Page 1.indd - Wingspan
Page 1.indd - Wingspan
Page 1.indd - Wingspan
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October 10, 2011<br />
<strong>Wingspan</strong><br />
wingspan.lccc.wy.edu<br />
20 <strong>Wingspan</strong><br />
21<br />
virus infects editor’s life<br />
Photos by Amy Walker<br />
Cold, dead feet:<br />
Co-Editor Shawn Havel volunteered to become<br />
a zombie but did not realize everything the<br />
task entailed. Havel seemed uncormfortable<br />
through the process of putting on the makeup,<br />
but considering people were constantly poking<br />
his face, he really did quite well.<br />
Photos by Will Hebert<br />
Shawn of the dead:<br />
While the process of becoming a member of the<br />
walking dead was fairly simple for Havel, his old<br />
habits of literacy and sophistication did not die so<br />
easily. However, after picking the brains of a few<br />
staff members and receiving advice on how to<br />
behave, he caught on to proper zombie etiquette.<br />
He even began ignoring the traffic laws of humans.<br />
co-editor<br />
Shawn Havel<br />
editor’s<br />
commentary<br />
There are more<br />
than a few things<br />
that I find disagreeable<br />
about zombies<br />
and their ways.<br />
For starters, they are<br />
mindless drones primed to serve their zombie<br />
overlord…much like the tea party’s relationship<br />
to Glenn Beck. Maybe, that’s unfair. I’m assuming<br />
the zombies have an overlord. I’ll give the zombies<br />
the benefit of the doubt and say they are at least<br />
independent thinkers.<br />
Anyway, zombies are messy like infants. Replace pureed cabbage,<br />
asparagus, carrots and apple goo with<br />
semi-masticated brain and blood.<br />
The next disagreement I have—they<br />
eat people. They have no moral issue with<br />
this They don’t see anything wrong with<br />
eating my loved ones They don’t see that<br />
their actions are causing people great<br />
deals of distress Sorry, zombies, you’re<br />
not above a tea party metaphor anymore.<br />
I had the opportunity to be a zombie<br />
for an afternoon for a photo shoot.<br />
I volunteered, probably because I was<br />
distracted or felt as if I needed to step up<br />
to gain prestige points with colleagues.<br />
When I realized I would have to become a zombie, I began feeling kind<br />
of sad. Partially, for the reasons stated previously: They are messy and gross,<br />
lack moral issues with eating people who are irreplaceable to me, remind<br />
me of the tea party and so on.<br />
The day of reckoning finally had come; it was time to be a zombie.<br />
When I arrived in the <strong>Wingspan</strong> office, my fellow editors had been preparing<br />
the atrocity that would be my outfit. A pair of torn jeans (OK, this is<br />
doable.) and a neon lime-green T-shirt (Why, God) that had been covered<br />
in fake blood that would turn into a wet jelly.<br />
They finished glopping the jelly onto the garments, and once they were<br />
finished, I timidly walked toward the restroom to change.<br />
Upon donning the clothing, I discovered the blood had not dried at<br />
all, and the shirt was soaked with jelly blood. That is when I learned my<br />
first zombie lesson; zombies are probably uncomfortable because they<br />
are wearing wet clothes all day, and sometimes, those clothes are pretty<br />
strange colors, which might make them feel…whatever it is you feel when<br />
you wear a giant lime green T-shirt.<br />
Next, came the makeup. This would one of the worst/best parts about<br />
the entire experience. Worst, because I had my face covered in an oil-based<br />
paint that felt gross. Best, because the two other editors who had to poke<br />
my face with their hands to apply the makeup after their sponges failed to<br />
work probably felt just as awkward as I did for at least for a brief moment.<br />
Once the makeup was applied, I was ready to be photographed. This<br />
would be the first time anyone outside the <strong>Wingspan</strong> office would see me.<br />
I walked out into the hallway where a few passersby would see me and<br />
either smile, holding back laughs, or just disapprovingly look at me.<br />
The photo shoot happened, and it was back into the hallway among the<br />
living. The same responses came from the new passersby. I felt embarrassed<br />
at first, but, eventually, as I was paraded<br />
around campus, my confidence<br />
as a zombie grew, and I became<br />
more comfortable.<br />
I ignored the disapproving<br />
looks and learned my second<br />
zombie lesson: It doesn’t matter<br />
that you are uncomfortable in<br />
the awkward, wet T-shirt because<br />
zombies don’t care and have an<br />
unrivaled level of swagger.<br />
I even had one human come<br />
up to me and try to befriend me.<br />
The human in me was embarrassed by the honesty of this act. A human<br />
approaching an undead being to befriend him; that’s beautiful. The zombie<br />
in me appreciated the act as well, because had I been a real zombie,<br />
that guy would have a zombie gnawing on his dome, and I would have a<br />
feast. So human lesson No. 1: Don’t approach a real zombie if and when<br />
they do exist.<br />
Eventually, the parading came to an end, and I didn’t have to be a zombie<br />
anymore. Though, it wasn’t awful allowing myself to be a zombie and<br />
eventually becoming complacent with my grotesque appearance, I would<br />
much rather keep my mind busy thinking about more than just my own<br />
needs. The world is a big place, full of humans, so maybe there is a need to<br />
stop treating it as though we are zombies.<br />
Layout by Will Hebert<br />
Zombie logo by Amy Walker<br />
Background photo by Dominic Benintende