the trash. And when that was done, I  started ripping out the shower. 

Thanks to Michiyo, we had grilled bacon-wrapped asparagus, potato salad, veggie salad, rice, and a beer for dinner.
Corona, of course.

The Zombie Bath Remodel continues...

Episode 58 - ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE - DAY 7

Killing a Level 3 zombie, or 'offing', is not difficult.  Level 2s are curable so offing them is banned by law but Level 3s are incurable and offing them is encouraged.  A Level 3 will actually die on their own eventually; it's science fiction that they live until they are violently terminated.  In a way, Level 3s are like any other organism; they are created, they multiply, and they eventually die.   It just goes about those things in a slightly different fashion.

In their pursuit of survival, a Level 3, like other life forms, requires energy to function and, since they are animal by nature, that source of energy is food - chewed, swallowed, and digested. A Level 3 still possesses the desire to eat; it can bite off chunks of flesh and it can chew.  The problem is that it no longer has the ability to swallow. A Level 3 cannot, therefore, get the meat it chews into its stomach for digestion.  It cannot get nourishment, and its body, devoid of sustenance, consumes itself internally until it runs out of energy and starves.  The interesting thing is that, for reasons unknown, the time required for a Level 3 to starve to death can be much longer than that for an uninfected person.  Most zombies continue 'motoring', as they say, for two or three weeks before they drop, a period of time that is not radically different from a starving uninfected person.  But some Level 3s motor much longer than that.  Being a novel and infectious disease, it is mostly unstudied by scientists, and it has yet to be confirmed just how long it is possible for a Level 3 to continue motoring.  I've seen reports, however, that are disturbing, and I'll leave it at that.  There is also strong evidence that Level 3s in groups tend to motor longer than those who go solo.  And the larger the group, the longer they motor.  Somehow, apparently, they are able to conserve energy when they band together, allowing them to motor for much longer periods of time.  This is what propagated the myth that zombies live forever unless pro-actively killed.  It’s not true.  It might make for a good movie or book, but it's nonsense; a zombie will die eventually.  

What is not nonsense is that before they die Level 3s are a danger to the public.  Like a hungry wild animal, they are hunters and will attack anything that moves and try to eat it.  Plus, they are highly contagious upon physical contact.  

So they must be eliminated.

When police departments are overwhelmed, the responsibility of offing a 3 falls to the public.  Citizens are allowed to protect themselves, their families, their property, pets, and their neighborhoods.  Even so, the public is encouraged to call the Zombie Response Team of the local police department and let them handle it for you.  If the ZRT is unable to respond, or if it's an emergency, then it’s up to the public to take care of it.  

As I mentioned before, offing a Level 3 is not difficult but to do it safely and legally, training is required.  It’s not much, but it’s required.  Any person over 25 who can demonstrate basic physical criteria is allowed to attend 'offing training', which is nothing more than an 8-hour class given by the local Zombie Response Team, teaching people how to get the job done.   There isn't a whole lot to offing a 3 but there are precautions to be taken as the sudden and spastic bodily movements can be unpredictable.  Basically, you cut off their head, but more on that later.

As for the virus that causes the infection, very little is proven, but doctors have made certain assumptions based on their knowledge of viruses.  It appears the virus enters through all openings in the body: eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and yep, down there, too.  Once the virus gets in, it enters the bloodstream and attacks the respiratory system and the brain, causing flu-like symptoms, confusion, and odd behavior.  At that stage the infection is considered a Level 2 and, while it's contagious, it is still curable.  If left untreated, the virus decimates the cerebrum, leaving the person without a conscious and a shell of their former self. At the same time the brain is being turned into mush, the virus moves from the lungs upward through the throat and nasal passages and concentrates, among other places, in the inner ears, where a human's balance organs are.  This leaves a Level 3 with impaired equilibrium.  A 3 can still walk, but it’s awkward and he is left with an inability to turn around quickly.   This reduced ability to turn around creates a prime opportunity for offing him: the safest way is to approach him from behind and, with a swift and forceful diagonal slice to the neck with a sharp sword, remove the fucker's head. 

But, that's where things can get sticky; if the sword-handler fumbles their first attempt, they have to back away and try again.  That can be tricky, as a full-blown Level 3 is unpredictable and, though they are slow to turn around, they can still lurch backwards fairly quickly.  If they’re caught off-guard, and if physical contact is made, then the swordsman will become infected, too, and they'll need to get treatment pronto.  Worse, if the Level 3, manages to grab hold of his attacker, it can be lights out.  Even when severely wounded, a Level 3 often maintains the ability to grip, tear, bite, gouge, peel, and chew.  And you don't want to merely piss them off. You got to finish them.  And in most situations decapping works best.

Decapping is not the only way to off a 3.  The easiest way is by simply shooting them in the head from a distance, but the law regards that as hunting and, according to the law, firing guns inside city limits, even when offing zombies, remains exclusively the option of the police and is only allowed if they enter your residence. Crushing a 3 with a vehicle is another effective method, but that results in a damaged vehicle and a contagious mess that no right-thinking person is willing to clean up, no matter how much money you offer them.  Another way is to light them on fire with a flamethrower.  This is often the preferred method when the zombie is in the open, as it both kills the zombie and disinfects the remains at the same time, making for a safer cleanup.  However, zombies, being equilibriously-challenged, are often found holding on to objects such as trees, cars, houses and food sources like people and so hitting them with a flame-thrower is usually out of the question as it can damage property and kill people.  Two years ago in a northern county, a flame-thrower was used on a Level 3 holding onto an electrical tower.  The drought that year had left the vegetation dry and the grass caught fire.  It spread to some nearby woods and ended up destroying 150,000 acres and an entire town.  The guy succeeded in killing the 3.  But he learned the hard way that flame throwers should not be used on dry grass.

As it turns out, the most practical method for offing a Level 3 is decapping with a Japanese katana sword. With its hardened steel, curved shape, and precisely sharpened edge, the katana is well-suited for removing heads and is the best-known device for offing.  Using the katana to remove a head is pretty simple, it requires just a little bit of technique, and that’s why people take the training.  I finished my training three weeks ago, and I placed an order for my katana upon completion.  When it comes, I’ll be able to take care of things if the need arises.

We’ve been lucky so far in that large groups of Level 3s have not yet been seen in our area. Across the nation and the world the numbers are rising, though, and ZRT offing-training classes are booked.  While Level 3 numbers remain relatively low, hospitals are being inundated and overwhelmed with high numbers of Level 2s.  If hospitals run out of equipment to treat the 2s, then the 2s will become 3s and the problems will get worse.  RV parks and sports stadiums are being re-purposed as isolation and quarantine encampments to treat and monitor the Level 2s.  Healthcare workers are pleading to other industries to donate any extra face masks and surgical gloves they might have.  In an attempt to stem the rate of infection, the governors of eight states have ordered their citizens to remain at home for an entire month, maybe longer.  That’s one third of the entire population.  

All those people.  Holed up for a month.  With nothing but Netflix.  Mm, hmm.

It is now the beginning of spring.  We better hope the contagion is over by New Years or the hospitals won’t have enough room to deliver all those babies.

Be safe out there.  The zombies and the babies are coming.

Episode 57 - ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE - DAY 5

Work is dead.

Three quarters of the office either decided to not show up or... something worse happened.  I keep track of the stats.  The data curve of Level 2 infections is nearly vertical, indicating the rate of contagion is exponential and the indications are staggering.  The first infection in the country was two months ago.  Three days ago there were 7000 Level 2 infections.  Today, the total has risen to over 11,000.  7000 in two months, 4000 in two days. The curve is vertical!  At this rate the essential services of water, gas, and power are threatened as it's not possible to insulate those employees from infection.  It only takes one or two Level 2s to bring down an entire organization.  Trash collectors are especially susceptible as they take every dusty item discarded by the entire population, open it, shake it, and dump it.  The possibility of trash collection coming to a halt and communities in unsanitary conditions is real, making things even worse.  It's early, though.  And there's still hope.

I hope.

It's the end of the day.  The hallway is empty.  I realize I haven't had a single interaction with another person since I left my woman this morning.  I've caught only glimpses, once or twice, of the others in the office who showed up:  a foot escaped into a room;  a door clicked shut as I washed my hands; a vidwall played the news to an empty room, suggesting someone was in there a moment before.  You'd think the disease was carried on words the way people avoid conversation.  Everyone utterly avoids everyone else.  What is the point of society when isolation becomes the goal?

As I approach the exit, my thoughts turn briefly to the camping gear stored in the attic.  The words 'just in case' solicit my thinking but I wave them off before the thought fully forms.

Through the glass front door, I double and triple check the area outside.  I push the door open and check again.  Multiple sirens from other neighborhoods overlap each other in a macabre off-harmony.  I step out.  A chill hits me.  There is movement to my side.  I reach for the door but it closes.  Shit.  My keys catch on my pocket and fall to the floor.  Fuck.  Eyes wide.  Fight or flight.  Keys.  Door.  Run.   A cat emerges.  Keys.  Door.   Cat.  Keys.  Cat.  Cat.  It's a cat...

It's the landlord's cat...!

Ho geezuss.  Unsure, I check the area behind the cat.  Empty.  I check all around.  Everything is still.  I check again. And then again.  My sweat breaks.  My heart hammers.

Breathe...  Breath...  Breathe...

The cat knows me and approaches.  Deep breath.
"How you doing, Chiba?"  He pushes against my leg and I scratch his head.
"You scared the shit outta me ya little fucker."  My breathing catches up as the sound of a car and headlights wash over us and drive away.  The cat moves on.  His vertical tail gives me the finger as he walks away.  I envy the little fucker; what does he have to care about?  The world, to animals, is the same as always.

Or is it?

A thought hits me.  I check the fingers that scratched the cat's head.  Shit.  What we don't know.  I'm suspicious of my own hand.  Two days ago, my woman placed a bottle of sanitizer in the cup holder of the Rav4.  "Every time you get in the car," she said.  I need to get that bottle and until I do I need to touch nothing with this hand.

I check the parking lot.  The sky is almost dark.  A cold drop lands on my unclean hand.  I leave it and then a drop lands on my shoulder.  With my good hand, I pick up my keys and chirp open the Rav4.  My walk is really a trot.  The macabre sirens play on.  Safe in the car, the sanitizer comes out and I rub it in.  In, over, around, under, between, rub, rub, rub until dry.  Ok.  Satisfied. 

I push Start, the Rav4 comes to life.  and the radio comes on.  Someone is speaking with glowing and phony optimism, the language of politicians. 
"... are extraordinary times.  It will not be easy.  It will be difficult."  I recognize the voice of the Governor. 
"But I'm confident that, working together, there's nothing that we, the incredible people of this great state, cannot..."  I stop listening.
"Thank you, Governor Hairdo."

Drops hit the windshield as I put the Rav4 into Reverse.

Be safe out there.  The cats and the zombies are gonna get you.

Episode 56 - ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE - DAY 4

Morning rises.  My consciousness goes to work checking for sounds that don't belong.  From habit, it listens for shuffling, scraping, grunting, anything that shouldn’t be there.  There's only quiet.  As my waking unfolds itself, my memory reminds me that we now have two dogs in the bunker who are quite adept at notifying us if there's anything outside.  Like a zombie.  Or a squirrel.  Or a possum.  A rat.  A mouse.  A bird on the ground.  A bird over head.  Flying insects.  A falling twig.  The neighbor. The other neighbor. The other neighbor.  The neighbor's dog.  The neighbor's kid.  The sun, the moon, air, the point is, the dogs are silent so there’s nothing in the yard that doesn’t belong there; my morning survey is from nervousness, not of necessity. 

During cereal, the vidwall news is going over contagion stats.  The number of cases in the U.S. is now 6500.  Two weeks ago it was 124.  That can’t be right. How fast is it doubling?  I grab a calculator and punch in the numbers.  This can’t be.  I do it again.  And again. And the truth of it hits me.  The number of known infections has doubled 5 times in 14 days.  That’s once every 3 days.  Testing just recently began and that throws off the curve but, if that rate holds, there will be a quarter million infected by the end of March; 8 million four weeks from now; and 260 million in the U.S. by the end of April. And if the trend continues, sometime in May, the entire population will be…

Ho-lee shit.

 

The importance of following the Social Distancing protocol hits me. We have to ‘flatten the curve’ as they say.  If we fail at this, we could all be zombies in two months.  

I swallow my shock and walk into the sleeping quarters.  My woman is beautiful when she sleeps.   I throw protocol in the trash and put my lips on her forehead.  She moves.  The slightest beginning of a smile shows itself and then melts away.  

“What time is it?”, she asks.  I tell her and she drifts off again.

“I’ll see you tonight,” I say, but, with the world falling apart, I’m not certain I can keep the promise.  I want to say, ‘Don’t turn on the news’, but if I tell her not to, she’ll do it immediately.

The street is quiet.  Nothing strange about that but… something is off.  I can’t nail it down.  I take in the whole 360 degrees as I round the rear bumper, climb into the Rav4, and pull out of the drive. 

The calm is… too calm.  

As I slowly drive away, I get it:  My neighbors’ cars are all still parked in their driveways. Every one of them.  They’re usually gone by this time.  Not today.  I don’t blame them for staying put with the world coming apart.  As I pull up the ramp onto a nearly empty freeway, my thoughts go to my woman, asleep in bed, and I wish I’d stayed home, too.

Be careful out there.  The zombies are coming.

Episode 55 - ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE - DAY 3

ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE - DAY 3

Up at 7. Coffee and Meet the Press at 8. The government is in over their heads but it seems calm at the moment where we are so we load Vito and Pico into the Rav4 and drive to the Canine Central Exercise Compound. Both the streets and the compound are what we call Corona Light, meaning, due to the zombie contagion, they are emptier than usual, which is not as fun for the dogs. On the flip side we've seen no zombies out either, although I do hear one guy in the compound give a dry cough. Just once, but I keep my distance and I keep my eye on him, too, as per the Zombie Self Defense Manual. If he starts to sweat or twitch we're beelining to the double gate and getting ourselves out of here.

Another dude wears a painter's mask but he seems to be walking normally, not off-balance and spasm-y like zombies do. I don't know, though; at one point he pulls his mask down off his nose and mouth so it's only covering his chin, evidence his brain isn't working properly. Maybe he's just stupid, but, if he has a Level 2 infection, then he's also contagious. He doesn't seem to be sweating but I'm suspicious and I give him a wide berth. If he is infected, he could be a full-blown Level 3 in a matter of days.

Vito and Pico are running around with the other dogs, unaware of anything unusual. From behind us, the sudden sound of growling causes some quick rubbernecking among all the jittery dog owners, myself included. We're all relieved, some of us chuckle, one guy is reaching inside his coat for something when the growling turns out to be not a zombie, just a border collie expressing his objection to the romantic intentions of somebody's pitbull.

After risking our lives for an hour out in public just so Vito and Pico can pee on things that aren't theirs for a change, we head back to the bunker and hunker down for the night. Spaghetti from a storage locker added to leftover chili makes do for dinner. We turn on the Vidwall for updates and things get crazier by the hour. We learn the mayor is issuing a city-wide order closing bars, restaurants, and gyms to help curb the contagion. Later, we get a phone alert from the Zombie Response Team notifying us that a Level 3 female with a knife on 182nd street, about a mile away, was offed by the ZRT. They say the area is cordoned off and the public is warned to stay away. It's unusual; the ZRT doesn't normally send out alerts when they off a zombie. Maybe it's true; maybe this is the new normal. But it could also be a ruse to keep people away for some other reason. We'll never know for sure. The ZRT beats their own drum around here, no matter what song the rest of us are playing. Fine with us; we're in for the night. And tomorrow is a new day.

Be safe. The zombies are out there...

Episide 54 - ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE - DAY 2

ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE - DAY 2

Wow!  My first close encounter with a Level 3 Zombie!  While feeding the dogs in the kitchen I heard loud human-like vocalizations, you could say 'shouting', coming from outside.  I finished with the dogs, and when it seemed safe, I went outside to survey the street.  Got to the sidewalk and, four houses to the west of us, there he was!   Standing next to a tree by the curb, swaying slightly, he shouted at the air in front of him and then staggered into the street, directionless.  Halfway across, he turned and staggered back for no apparent reason.  He got back to the tree and yelled again at the air.  I took a step toward my door, but stopped to observe him.  He was wearing dark pants and a dark hoodie pulled up over his head.  I couldn't really see his face.  A white plastic something was draped awkwardly over one arm.  He saw me and took a couple steps in my direction.  I reached for my Japanese katana sword and then realized, I don't own a Japanese katana sword so I better get back inside the house.  And that's what I did.  They say Level 3s are sometimes adept at turning doorknobs and entering houses so I locked the door, just in case, and checked through the window.  When he didn't appear after a minute or so, I decided to let the pros handle it and called the Zombie Hot Line.
"Torrance Police, is this an emergency?"
"You tell me." I told him about the Level 3 on our street and I gave him my 20.
"What's he wearing?"
I told him.
"Was he carrying anything?"
I told him that, too.
"We'll send a car out."
A few minutes after that, my neighbor was in her driveway, acting normally so I figured the guy had moved on.  I went out to warn her and just then two cars from the Zombie Response Team drove up. The zombie was nowhere to be seen. I met the cops at the curb, pointed to the west and said, "Last I saw, he was by that tree over there."  Both cars pulled U-eys, drove away in that direction, and that was the end of it.  The ZRT never tells you whether or not they offed the guy.  If not, there's a chance he could return, as they tend to adhere to familiar routes.  We will keep our eyes just a little more peeled than usual until this is over.
Stay safe out there.  The zombies are real!

Episode 52 - Purple Raining Beer Cans

It was October 1981. I'd been living in SoCal about a month. Some friends and I drove out from Palm Springs to see the Rolling Stones in concert at The L.A. Coliseum. I don't remember all the opening acts or the order in which they played but Prince was one of them; he may have been the first band up. 

We were sitting pretty far from the stage so it was a little hard to make out all the details but Prince walked out with his band, carrying his guitar and wearing a black leather trench coat with what appeared to be nothing on underneath except for ladies lingerie. 

Remember this was a Stones concert. 

The Rolling Stones.

In 1981.

A guy was wearing lingerie.

Now, I applaud the Stones for recognizing great talent and giving a newcomer a shot, but, unfortunately for Prince and his band, the audience members at that time, at least those who found themselves within beer-can-throwing distance from the stage, weren't quite as enthusiastic as Mick Jagger and Keith Richards were about having some skinny 23-year-old dude dancing around in ladies lingerie, no matter how talented a musician he might be. 

As they began to play, Prince and his band were forced to stand about 30 feet or so from the front of the stage to avoid being hit by the beer cans, half-full styrofoam cups, and assorted other food stuffs and objects that came flying at them from the drunks in the front of the crowd. After playing about 2-1/2, maybe three songs while dodging projectiles, Prince said into the mic, 'Fuck it', or 'Fuck you', or 'Fuck something' and walked off the stage with his band. 

I remember a stage hand or security guard or someone yelling into the mic something to the effect of, 'Why don't you come up here on stage and see what it's like?' Well, sure enough, some drunken idiot accepted the challenge, pushed his way through the crowd, climbed over the security wall, and pulled himself up onto the stage. Upon his arrival, he thrust his arms into the air and did a little victory dance, like he thought he was Rocky Balboa and he had just reached the top of the stairs. Unfortunately for this dumb-ass, the security guards appeared to be not so much fans of Rocky and boxing as they were fans of Hulk Hogan and Pro Wrestling. A very large member of the security staff promptly relieved the guy of his 'Rocky moment' by applying what can be described as 'part bear hug, part half-nelson' and threw the idiot in a very un-Rocky-like fashion down the stairs that led to the side of the stage. From the contorted heap in which he landed, with his limbs pointing in all kinds of directions, this brave 'warrior for the preservation of masculinity' was picked up off the floor by two more large members of the security staff who enthusiastically 'assisted' him onto his feet and behind a wall out of view, where he presumably was blackened and blue-ened a little bit more before being either handed over to the cops or maybe he was escorted (meaning thrown, literally) outside the Coliseum where his ability to view the Stones in concert would be seriously compromised. 

Being products of the '70's and hailing from Small-Town Pacific Northwest, where some of us might have heard of Prince, but didn't give two shits about him at the time, we all sort of sneered at the 'weirdo in the lingerie' and chuckled about him being 'booed off stage'. I can't speak for my friends, but a few years later, when Purple Rain was released, I, along with millions of others, realized Prince for the incredible talent that he was.  I've been a fan ever since.

Remembering the Stones concert in '81, I've always regretted that we were robbed of an opportunity to witness greatness and possibly a little bit of history (we will never know what he had planned for us and what we missed out on) by a bunch of idiots who were so blinded by bigotry and intolerance they were unable to recognize and unwilling even to give a chance to a genius who simply wanted to stand in front of them and give them the gift of music. It seems often to be the case, though, does it not, when a new genius first emerges, that they are laughed at, dismissed, and even attacked by the ignorant. 

Someone famous once said, 'The fool on the hill sees the sun going down and the eyes in his head see the world spinning round.' It is the genius, the one who truly understands, that is regarded as an idiot by the masses who don't. 

Rest In Peace, Prince. Despite a few potholes and some fools along your path, your genius was eventually recognized and you made the world a better, more beautiful place.

4/21/2016

Day after day
Alone on a hill
The man with the foolish grin
Is keeping perfectly still
But nobody wants to know him
They can see that he's just a fool
And he never gives an answer

But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down
And the eyes in his head
See the world spinning round

Well on the way
Head in a cloud
The man of a thousand voices
Talking perfectly loud

But nobody ever hears him
Or the sounds he appears to make
And he never seems to notice

But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down
And the eyes in his head
See the world spinning round

And nobody seems to like him
They can tell what he wants to do
And he never shows his feelings

But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down
And the eyes in his head
See the world spinning round

He never listens to them
He knows that they're the fools
They don't like him

The fool on the hill

Sees the sun going down
And the eyes in his head
See the world spinning round

JL, PM