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High Tea of the Living Dead
Oct. 12th, 2006 05:14 pmIn my dream last night, I lived in a modern high rise apartment. There were only two flats on the floor, and the other was occupied by Ciro and Patrick. It was the afternoon before an invasion of George Romero-style zombies. We were more annoyed by this than anything else; zombie invasions were treated like other forces of nature - hurricanes, tornadoes, thunderstorms - only more reliably predictable. We knew the zombies were coming; we knew also that they would be gone the day after they arrived. The chief question was the best manner of zombie fortification.
Ciro was insistent that I should go in to my apartment, and that he and Patrick would then barricade me inside by nailing impenetrable blue plastic membranes over the entryways. I was nervous about this idea because it would mean I couldn't get out of the apartment if I wanted to; I also didn't understand why this was necessary for my apartment, but not for Ciro and Patrick's. Ciro, frustrated by my obtuseness and lack of trust in his proven planning abilities, irritably explained that he and Patrick needed to remain available to beat the zombies off with bats. And, actually, he, Ciro, had to go in to work that day and would only be around in the evening.
Perhaps, Patrick suggested, Patrick could join me in the barricaded apartment, and Ciro could just spend that night at a friend's?
No, said Ciro. Who then would hit the zombies with bats?
This was an excellent question. I halfway volunteered, but was immediately shot down by both Ciro and Patrick, both of whom insisted that my proper role during a zombie invasion was to wear a white satin robe and feathered mules and alternate between sitting on the bed despairingly and looking out the window pensively, all of which was best accomplished without distraction.
Ciro was insistent that I should go in to my apartment, and that he and Patrick would then barricade me inside by nailing impenetrable blue plastic membranes over the entryways. I was nervous about this idea because it would mean I couldn't get out of the apartment if I wanted to; I also didn't understand why this was necessary for my apartment, but not for Ciro and Patrick's. Ciro, frustrated by my obtuseness and lack of trust in his proven planning abilities, irritably explained that he and Patrick needed to remain available to beat the zombies off with bats. And, actually, he, Ciro, had to go in to work that day and would only be around in the evening.
Perhaps, Patrick suggested, Patrick could join me in the barricaded apartment, and Ciro could just spend that night at a friend's?
No, said Ciro. Who then would hit the zombies with bats?
This was an excellent question. I halfway volunteered, but was immediately shot down by both Ciro and Patrick, both of whom insisted that my proper role during a zombie invasion was to wear a white satin robe and feathered mules and alternate between sitting on the bed despairingly and looking out the window pensively, all of which was best accomplished without distraction.
