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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

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