I feel compelled
to write a daylog today. I've not been feeling very well, I'm nauseaous and I figured I could just lay down and sleep it off, but then I wake up to find myself typing in "Everything2" into the search bar, which makes me embarrassed about the mechanical drive of my body, but hey.............................
...........................It's been a weird day.
Well, I've never done this before, so, greetings from Pittsburgh! It's that time of year again, time for the spooks and the creeps to roam about. See, almost forty years ago, a man named George Romero made a movie out of one ton of makeup purchased in bulk, a common Pittsburgh household, a common Pittsburgh graveyard, and a dream. Yes, it started all here, and I've now come to realize that Pittsburghers of whatever social class, race, age, gender, or college all seem to hold these movies dear to their heart with almost fanatical displays of their love for zombie movies popping out of the woodwork. Literally!!!!
This year, for instance, the city is literally split in half over a choice that has been coming for the last four years. Yes, I'm talking about the choice between George Romero or Tom Sevini, as their rivalry has boiled into Trojan Warlike proportions. Yes, the director and make-up artist have taken the competition beyond their film school war and moved on to a smaller scale, each creating their own haunted house. Beyond that, they each have assembled the largest and finest group of zombie players I've ever seen.
I didn't have work today, and was feeling kind of depressed. I have Netflix to supplement my lack of TV and I put Harvey on the queue a week back. When I finally got it, I decided to watch it stoned, pot being something I partake of only every two or three months. The experience was alright, but the entire morning I was in the funk of the aftermath. I've been smoking cigarettes lately too, and I'm on allergy medication so I can't tell what exactly has put me in such a lethargic state. Anyway, I tried reading some daylogs, and I see some people describe themselves in an equal funk what with flus and such, but I just can't hold my interest on them, can't read them to the end.
So, I felt a good cure would be to get out of the house and decided to ride down to Oakland to return some books to the library. Traffic was annoying mostly because of the players wandering in and out of the street, putting on entirely convincing shows of zombiedom. I was dodging more zombies than cars, which is nice, but not exactly safer. I have to say, I can't really tell which zombie was in whose camp, but both Romero and Savini have really warped reality with the amount of make-up and effort put into these costumes. The stench is compelling. I mean really. Plus, there have to be some diehard fans on the city council to allow the burning cars and all this goddam screaming. Alright, it's neat, and I've always wanted to be placed in a situation where I'm fighting zombies, but it really is too hectic today. The fake shotgun blasts are a little distracting while riding my bike and it was getting somewhat dangerous for me. Windows smashing on cars placed specifically for that reason, a "frantic" woman had gotten in on the gag screaming "My baby my baby" as her little tyke was all dressed up, clawing at her. Okay, it's creepy stuff.
There were actors in the library as well, screaming about how we have to barricade the place, with the library staff either laughing or playing along or trying to calm them (I was finding it kind of confusing who's an actor and who just hadn't heard about the event). I met one of the zombies having a smoke. Since he was on break, I figured I could ask him a few questions, although he looked very distracted. I suppose he should be with dried blood pouring down the side of his face and the green decayed make-up, and he gave me the oddest, most vacant stares as I talked to him. I guess he got caught up in his role and was still somewhat in between. Despite his ill state he still talked and answered most of my questions about the production in "yes" or "no." Eventually, we stopped talking, hearing the occassional moan and watching others do their thing. Finally, he asked, not looking at me at all:
"You heard about the whole zombie thing, right?"
I thought this was a weird question, but I said that I had heard it from a friend. He nodded and mumbled something in response. I asked him if he was okay, and gave a warn-out laugh: "Yeah, just a little too real I guess." I was going to ask him if he was for Romero or Savini, but he got up, and I watched him walk before bolting down the street and knocking one of his dazed partners out of his way.
On the way back to Bloomfield I almost ran into a guy who simply refused to break character, which was kind of exciting since I had to get away before he'd "bite" me. On the rest of the ride, a strange thought popped into my head. I mean, what if some psychotic decided to sneak some real shells into one of the prop guns.......or something. It's all taking an eerie turn
Which I guess I forgot about once I got to the grocery store. Bought some cereal and ice cream and stepped over some people "feasting" on each other. Alright, nice blood capsules in the teeth there fellows. You're really going all out with the animal entrails there, cute, haha. I bought a lint brush, finally. I didn't get a kick out of the "looters", but I wondered if I could get away with it anyway, in all the confusion of fun. When I left, a man was being rundown in the parking lot and I was finding this pretty tedious after three hours, and I just wanted to get home by then.
So. Then Shit I know I started this casual, and I'm trying really hard here not to I know this will sound crazy I'll just say it when I got home I went into the house and I heard noises from the kitchen I figured it was just my roomate and i went in and Frankenberry was standing in there turning him into a marshmellow
Now I'm holed up in his room, typing this. and having been stuck here for a little I'm calm enough to note how I'm not really in danger since all Frankenberry can do is mash his soft corpus against my roommate's door, he doesn't really have the ability to change shape or anything, he just makes semi-lingual noises coming from one of his slogans. We have a cramped house, but I can probably crawl out the window, and make it to Marcella's to borrow gas or something flamable from her husband and then I'll just melt the bastard into a gooey pink pile. Actually, this isn't a bad situation, since my room was originally the living room of the house. I'll finally get some privacy and sOh God! There's something at the window a shambling blue translucent and foamy figure!
IA! BOO-BERRY! ARRRRGGHHH ARRRRRGHGHGHHAAAAA