By Andy Weddington
Friday, 14 January 2011
“I also have always liked the monster within idea. I like the zombies being us. Zombies are the blue-collar monsters.” George A. Romero
A couple of weeks ago...
Dinner for seven at six-thirty turned out to be at seven-twentyish; maybe later--when the restaurant’s shuttle finally showed up to fetch us. It's all about island time.
An eclectic mix of folks made for the dinner party. Two Americans. Five Canadians. All friends for some six or seven years.
Five adults, professionals all--from career military to real estate to architecture to investments. Less one, of the fairer gender, all were beyond the half-century mark. Another of the fairer gender had a decade of wisdom on the others. Rounding out the cadre a pre-teen girl and an almost seventeen year-old young master caught in that familiar quagmire between childhood and adulthood--hence the term adolescence. We've all been there and glad to be through it. You bet.
The restaurant overlooked the Atlantic Ocean. A good crowd was on hand.
Promptly seated and drinks ordered there was no shortage of material for stimulating discourse; it'd been a while since we'd seen one another. A year to be precise.
After dinner discussion turned to the economy and politics. What else? Alcohol has a tendency to do that.
It matters not what politicians and political viewpoints were discussed. Does it ever matter?
The conversation was “spirited” but cordial. Civil. Philosophical differences were clear and it was equally clear no one would concede. My wife's under-the-table foot-taps signaled the trace of Irish blood circulating through my veins was warming. Noted--I knew that but was enjoying the joust. So we ended on the old “we’ll just agree to disagree.” Ring familiar?
Seated to my right throughout the evening was the young girl. As one would expect, the economy and politics was of little interest to her. But she seemed entertained--sitting patiently and listening. She kept quiet offering nary a word. That proved wise. Real wise.
On the shuttle ride back to our point of origin the young girl was seated between her father and me. For the 10 minutes or so ride she amused herself playing a game on an iTouch. Listening to her explanation neither her father nor I understood the game. Nor did we appreciate the point of spending so much time on a computer game but on she played. She lost.
To rub insult into her loss the screen flashed: “The Zombies Ate Your Brains!”
About that time the shuttle pulled up to our stop near the Parliament House--a quaint cottage on Bay Street--a few yards south and on the opposite side of the street from Froggies. We all climbed out and exchanged end-of-the-evening pleasantries and meandered back to our respective cottages--Carissa, Moon Shadows, and Sand Bar--while gawking in awe of the black night and starry sky and listening to the surf.
Wandering the thirty or forty yards and thinking back on the dinner conversation regarding politics it occurred to me there were six seated at the table who’d had their brains eaten by zombies.
The young girl used her brains during dinner and thereby escaped the zombies. But she succumbed to them playing a computer game on par with discussing politics. Silly politics. Silly game.
That evening: People: 0 Zombies 7
There are and were so many more important things to think and talk about--like painting and writing and real estate and designing buildings and investing money. And maybe even war-fighting. And hockey. And gymnastics--the young girl's passion.
And maybe even continuing with the evening's earlier discussion as to whether or not the remake of "The Thomas Crown Affair" is better than the original? As an artist and painter, I think so; Steve McQueen and Faye Dunaway notwithstanding. Brosnan and Russo were perfectly cast. Great, entertaining movie the remake. Clever. With one of his intriguing paintings brought to life in the film, Rene Magritte (1898-1967), the Belgian surrealist artist, would certainly agree.
Anyway, might we people wise up and not let zombies eat our brains? Probably not.
See you next year, Lucy! Be a good girl.
And Caroline and Marg and Mark and Jack.
The Inn makes the best nut encrusted, pan-seared tuna with wasabi on the island. A comparison-based, taste-tested fact. But as with politics, some might disagree. Oh well! But ask a person not a zombie for zombies only eat brains.