That's So Honors English

Recently, there have been several LGBT teen suicides. The pressure on these kids, as well as the rest of the LGBT community, is enormous, and many feel that death is their only escape from the hatred that they encounter in their lives. I wrote this paper a few years ago, for my Honors English class, but the message is still as true as it was then. We need to stop perpetuating hate speech in order to push progress forward.

_{By DeviantArtist Traitors-stead}

When you hear something stupid, or see a silly picture, what is your most common response? “That’s so stupid?” “That’s really silly?” That’s probably not the case. As nice as it would be to live in a world where dumb things were simply dumb, this is not reality. In most cases, when something strikes a person as being different, or odd, or oppositional to their own beliefs, they refer to it as “gay.” “Oh my God, that shirt is so gay.” “You listen to that band? You’re such a fag.” The truth is that most people who say these things probably don’t realize the strength their words have. It is most commonly believed that about ten percent of the American populous is LGBT. Despite the fact that this community is a minority, they still have the right to stand up and oppose the deliberate misuse of a once-neutral term for homosexuality. In defense of the LGBT community, the Ad Council has brought forth an award-winning series of commercials dealing with the phraseology “That's so gay.” The clips are about thirty seconds long, but they deliver a strong message, spoken by celebrities that Americans can easily recognize-- Wanda Sykes, who recently came out to the public, and Hilary Duff are in the two most popular of the commercials. Speaking as a friend of several gay people, and as a bisexual, I personally believe that the American people, and young adults in particular, need to come to the realization that their words have power, and can hurt people when taken in the wrong light.

The emotional weight that the LGBT community carries, due to their orientation, has been somewhat lifted in recent years, though it still seems far more acceptable to be straight. With the controversy over gay marriage and equal opportunities, LGBTs have been forced under a spotlight as of late. California's Proposition 8 has drawn a great deal of attention, as have the bans on gay marriage and adoption rights in several states. It may seem, then, that simple words don't matter much in the light of far more serious concerns. Unfortunately, though, the misuse of words like gay, faggot, lesbian, and homo is becoming so prevalent that it, too, as become one of those serious issues. A report by the Ad Council states that “Almost 90% of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) students report being verbally harassed at school because of their sexual orientation”. The majority of the abuse may, in fact, be unintentional because of the adoption of the orientational slurs into the everyday teenage vernacular.

Rationally, fighting the verbal abuse of an already-oppressed group makes perfect sense. Very little separates LGBTs from the so-called “rest” of the population; the separation is what truly makes no sense. Unfortunately, there are those who feel that the commercials that fight against stinging insults are themselves insulting: “This campaign from the Ad Council goes about sharing the love by creating more hate. [Hilary] Duff makes fun of the teenage girl and her ability to shop in order to make her point”. The same sentiment was expressed by several people I have personally addressed, including my own father, who is usually quite supportive of my orientation, but has always expressed a dislike for homosexual males. To him, people who have reacted to the phrase are being oversensitive, and they are simply demanding political correctness. However, while this may just be a pompous demand over childish vernacular, it must be taken into account that the word “gay” has the most commonly accepted, and certainly the friendliest, term used to address a homosexual, male or female, since the 1970s. The fact that this word is also attributed to any negative happenstance that occurs causes its degradation to all people, and takes away its safety to the homosexual community.

In order to inflict change, steps can be taken to show that you care enough about the matter at hand to stand up for it. In this case, those interested in making their mark can go to thinkb4youspeak.com. The site offers several ways to get involved with the effort, including a personal pledge to “Not use anti-LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender) language or slurs. Intervene, if you safely can, in situations where students are being harassed. Support efforts to end bullying and harassment”. Visitors to the website can also submit their own ideas for sayings to replace “That's so gay,” as well as send e-cards to spread awareness and to gain further support for this cause. Another option for supporters of the cause is to participate in a Day of Silence. The Gay, Lesbian, and Straight Education Network (GSLEN) sponsors several such events throughout the year; the day of silence is typically in the second week of April. The event's website aids potential participants in signing up to be counted, purchasing themed merchandise to advertise, and pages to register GSAs and other advocacy groups for involvement in the Day. Finally, the simplest way to curb the phrase “That's so gay,” and other similar phrases, is to stop saying it yourself. Check yourself when you see something that strikes you as dumb or stupid, and watch your tongue. If one of your friends says the phrase, ask them why. Make them think before they just utter pointless, hurtful chatter. All of the groups, advertisements, and events can never compare with the small act of one person addressing another; one heart needs to touch another if this movement can make headway.

By saying “That's so gay,” the speaker, whether or not they realize it, demeans the entire homosexual populous. The phrase spreads a sort of subconscious homophobia, which has turned viral in recent years. Despite its widespread use, though, change can happen, if people realize that what they are saying is very wrong, and sounds completely nonsensical and unintelligent. Words have power, whether they are used properly or improperly. Consider the way you would feel if, instead of saying “gay,” the common phrase was “That's so straight.” While most people do not solely define themselves by their sexual orientation, having a word that describes it used as an insult can be hurtful nonetheless. You probably wouldn't like to have an essence of yourself, a part of your life, targeted and trivialized. It shouldn't be cool to say that something is gay. This phrase should not be socially acceptable. Think about the words you use to describe the strange, the odd, the down-right stupid. And for those of you who do say “That's so gay,” knock it off!

~Sushi

So I Put My Hands Up (And Promptly Clamped Them Over My Ears)

Let me start out by telling you that my exposure to Miley Cyrus up to this point was minimal. That's a difficult thing to attain when one lives in a household with two young girls. Fortunately, I conditioned them to understand that Hannah Montana might possibly be the anti-Christ, and to not watch her show. _{I hope you know I'm kidding about the anti-Christ part. She's probably Satan herself.} And so, my sisters developed into pretty decent tomboys, although they still like iCarly and the Suite Life shows, which I honestly can't say I mind, because I like them, too.
But my affinity for children's television isn't the subject of this blog. Miley Cyrus is. I have had to endure that retched 'Party in the USA' twice now, with absolutely no escape. For some reason, EIU plays it at football games over the PA system. I have stood amidst a crowd full of people that I had camaraderie with not seconds before--due to the matching T-shirts, face paint, and hoarse voices that are Panther Nation--and was baffled as to why they were waving their hands in the air to what sounds like a chipmunk gasping for air. Her actual singing voice sounds like the voice I do when I poke fun at pop singers. She literally sounds like a joke to me. I can't walk out of the stadium, because enough people already have; our team isn't exactly the greatest, but aren't we expected to cheer harder for them when they're down? Panther Nation is a pep club, which to me means that we cheer no matter what, not leave in droves when the game starts to suck. But that's a rant for a different day.
This isn't to say that college football games were my first exposure to Miley Cyrus; they were simply my first unavoidable brush with the little demon. The first Miley Cyrus song I ever heard was 'Can't Be Tamed', and I chose to watch the video because there was an article about it on Yahoo News that day. It appears to me that her video is an audition for the Junior Miss Lady GaGa pageant. Just as GaGa has been a tad too Madonna-esque lately--see 'Alejandro'--Miley has skanked it up with an unholy marriage of all things Lady GaGa and Britney Spears. It's creepy, and the little kids who once followed her don't like it. Seriously. However, that song is fathoms better than 'Party in the USA', and if they play at games, I might sing along. If Justin Bieber starts playing, though, I'll walk out, no matter how much the team needs me.
~Sushi

A Benevolent Textatorship

Call me a whiner, but I'm concerned about the people in my generation being unleashed into the working world, particularly those who are going into my field, psychology. I think about ninety percent of the psych majors I've met absolutely terrify me. Not just because they're morons, and they don't actually care about other people, but also because they just can't seem to put away their damn cell phones. The typical psych major, as well as most of my other peers, has a general lack of regard for others. They will tap away on their cellphones, whether they are alone, or in a group of friends, or in the classroom where they are supposed to be learning about the nuances of their chosen profession. What is going to happen when these people look up, and see that the world has changed around them? That they are not the center of the universe, and that the rest of Earth's inhabitants don't revolve around them?
What I'm trying to say is this: would you want to deal with a therapist who snuck glances at a cell phone when you were trying to divulge your problems to them? When they were supposed to be paying attention to only you, and not the person on the other line? And what if that other person is a surgeon, who perhaps was texting away during the lecture that taught them how to perform the operation they need to do on the human being in front of them? I don't want any doctor from my own generation working on me. I'm afraid of them, and I'm afraid of literally everyone else my age, because of this reasoning.
I have sat in classrooms when literally everyone surrounding me was texting. And the teachers, despite what they have all said during syllabus week, do nothing. It's very distracting. That little 'tick tick tick' or 'tap tap tap' of a cell phone keyboard as the texter creates some abomination of grammatical errors to send to the recipient, who is probably also sitting in class, distracting someone else like me, while another teacher does nothing. It's sick. I think I'm going to stick by my plan in high school and become a hermit by age thirty. I despise cell phones; I hate having one, and I hate using them. I hate the fact that I had to get texting back on my phone, after blissful years without it, so that I can communicate with my friends who, God forbid, hopefully don't text in class.
I probably sound insane for saying all this, but somewhere, deep down inside you, you know it to be true. Think about it: college is the time when our minds are most malleable, when we condition ourselves to become our future selves. The texter is conditioning their belief system to include an allowance for texting when others are present. In other words, their moral system states that it's perfectly fine to ignore the people in their presence in favor of a person that could be miles away, in the form of a small, technology-packed telephone. What about the people who will depend on these texters to make them well? And in the case of educators, what about the children who depend on these people to teach them? I fear that our world is doomed.

May Stephen King's glorious vision in Cell one day come true.
~Sushi

Twi-hard Fan

I must apologize on two accounts.
First, I haven't blogged in a ridiculously long time. Between packing for school, throwing a graduation party so wicked that my dad had to go to the hospital, and playing far too much Rock Band 2, I just haven't found the time. And for that, I'm sorry.
I'm also sorry for the reason I have dragged myself back online; it's not pleasant. Don't worry, nobody died or anything. To make a long story short, Bella Swan stole my birthday. Or, to be fair, Stephanie Meyer gave it to her. Let me explain. Lately, I've been suffering through the Twilight series, at the request of Spock's grandmother. She asked that I read the series, which she enjoyed, before complaining about it anymore. She even went so far as to purchase the books for me. [Secondhand, thank goodness, but still. They are festering in my home now.] The only one she couldn't find for me was New Moon, so I got it from the library, and am currently being tortured into reading. On page six, the victim reader finds out that Bella's birthday is September 13^th. Which also happens to be the day I WAS BORN. I did the math, and technically she is two years older than me, but given that I was spawned into meathood before she was vomited onto the page, it was my birthday first. If I may be so childish. _{Meathood? Really? That may well be the strangest sentence I have ever written in my life.}
So, in honor of my re-renewed hatred of Twilight, I present to you...


Seventeen Exemplary Examples of Anti-Twiligt Fan-Art
_{From our friends at DeviantART!}
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One last thing. Today [well, yesterday now, I guess] is Faythe's 21st birthday! Ahahaha, she's so OLD now! _{Just kidding. Please don't kill me.}
~Sushi

ROAD TRIP!

Spock and I are on vacation, for the first time ever [with each other, that is]! We trekked [ha HA!] for five hours in the blistering Illinois heat--especially when my air conditioning quit working--to visit Spock's paternal grandparents downstate. We also managed to stall out my car, and I almost fainted! This is high adventure, readership!
So far, it's been nice here. Their house is nerve-wrackingly clean, especially when compared with his maternal grandparents. So, it'll take some getting used to, but other than that, I think I'll get along just fine. We watched Tropic Thunder last night, and will probably devour chunks of their extensive movie library over the course of the week.
On a sadder note, Freak and her boyfriend broke up, but I have absolutely no idea why. It still makes me sad though; Vito seemed like a decent guy. Not too pleased about being called an asshole on Freak's Facebook wall, though. Especially by someone who's got their own vendetta against me, and--
Umm... Enough drama. I'm going to have fun on this vacation if it kills me.
~Sushi

Little Monsters Unite!

A sick thing happened today. Anyone who hasn't been hiding under a rock knows that the music video for Lady Gaga's 'Bad Romance' has held the most-viewed spot on Youtube for months now. I'm one of the people who helped it get there, and maybe you are, too. Well, we have to do it again. As of today, Mama Monster has been pushed out of the top spot by none other than, dare I say it... Justin Bieber. Some nauseating tripe that spewed forth from the gob of the Biebs is the Number #1 video on Youtube. Needless to say, this must be stopped. So, my part is to watch the video over and over, and to stay THE HELL away from the Biebs' bullshit; the name of the song is 'Baby', for Pete's sake. Would you be so kind as to do the same?



Together, we can put Gaga back where she belongs: on top.
~Sushi
P.S. I'm just crazy as hell sometimes, aren't I?

I May Have Lost My Touch

I really want to write a post tonight... er, this morning. Whatever. I seem to have lost sight of what I wanted to do with my blog. I look back, and I see a ton of movie reviews, and not a whole lot else. And yeah, a lot of my summer has involved going to the movies. I think I've gone at least a dozen times. Spock and I just saw Iron Man 2 last weekend. It was the second time I'd seen it, since the whole family went on Independence Day. But anyway, I feel sort of bad about just writing about movies. And then there was that post that was just a rant about my ex, Nietzsche. It just hasn't been a note-worthy summer, for the most part. Possibly, I just don't have a note-worthy life. But, I keep on truckin', or I guess Trekkin', being an unholy nerd and all.
I used to truly fancy myself a writer. It was my dream to be published, but until that day came, I knew I would write and write, and write some more. Until something stuck, you know? Until I actually found something worth writing an entire novel, or short story, or even poem about. And now, well, I think my brain may be deteriorating. I can barely go a day without forgetting how to spell a word, or not being able to articulate what the word even means. This, from the girl who was dubbed all throughout school as 'The Human Dictionary'. Now, I sit around every day, wondering what to write about, and almost nothing comes anymore. It's extremely frustrating, and I think that it may be contributing to my current bout of depression. I had originally worked this blog out. I was going to write, and have lists, and people would be intrigued by what I had to say. Instead, I have seven followers on the actual blog, and twelve on Facebook. And I'm related to three of them. So much for intriguing the masses. And it's not like I don't try to put the word out; I back-link all over the place. Any comment section that asks for a website, there's a link here. Any status message on any gaming site I use links here. I feel really naive about the whole thing.
And don't think that I'm quitting. No, I'm not giving up. I'm just not going to care as much, I suppose. And certainly not set my standards so high.
~Sushi

High Water

Yesterday, Spock and I made the long trek to the Charter One Pavilion in Chicago, in order to see Rush. During the earlier part of the week, I meticulously planned out exactly how we were to get there, to the point of separating the money we needed into baggies. _{I shit you not.} We arrived at the pavilion about an hour early, to a torrential downpour that appeared nowhere in the weather forecast. After having our tickets checked at the gate, we were given ponchos, which was awesome. What wasn't so awesome was that everything in my purse, including our tickets and directions home, was soaked. And continued to be soaked as I had to pull the tickets out time and again to prove that we truly were in the venue legitimately.
After navigating through the drunks, stoners, swag-hawkers, and other assorted Rushians, we made it to our seats. From there, we watched as the rain cut through the crowd like rusty scissors as we huddled under our complimentary ponchos. We could clearly see the stage, and watched as someone who appeared to be Geddy Lee popped onto the stage, and then ducked under a curtain which presumably led to the backstage area. A half-hour after the concert was supposed to begin, a random guy came up on stage and told us that our beloved Rush was rained out. And we were pissed. Spock, who is always calm, was calm, but me... well, I swore up a storm with the rest of the Rushians. And we wished it was a joke, but it wasn't. We were to check our e-mail for messages from Live Nation. And this funny thing happened. The only thing I got from them was a link to fill out a survey about how much I loved the concert. Spock had to pull me away from the keyboard before I released an acidic tirade of angry fanatic bile. Our tickets said 'Rain or Shine', and I was livid about the venue going back on their end of the bargain. At least, I was until I understood what actually happened. I settled down after learning that our heroes may have been electrocuted if they had played for us. The only thing I wish had happened differently was if one of the guys told us, instead of some random dude. Mama Bear, though, thought that it may have started a riot. Such is life, I suppose. Rumor has it that the reschedule will be in September, right close to my birthday. The trouble with such a date is that I'll be in school by then. Looks like I need to establish my priorities.
Yours "In the Mood", "In the End", and anywhere "Beneath, Between, and Behind",
~Sushi

Keine Worte

NOTE: I apologize in advance for injecting so much of my personal life into this entry. I've been mostly writing about movies and events, so of course it will seem a little odd when I just talk about myself. However, if I just keep all this weirdness inside, I may explode. The title of the post, by the way, means 'No Words' in German, a language that I sometimes revert to when English doesn't have pretty enough words to describe the way I feel.

I never saw this coming. I thought he was through with Spock, and I already knew he was through with me. His name, for our purposes, will be Nietzsche, for the famous "God is dead" philosopher who was his hero for so long. It has been almost year since we parted, on the most unpleasant of circumstances. As I have already written that story once, I'll direct you to it for reference: Click here.. The shorter version, for those of you who can't access the page [it may be blocked for those who aren't members of DeviantART], is that on Nietzsche's birthday, Spock and I went to his house to throw a small party. A lot of thought went into it, and when he appreciated absolutely none of it, I flipped my lid a little bit. I had already been taking medication for depression, and the dosage was high enough that it was actually doing more harm than good, and thoroughly destroyed my sense of self-preservation. After weeks of my phone calls and emails remaining unanswered, I did the worst thing possible--I tried to kill myself by overdosing on pills and cough syrup. I spent four days in the hospital; it would have been longer if insurance had allowed. While I was in the hospital, I left him a crazed voicemail, breaking up with him and calling him all sorts of names.
Months after I was released from the hospital, I attempted to apologize through email, but the only reply I received was "Please never message me again." So, I took to forgetting about him, and trying to be a better girlfriend to Spock, who was once Nietzsche's best friend. But now, a strange tide has turned. While checking his Facebook, Spock got a friend request from Nietzsche. He accepted it, mostly because I asked him to. Even after all the nastiness that came between Nietzsche and I in the end, I still wondered and worried about him. I am just the dumbest person I know. Why should I bother with a person that will never speak to me again, and who has probably blocked me from his memory at all costs? Because there was once a time that I loved him, and because that time existed, I will never forget him.
Oh, and his birthday is on July 9th if you want to drop him a line. I can't give you his email address, because I'm fairly sure he could sue me for that, but I'll make sure that your words are heard. If, you know, you have anything to say.
Happy Independence Day!
~Sushi

Without You We Couldn't Do What We Do

Yes, it's time again for another post about my favorite Canadians, Rush! I'm a bit late on this one, actually. Last Friday, a super awesome thing happened. Rush got its star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame! Check this out! And here is Geddy stealing a baby! Sort of. The only trouble with this is that tons and tons of people--Rush fans, fanatics, and people who have just heard of Rush--saying that now they should be inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. Well, I call shenanigans, because that's ridiculous. It is the opinion of many, including myself, that to be inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, while still alive, anyway, is to destroy your career, or to signify that you are now washed up and done with recording. For example, years ago, when I was off my nut about AC/DC they were inducted, and basically stopped recording. When they came out with Black Ice, it sounded like the same songs they had produced earlier, with _{sort of} different lyrics. It really hurt to see them fall from grace like that. And the Iron Man 2 soundtrack--because I know someone will mention it--is mostly made of songs already recorded. Including Highway to Hell, which is secretly on every AC/DC album ever made.
The best thing to do is induct the artist posthumously; that way they can't do anything to make people wonder how they ever got into the Hall of Fame in the first place. Take Elvis Presley, for example. He was on a downhill spiral by the time he died in 1977. Imagine if he had been alive in 1986, when he was inducted. Would he still have been cranking out albums of himself talking (and shamelessly insulting) the audience at his concerts? [I wish I could say I was kidding around.] It's probably safe to say he would, because people will buy ANYTHING that has to do with The King, and thus, it made the most sense to induct him after his death. Many, many years after, when people had forgotten all the dumb shit he did toward the end of his life, and were able to only remember his pure awesomeness during the '50s and '60s.
I don't want Rush to be inducted until one of the guys dies, because then, Rush will be done. There is no Rush if Lee, Lifeson, or Peart is not still alive and kicking. Yes, there was once a Rush without Neil Peart, but that didn't last for long, now did it?
~Sushi

Bieber Fever

Okay, shortest post EVAR. Can someone out there please explain to me what the deal is with Justin Bieber? Why is he so popular? I mean, I love Canada with a burning passion, but that kid just has no appeal to me. Hopefully, I have called down enough Bieber-tard wrath that one of you people will explain this to me. And possibly call me a Nazi. I quite enjoy that.
~Sushi

Ready, Set, Please Don't Make Me Watch This Again!

When I was younger, I was absolutely mortified by a movie called The Halloween Tree. I can't even remember why, but I couldn't watch it without crying, and I've never seen the end. The reason I'm telling you this is because I happened across The Halloween Tree while doing a library search for media involving Leonard Nimoy but not Star Trek. [Taking Trek out cuts the list down by about 90%, in case you're wondering.] I had no idea Leonard Nimoy was in The Halloween Tree, because the last time I tried to watch it was at least a decade ago. So, I put the movie on order, mostly because I wanted to figure out why it's so damn terrifying, and of course, because Leonard Nimoy is, in my world, the human equivalent of God. The movie came in, I popped it into a VCR, and...
90 Minutes Later
I am almost twenty goddamn years old, and that movie is still scary as shit. But, now that I am an articulate adult, with a pen and paper sitting right beside me, I can tell you precisely why I was afraid to walk up my stairs in the pitch-blackness of my house after watching The Halloween Tree.
First off, it's a cartoon based on a book by Ray Bradbury. I've read a lot of Bradbury's work, and while I enjoy it, most of it is not suitable for children. He's a spooky guy, even if he's not exactly trying to be. Oh, he's also the narrator of the movie. The Halloween Tree also features one of the spookiest soundtracks I've ever heard for a cartoon; those vocalists haunted my nightmares. Then, after the intro, the children show up. These kids, apart from the token fatty, are skeleton-thin, and not just the one actually dressed as a skeleton. Then, when the kids gather into their little clique and realize their buddy Pip, the "greatest kid on earth," is missing, they take a trip through the forest from Snow White to get to his house. I am dead serious; this forest wanted to eat those kids alive. But all that weirdness seems minor when compared to Leonard Nimoy's character, Mr. Moundshroud. He is, among other things, a "scary yellow pointy magic bastard"--at least, that's what I have in my notes. When the bony kids make it to his house, which also wants to eat them, they see Pip, who is clear, climbing a tree growing pumpkins, which are apparently souls, and then flies away clutching a pumpkin that looks like his face. Oh, and a sidenote: in order to get Pip back, Moundshroud and the band of anorexic children must go to the "Undiscovered Country". Yes, like in Star Trek. Oh, and in order to get to the Undiscovered Country, they have to fly a time-traveling kite, made out of pieces circus posters that are alive and trying to eat them. Fun. Thankfully that gets torn to shreds when they land in Egypt. Okay, at this point in my notes, I wondered if I was just a sissy when I was little, and I decided to stop writing things down until I was truly spooked. But then, Moundshroud's cape turned into bat wings and he started to fly. Maybe every single thing that happens in this movie really is disturbing as hell. Later in the movie, in France, it is revealed that Moundshroud can't walk on holy ground. Is he the Devil, or the Grim Reaper or something? Nothing extraordinarily bad happens until they get to Mexico, during Dia de los Muertes. There we find Pip in a crypt, stuck in a giant spider web, surrounded by animated corpses. When the first of the skinny children tries to touch him, he turns to dust. I have pinpointed this as the exact point in the movie where I ran screaming from the room. Right about there. Well, not this time. This time I just watched in awe, wondering why the film was ever made. That, and why it features, among all those other frightening things, soul-sucking sugar skulls. Try saying that ten times fast.
Here, I made this for you:

~Sushi

No Zombie Is Safe from Chicago Ted

On Saturday, June 5th, 2010, in a move that unequivocally proved to my family that I do in fact think that every day is Hallowe'en, I dressed up as a zombie and lurched my way through downtown Chicago. Otaku, her girlfriend [let's call her Squeak], and I had heard about Zombie March Chicago 3 through Facebook, which is where we hear about most fun things, and decided to give it a try. I kept notes throughout the day, in order to compile a checklist of...

Things To Do: Zombie March Edition
Spray fake blood on clothes, floor, etc.
Get fake blood all over tub, hands,
Take a ton of pictures - repeat as necessary
Learn how much I have in common with Squeak [it's almost ridiculous]
Load blood-soaked clothes into large trash bag
Load clothes, make-up, camera equipment, people into small car
Drive and yell at cars and drive and get Mountain Dew and drive
Listen to awesome tunes: Daft Punk, The Birthday Massacre, My Chemical Romance
Yell, "FUCK YOU BP!" because fuck you, BP
Close Squeak's bank account
Drive more
Realize that we are all using the same tone of voice, and all sound like we're seven
Go to Squeak's second cousin's eight grade graduation party; watch family shenanigans; receive free food
PRODUCT IDEA: T-shirt - "Don't touch me; I'm sick. _{No, seriously. I am.}"
See Hindu temple; freak out
Put on much make-up; get dressed in bloody, damp zombie clothes
Try to catch train; go to wrong train station
Fall asleep during drive to Chicago
Go. Stop. Go. Stop. Go. Stop. TURN!
Get to Chicago two hours after march has started; zombie it up anyway
PRODUCT IDEA: Bumper sticker - "I have a horn, too."
Park car; put on more fake blood
Look for other zombies
Find one zombie, one homeless person, get distraught, go to Starbucks
Explain esoteric American culture to Chinese tourists; try to explain what zombies are
Find nice zombies, asshole zombies, mohawk zombies, zombies with sweet pants
Here the phrase, "Can I ask you a question? I keep seeing all these zombies..." about two dozen times
Get picture taken twice by people who asked, a billion other times by people who didn't
See someone whip out a video camera as you lurch past them in full zombie regalia
Scare the shit out of small children, especially that one little girl who looked like she was going to cry
Realize that your feet hurt, because you've been walking/lurking for several hours
Hear the phrase, "Why are you doing this?" over and over again
Have one person ask you, "Do you dress like that every day?" Do not punch this person.
Cut bottoms of Otaku's pants off with a key and a pen; this takes skillz
Have a total Rush-gasm over Rush carpet, Quebec license plate, Ontario Street, Rush Street
Find car; drive to Squeak's house
Take shower to wash fake blood off
Eat ice cream and drink orange pop while watching True Crime channel until midnight
Drive home
Sleep.

For more information about the Zombie March, as well as other zombie-related activities in Chicago [there are far more that you'd think there would be], visit Chicago Zombie.

Next year, Spock and I plan to go as zombie Vulcans, complete with green blood. Don't take our idea, or I'll eat your brains.
~Sushi