Tuesday, Oct. 26, 2004
Dear Diary:

Is it wrong to lust after festering flesh?

Is it so bad to want necrotic tissue?

Ah, the dilemmas life throws our way.

I spent part of an afternoon last week wandering from store to store looking for little bits of my zombie aerobics instructor Hallowe'en costume, the costume I hope will score me a free month's membership at my gym. There are a few clouds on the horizon there, but I'll get to that later.

Thanks to Juni's generosity and creativity I now have the justly coveted Coolest Zombie Aerobics Instructor Logo Ever. (Slogan by Doyce).

On my hunting and gathering of the costume bits I picked up a cheapo make-up kit (which includes FAKE BLOOD—I am so doing a sucking head wound), plus a black, long-sleeved tee shirt so I won't have to make up my arms. Sadly my quest for gummi worms was fruitless.

Or wormless, depending on how you choose to look at these things.

This, of course, raises the existential question, "Can you be a Zombie without worms crawling from your flesh?" It looks as if I will have to be.

As I was leaving the last store, I Saw It. They had a small selection of rotting skin. Well, technically it was a display of latex patches that simulate rotting skin, patches that you could stick on your skin. But oh, man, it looked realistic.

Frankly, before that day dead skin had never been on my "must have" list. But as I stood before the display fingering those putrid lumps, needs were awakened in me. Needs I have never experienced before. I wanted that necrotic tissue. I wanted it bad. After all, I think we can all agree that nothing, but nothing gives that "fresh from the grave" look like a little festering flesh.

But I looked at the price tag -- $15 – and I had to ask myself the eternal question, "Will I get $15 worth of use from this rotting skin?" Of course the answer was "no" because, well, how many places can you wear a hunk of disintegrating flesh? Exactly. So I regretfully put it back.

But don't think I don't feel a tad wistful about it. Because I do.

Oh, but wait. It gets worse.

When I was at the gym yesterday I told the story of the festering flesh dilemma to the people I work out with. Seemed like a harmless, funny little story to tell on myself. When they found out that I intend to get dressed for the Hallowe'en Costume Contest right there on the spot they decided that it would be cool to do the same thing.


Last year exactly one person dressed up, and the costume was unspeakably lame. Until yesterday the general consensus in the gym was that no one would bother dressing up. Until yesterday I figured that even if my execution was flawed, just the idea behind the costume -- a Zombie Aerobics Instructor -- would grab me that free month's membership.

Now, now I am going to have real, bona fide competition. Now I have to make an effort.

Me and my big mouth.


Mileage on the Marnometer: 779.92 miles.
Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.25 per cent thereTen percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.25 per cent there
Oh man. This is going to be hard
Goal for 2004: 1,000 miles - 1609 kilometers

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