Welcome to ‘Zombie of the Week,’ folks, where each week we’ll present you with a different brain-eating member of the undead that has captured our fancy. There is no methodology to our Zombie Awesomeness meter, just our own piqued interests. Got a zombie we should see? Comment below. No zombie is too small, too short-lived, or too gross.
I owe my zombie love entirely to Michael Jackson.
It’s been one year since the King of Pop died in the midst of preparation for his This Is It tour, the last, he said, before his retirement from show biz. It’s tough to think past the circus of events that surrounded the last two-decades of his life, or the media hoopla that followed his death. That said, I’ll always remember sitting in my living room watching VH1 with my family. Thriller comes on and I cover my eyes. Then, a strange thing. The monsters started to dance.
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I was terrified and amused, all at once. (I still get that cocktail of emotions now.) I’d never seen a zombie before MJ danced onto my TV screen leading an entire pack of them. Immediately, I demanded to know more. That afternoon, I interrogated every adult in proximity. “Excuse me, but what can you tell me about zombies.” I needed to know. So far I’d deduced only two facts: 1.) They had crawled out of their own graves, and 2.) Oh man, could they dance.
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Eventually, I was shooed outside where I furthered the conversation with my brother. (Poor kid.) He asked me what I thought they ate. It irked me that I didn’t know. “Dirt,” I said, decidedly, and did my best zombie walk across the yard.
Would my appreciation for the undead have blossomed without Thriller? Probably. But, I think I’ll credit it anyway.