The Walking Dead

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Perspecticus

Published July 25, 2017 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

This is the time of the year when I catch up on, well, everything.  I’m falling behind on my housekeeping, mostly because I don’t give a teeny tiny little rats behind, but I can still see the floor and find the cats fairly easily, so I’m ok.

I had breakfast with my dad (to celebrate my birthday, which was a month ago but the time, it do fly.) Our conversation drifted to the current state of affairs. (In the country, not in my life, and now that I mention it, why the hell is every third person so damn interested in my ability to trap Batman?)   We discussed the incredibly stream of stupid that exploded when I simply shared an article about the mania that is Trump’s America.   This lead us to the discussion that as a whole, we (society, not me, my dad and Batman-World’s Worst YA novel.) are missing the damn point of dystopia TV.

As the wise rabbi in World War Z says, most of the time, Zombies, doesn’t mean Zombies. (He also went on to say that sometimes it actually does mean Zombies, but that doesn’t serve my point. You see how quotes can be manipulated? Hmm?)  The point I was making with to my dad is that the point of The Walking Dead, at least by my extrapolation, is that in the face pandemic disaster, our politics are going to matter very little. If human kind is to survive we have to stop arguing about the collective stupidity that makes up current bi partisan politics.  Life is far too short to fight amongst ourselves, especially since it looks like the problem is going to be bigger than  Zombies.

To pursue that rabbit down another hole,  (What’s a metaphor? Sheep!)   I recall yet another episode of  The Walking Dead, (Let’s agree that I watch entirely too much television.) One of the denizens of one of the more advanced sub-societies of the post-Apocalyptic future/alternate universe, remarked that he listened to some music when he gets bored. One of the our protagonist group replies, “I can’t remember the last time I felt safe enough to be bored”

I know it seems a long way to go to get the point, but it’s all a matter of perspective.  Perspective is a word that gets bandied about a lot these days, as is mindfulness.   Mindfulness means fine tuning your perspective so that you are hyper aware of the moment to moment-ness of you life. Kind of like when your world is full of Zombies.

And we’re back.

 

Seriously, folks

Published February 29, 2016 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

(Warning, this blog contains one tiny spoiler from last week’s The Walking Dead.)

As I have mentioned I have intermittent panic attacks. I usually have them when I am feeling overwhelmed or particularly anxious.  (One of my more memorable ones was way back in 1990 when I thought I saw an ex-boyfriend at the Gap. I began to hyperventilate and shake. My good friend Michelle bought me a frozen lemonade and made soothing sounds while I spooned bite after bite and concentrated on eating slowly enough to avoid brain freeze, which of course made me breathe slower and calm down.)

Most of my panic has been related to the bizarre dreams I have been having and most important, the upcoming Presidential elections.

Nothing sends my mind to the blank is concepts that are just too, well, stupid to ponder.  I have a former student who brought an entire class to a screeching halt when she wondered aloud if she could put a black hole in her pocket.

That is the exact same feeling I get when I think about the whole election.

I just Googled “What would happen if Donald Trump becomes president”. I full expected the ground to rumble and open up while flames shot out of my computer screen.   To be honest, I haven’t done as much research on that particular madness because it makes my fingers cold and my arms tingle and my brain sneezy.  All at the same time.   I don’t like to feel that way, and since I’m usually responsible for groups of children, I don’t need all of my parts to go kerfluey all at once.

My cousin’s child came home from school the other day upset because his Social Studies class was discussing the election (He’s in the third grade.) He was upset because “If Donald Trump gets elected, I will lose all of my friends! Jose will have to go back to Mexico, Michael will have to go back to Africa, and where will I go? Will I go to Mexico with you, Mommy, or will I go to Ireland with Daddy?”

This is madness. I have read all of the articles equating Trump’s rise to the rise of Hitler, and now the Klan is endorsing him (Trump, not Hitler, but probably him, too.) Then there’s the whole wall between the US and Mexico and the complete embarrassment this election is making of our country.

There is another chance to vote on Tuesday. I implore you to vote. I implore you to pay attention. I implore you to point the world back to things that make sense. I know this is asking a lot of a country  that gives most of its water to the Coca Cola company.  I think a Trump presidency will be a mistake of cataclysmic proportions.

As for the Walking Dead,  I have no true opinion on the new Richonne match-up other than to say there are just some butts I could have a rich full life without seeing and I can’t conceive of the mindset that makes it ok to bone in the face of the Apocalypse.

But I might feel different if there is a Trump presidency.

Hugh Manatee won’t be lost (He has an excellent map and a terrific sense of direction.)

Published August 4, 2013 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

Several years ago, Snugl, my heal totem, insisted that we find hugh manatee. At Christmas. In a metropolitan area.  Mr Steve called from a shopping trip, practically squealing with glee because he found Hugh Manatee. He actually found twice as much Hugh Manatee as we were actually looking for.  You can never go wrong with extra Hugh Manatee.

I was thinking about this during my bender of The Walking Dead (Matt Groenig, are you paying attention, this would be great mash up.)  I like this show in the same way that I like the Stand. It’s not about the Zombies or the plague. It’s about the way people handle it to survive, and what the path of survival costs in terms of lives and values.

I’m not sure if I’m supposed to feel sorry for Lori because she has the love and respect of two desperate men. True, one is an ass and the other fights every day to deal with the crown that has been thrust upon him. (I have finished the first two seasons, and I’m not spoiling anything for anyone, so it’s safe to keep reading. )

I think survival is really about what you as a person can do and still stare yourself in the face.  As I cobble together the bits and pieces of the emerging crazy, sometimes things froth to the top.

Last night  I was watching Zombies chase the cast around the Deep South, a  thought popped into my head (Or pooped into being,  your choice.) I thought that I actually genuinely hope that things go well with the AWT and her impending delivery.  I’m not thrilled about it by any means, and clearly I’m not ready to stop calling her the AWT, but I don’t wish her any hardship.

Once I thought of it, I couldn’t get it out of my mind.  I thought about texting EH to tell him to pass that on. But then I realized that was incredibly passive aggressive.

So I sent her that sentiment via the Facebook.

Because Hugh Manatee doesn’t want me to get lost.