The Quibbling Dead

I started watching The Walking Dead yesterday. It’s clearly a very well-made show, well-written and acted, with great special effects. That said, I don’t think it’s for me.

I do have some quibbles, the kind I always have in post-apocalyptic-type movies and tv.

Some spoilers for The Walking Dead follow, though not really spoilery if you know anything about zombie fiction.

In the opening 25 minutes, as Character is leaving the hospital, I wonder — who bothered to tear the acoustical tile out of the ceiling? I mean, clearly, not too much time has passed. Character, while dehydrated, has not died from it. So it can’t be more than, say, seventy-two hours since the last hospital staff died, you know? And the pools of blood on the hospital floor are still wet. So, while living people were still around in the hospital, someone bothered to rip out the tile? To what end? Nothing is kept in the ceiling, no supplies. And a person can’t hide up on top of the tile, it’s not load-bearing. And I doubt the zombies would think about acoustical tile at all. So who did it, and why?

Ditto the pieces of paper strewn everywhere. I mean, yes, it’s indicative of chaos and disorder. But who would bother? Why? I understand ransacking the drug cabinets, the medical supplies, yes, certainly. But why throw files and papers into the hallway? We’re not talking papers knocked off a desk during a search for other things, we’re talking paper drifting through the hallway. And, again, this can only be a day or two after the last living person died — note the fresh blood and the state of Character.

January 19 2012

1. I got my Zombilert medallion on Tuesday! This led to me explaining to the children what “Double Tap” means. The explanation went easier than I thought, since K apparently knows all about zombie attacks from The Seventh Doctor story, “The Curse of Fenric,” and M understands the fundamental rule of zombification, there is no cure. And both children are veteran Plants vs. Zombies players. So. Sometimes the hard explanations are not so hard. “Why does your mom have a badge that says to shoot her in the head?” “Oh, that’s only if she’s a zombie.”

I feel I have done something parental.

2. My new favorite fashion blog is Scrapscallion.

3. Yesterday was the anti-SOPA demonstration blackout. I called my representative and senators.

4. I am sloooooooowly working my way up to running a mile. While at the same time working on the Starting Strength barbell program. Everything aches.

Thoughts on the YMCA

One of the YMCA’s we go to has a super-warm pool. It’s therapy-rated, so when we are there on a Wednesday morning there are always two groups of people there — families with very small children, and the elderly. (Often combined into the same unit — grandparents with small grandchildren.) Occasionally, like today, a group of people with developmental disabilities will show up. Sometimes you see a person obviously doing their post-surgery physical therapy.

It’s interesting, and it gives a view of “fitness” that has nothing in common with Bally’s ads. The people I see in the pool at the Y are trying to change what their body can do, not how it looks.

There’s some of this in the cardio and weight rooms, on weekday mornings, as well. Lots of older people, lots of folks who fail to meet conventional standards of attractiveness. I’m sure some of them are hoping to change their appearance. But a lot are there to change their capabilities regardless of weight or size.

I talked about this with a friend of mine recently. He said his fitness program already keeps his strength and endurance up. He maintains a healthy lifestyle. He’s not motivated to go to the gym because his next goal is to change his appearance — and he’s not willing to commit the daily hours it would take to sculpt himself into conventional boy-bait. I understand; it’s a daunting task.

Luckily, I have no such goals. My YMCA goals are 1) for my kids to learn to swim, 2) for the kids to run around each day, 3) for the kids to learn some sports skills, 4) to increase the strength and flexibility in my bad ankle, and 5) to ready myself for the zombie apocalypse.

Now, don’t mock that last one. I know perfectly well that, come the zombie apocalypse or any other society-destroying catastrophe, I’m a dead woman. I need too many medications to live long. But, none of my issues will kill me right away. So I could conceivably live and protect my kids for a few years. (When I’m being utterly and completely honest, this is why I learned to shoot firearms. To save my family after the zombie apocalypse, nuclear holocaust, or plague aftermath.) My ability to protect my kids will be increased if I am stronger and have better endurance. Hence, working out at the Y.

Appearance is . . . a minor consideration. I would be lying if I said it was not a consideration at all — I exist in my culture, and am affected by its images of power and beauty and grace. If I managed to somehow be transplanted into Wonder Woman’s body, I would likely not mind. (Presuming it was not part of a horrific and painful supervillain plot. Then I would object.) But, mostly what I want is increased ability. I am not looking to lose weight or change clothing sizes — I am looking to transform more of my present mass into muscle, and to gain proficiency at using those muscles. I want better wind, better endurance, and better balance.

In other words, I have the same goals as the septuagenarian water volleyball players in the pool at 10:30 Wednesday mornings. Except for the zombie apocalypse bits.

Why, yes, I’ve seen Road Warrior

I did manage to get another scene written on Stormkiller this morning, despite being terribly distracted by the OneBag site. OneBag, for those of you not clicking the link, is a site devoted to telling people how to pack lightly. This packing-lightly-thing fits in with the image I have of myself in an alternate, dystopian, post-apocalyptic world in which I must roam the country saving attractive women and helpless children from marauding cannibal savages.

Yes, in this alternate version of me, I drive a motorcycle. Why do you ask?

Anyway.

Back in this reality, I still like to travel light. I . . . no longer do so, really, since I have acquired kids. There’s all this extra stuff, like, you know, clothes for the kids. But on the rare occasions I am travelling by myself on a plane or train, I like to keep my stuff down to one carry-on bag and one personal item.

The personal item is always my tech bag. Netbook, Zune, phone, notebook and pen, paperback book, medications, over the counter drugs, flashlight, sewing kit. I pack as though I will lose my luggage, even though I intend to carry my luggage with me.

The single carry-on is a little trickier. I tend to overpack, planning for emergencies which have never occurred in all my years of flying or staying in hotels. So I read sites like OneBag with a sort of seeking-after-wisdom attention. Sitting at the feet of the guru, if you will. Does this self-help travel advisor have the answers I have sought for so long?

Of course, they all have the same answer.

Bring less stuff.

This isn’t the reply I’m looking for, of course. What I want is a quick fix, a trick, a subtle method of packing, the One True Carry-On Bag, something to solve my packing dilemmas without me having to give anything up.

Ah well.

My next trip is going to be to Emerald City ComiCon, and I will be bringing heavy comics to sell. So I doubt I’ll manage just one bag then, anyway.