Okay, it's official. I'm tired of zombies. Pop culture has crowded in and yet again ruined something sacred.
The mainstreaming of zombies is the equivalent of your mom joining Facebook. It's suddenly just no fun anymore.
Plenty of us have jealously guarded something special - something that we perhaps were early champions of and stupidly came to feel garnered us some special status.
Well, count zombies among my many such immaturities.
Okay, I wasn't quite old enough to see Night of the Living Dead when it premiered, but guess what? I did read the book!
That's right. I don't know if they do this anymore but way back then when popular, usually shlocky movies came out they would sometimes put out a 'literary' version of it soon after. And as was the case with my Night of the Living Dead novel, there would be a few pages that had pictures from the movie stuck into the middle of the book.
So as I sat up late in my bed reading about guts being torn apart I could pause and flip to those black and white and disgusting photos of what looked like my own granddad munching on someone's innards.
But my early literary reading of Night of the Living Dead wasn't the defining moment. that would come a few years later.
It was night. We were inside the Kon Tiki cinema in Dayton, Ohio and yes there were giant tiki idols and flames and various kitchy decorations in the lobby. As you might imagine such ambiance made the experience all the stranger as the LSD we had taken began to kick in.
There we were, doing as tripping people do when in public - fighting hard to keep it together and thus conceal from the others the secret of the ridiculous magic going on around them. Me, Darry Hole and Lee Lewis lined up to enter the theatre. The whole place glowed an eerie yellowish red. The tiki gods eyeing us menacingly.
I recall the people being packed in tight as we waited to turn the corner right up ahead that led into the screening room. Shuffle shuffle shuffle. I remember suddenly having the impression that we were prisoners of war and were about to be crammed into a cattle car and sent somewhere horrible.
Somehow we survived that part and found our seats. By the time the black lady in the tenament building ran up to her husband to hug him and lost a healthy chunk of her shoulder into his mouth as a result I new we were still far from out of danger.
By the time Roger snaps while comandeering the tractor trailers to block the mall doors I wanted so bad to believe him - that we was okay, that he did have it together. But I knew it wasn't true.
I also knew that I didn't quite have it together - that I would now have to spend the rest of my life constantly on guard against a zombie outbreak.
But thanks to pop culture having taken it and ran it into the ground I can now say that I am free of those fears. I no more worry about zombies running rampant than I do being accosted by Pokemon characters or the Kool-Aid man.
An overpopulation of trendy, stupid and aggresive human beings? Now that still scares the shit out of me.