What’s Up With 5-Hour Energy, Anyway?
Surely you’ve seen these commercials extolling the wonder of the 5-hour energy drink. You know – it’s 2:30 and everyone is falling asleep at their desk. Well, anyone who works in an office can certainly attest to the accuracy of this phenomenon! It’s reaching a crisis point, quite frankly.
Fortunately, we have the magical 5-hour energy drink. Just gulp it down and you’ll get all the pep you need to finish that report, enter that data and make it to that after hour party refreshed and ready to go.
But what happens at 7:30? Is it like Aquaman if he’s been out of the water for exactly one hour? Is it like Cinderella, who reverts back to rags and a pumpkin at exactly midnight? Actually, I think they’ve updated Aquaman so that the whole “hour out of water” thing isn’t so much of a concern for him. Hey – maybe he swigs 5-hour energy to get around that whole thing. Cinderella ought to try that.
Anyway, when 7:30 strikes, do all those exhausted people collapse in a heap? What happens then? Unless they have another 5-hour energy drink at the ready, this sounds like a real problem.
I think a few serious questions need to be asked here.
(1) What’s so damn special about 2:30, anyway? What if you’re tired at 2? Or even 1? Are you allowed to take it then? After all, the commercials are very specific about the zero hour being 2:30! Clearly, the scientists who developed this wonder elixir did a lot of research to determine that this precise hour is the hour that the human body starts to shut down. Does this stuff even work if you drink it at another time?
(2) What’s in this stuff anyway? How does it work? I know, I know – who cares as long as it works? After all, it’s high time to kick 2:30 in the teeth! That time’s had it coming for years. Obviously, this is like the Coca-Cola formula. It must be a carefully guarded secret in order to protect the integrity of the product. Imagine what could happen if that information fell into the wrong hands.
(3) Why five hours? Why not 6? Or even 7? I know, this sounds a lot like that dude’s exposition about 7 minute abs in “There’s Something About Mary.” But really, it begs the Aquaman question. Is the composition of the formula so precise that it’s exactly five hours of invigoration? Or is there some wiggle room? Perhaps you can get 5 1/2 hours from one batch. Or even 5 3/4 hours! Of course, it’s also reasonable to assume that you might get a batch that only gives you 4 1/2 hours. Luck of the draw, I guess.
I just had a crazy thought. Maybe this 5-hour energy thing is a secret government plot. Yeah, that’s it! They get us to drink this stuff and get us addicted. Every 5 hours. It’s beautiful in it’s simplicity! Go along with it or suffer the consequences. And you know what happens if you don’t keep drinking the stuff, don’t you? Well, you turn into a zombie, of course! But that’s a big ol’ double secret government kinda thing and a subject for another blog post…
The Walking Dead – Holy Crap, That’s Good TV
Well, the last time I wrote about The Walking Dead, I was talking about the slow pacing. At the same time, I did mention that the show was still doing many things right, and that I liked it despite some wandering patches.
Now that I’ve seen the next two episodes, I can say that they’ve picked things up a bit. I am specifically thinking of the most recent episode when I say this. In it, Carl lies still, dying by degrees. Rick, who has been giving his blood for his son, isn’t looking too good, either. Shane, who is a somewhat dubious character now, left the house with Otis – the guy who accidentally shot Carl – to get medical supplies so that the doctor (a veterenarian by trade) can operate on Carl. Got that? Good.
Cut to Shane. This is a good character. He got himself into a situation that isn’t easy to get out of. He had relations with Lori before anyone knew that her husband (and Shane’s best friend) Rick was still alive. Then Rick shows up, and Shane’s life goes to hell. It’s hard to kill him for what he done – after all, there are zombies crawling all over, ready to make any living creature into a 5 course meal.
Anyway, Shane and Otis went to the local high school, where there had been a medical unit set up. The necessary medical supplies were there for the taking, if they could just get past the army of zombies patrolling the area. They did manage to do just that – but not without complications. And then, things got really interesting.
It’s very rare indeed for a TV show or movie to shock or surprise me. Some examples are the end of Birdy, the end of Jennifer 8 and the third episode of The Walking Dead, second season.
Damn – that Shane is a bad, bad man. What he did to poor Otis is positively blood chilling. I don’t know how someone (even a fictional character) could live with the aftermath of what he’d done. At the very least, he could have shot Otis in the head or heart. Give him the mercy of a kill shot.
I was truly shocked by Shane’s actions. We knew he was a guy on the edge. He almost shot Rick in the forest, before Dale caught him. He is more or less on the periphery of the group, with an exit visa punched once things settle down. But who knew he was that vicious? And again, who knows what folks would do in a world overrun by flesh eating, soulless creatures looking to do little more than … than … eat your flesh?!? Maybe Shane’s actions wouldn’t be so shocking if I was in the same position.
Side note one: When they showed the missing hair on Shane’s head (and before they showed the flashback), I thought I had an idea of what had happened. Both men had said that they only had one round left just before they went to commercial. I thought that maybe the two men made a kill pact. Shane shoots Otis, Otis shoots Shane. But Otis missed. While this is still an interesting scenario to me, I have to say I am shocked, surprised and impressed with what actually went down.
Side note two: I looked at The Walking Dead on imdb and found out that Andrew Lincoln (who plays Rick Grimes) was also in Love, Actually – one of the few romcoms that was not totally wretched. It took me a little bit to figure out who he played. He was the guy who did the Bob Dylan “Subterranean Homesick Blues” (later stolen by INXS) type cardboard sign message/lyric thing. Remember? He was silently professing his love for Keira Knightley…?
Back to The Walking Dead: Bravo, AMC and Frank Darabont and Scott M. Gimple, and anyone else working on this show. It’s a breath of fresh air to watch.
How I Spent My Zombie Vacation – Season 2 of The Walking Dead
All right – so the much hyped “The Walking Dead” season two finally aired. I also watched “The Talking Dead” and heard what some dudes (and creator Robert Kirkman) thought. I had some thoughts on the show as well. What are they? Glad you asked – although you may not be…
Overall, it was a typically good show. I loved the zombie herd, and how the living managed to escape unscathed (mostly) – especially Daryl’s actions to save a guy he probably thought about killing himself. When the blood started to flow, I thought that was it for T-Dog, but he lives to run another day after spending some quality time up close and personal with a dead zombie.
I also loved the interaction between Dale and Andrea – It was clear something was up between them, and the show did a good job of getting it out in the open and moving on.
Now for the things I didn’t particularly like. I thought the episode spent way too much time on the search for Sophia. Now, I’m not saying don’t search – quite the opposite. But this is a TV show – cut to the chase, man. Some of the sequences that occurred during the search were interesting (gutting a zombie, the exploration of faith by different characters at the church), but as a whole…it dragged on a bit. And then they still hadn’t concluded the search by the end of the show? This seems to me to be an unnecessary cliffhanger. There are plenty of other things going on to keep us coming back.
I was also not too wild about the scenes with Shane and Lori. Sure, there’s reason for these two to be at odds with each other, but her pushing Shane to leave the group and Shane’s nastiness to Carl didn’t ring true to me. Of course, I’ve never been chased around by a world of zombies, so what do I know?
I just thought that if Shane had an issue with what went down, he ought to keep the discussions and nastiness between the adults. And how could Lori encourage Shane to leave the group and head off by himself? That just sounds like banishing him to die, as he’d be on his own and most likely become a lunchable for a pack of zombies, as he’d have nobody to help him or watch his back.
Finally, the scene with Shane, Rick and Carl in the woods. The setup was obvious – something was going to happen. I was wondering if the deer was going to attack Carl or something like that. I didn’t expect Carl to get shot. And why, if Lori dislikes Shane as much as she does, and if she’s not thrilled with how meanly Shane was treating Carl, did she let him go along?
But I did enjoy the episode, and am looking forward to the upcoming installments. This is easily one of the best shows around. But since I am actively interested in about 3 or 4 shows, I’m not really sure how much weight my endorsement would carry.
As for “The Talking Dead,” I thought the best part was the behind the scenes stuff and the interview with creator Robert Kirkman (a comic book writer, not a graphic novelist, despite what they kept saying). The one takeaway that I got from the show was that Robert Kirkman reminded me a lot of Philadelphia Eagles head coach Andy Reid – in his appearance and mannerisms. Maybe that’s just me.
They showed a clip of the next episode, but it was hard to put it into meaningful context. I’d wager to say that that clip didn’t change anyone’s mind as to whether or not they’d watch next week. The show is good enough to keep us coming back. It was also interesting to hear Andrew Lincoln speak in his real, british, voice. Quite a contrast to Rick’s accent.
It’s nice to watch a show that is able to give the viewers solid writing, solid acting, over the top gore, classic suspense and enough compelling characters and plot threads (without overdoing it) all in one show. It’s really too bad there aren’t more shows like this!
Given the success of the show, can a spin-off called “The Real Housezombies of Atlanta” be far off? I bet it would be at the top of many must see TV lists. Hell, I know I’d watch.
The Worst 60 Minutes: One Step Ahead Of Zombification
Inspired by my blogmate, Michael, I now present to you my zombie short story. Just a little slice of zombie hell…
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The Worst 60 Minutes: One Step Ahead Of Zombification
By Mike Frangione
So there I was. Alone. Armed to the teeth. Hiding out on the roof of the local Wawa. Planning my long term moves as the world around me goes to hell.
It all happened so quickly. And with my recent lack of sleep, it’s hard to remember exactly when it began. I first noticed it when my family fell victim to it. I barely got away. It’s a good thing that when I did notice it – I was just returning from a softball game – and especially good that I was the one who had all the bats.
It wasn’t easy – bashing in the heads of those people who, in another life, had been my family. The tears stung my eyes, but I’ve seen enough movies to know – it was either that – or I become a zombie myself. The kill shots attracted some unwanted attention. The neighbors responded to the sound quickly. How did this spread so fast?
I got in the car and drove away, looking for signs of humanity. Everyone I passed had been zombified. What the hell? Two hours earlier I was drinking beer and talking smack with the other guys on the softball team. Now I was the main course. I wonder what happened to those guys?
So I drove. Through the red light at the end of the street. It was eerily quiet in that area. When I got closer, I saw why. There were about 10 dead zombies in the parking lot of the Wawa, all with bullet holes in their heads. And not far away, four dead cops. I guessed it was a suicide pact – all of them had bites on their arms. They must have put up a hell of a fight. That gave me four handguns and whatever guns were in the police cars.
I was in luck. Must have been shooting practice day. Six rifles, and a backpack with a good amount of bullets. And two police cars. Unlike the folks I see in the movies, I took the keys to the police cars – and all the other cars in the lot – as it seemed pretty certain I would need a getaway car or two.
I used the cop’s notebooks to catalog the keys to the cars and then parked one of the police cars next to the building. From there, I climbed to the roof and left the guns, bullets and keys up there.
All of that took maybe 30-40 minutes. I didn’t see another soul – living or undead – during that entire time. Across the street was a gas station. I took the other cop car over there, and after using an officer’s credit card, had a full tank of gas. I filled three other cars before I thought I should stop, lest I attract attention. I made a note of which cars were fully tanked up.
Don’t get me wrong. I was scared shitless. I was operating on pure adrenaline. No plan, just … acting. Reacting. It wasn’t until I had raided the Wawa for some drinks and food that I realized that I had no idea what I was going to do. I mean – in the longer term.
So I sat there. On the roof. Like a poor man’s Punisher, with my rifle held up, barrel next to my head. No idea what to do next.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something. Or rather, someone. Two people, in fact. It was two people I’d been friends with. Boyfriend and girlfriend – now king and queen of this newly formed hell.
They didn’t see me. Like all other zombies I encountered, they kind of shambled around aimlessly. Of course, just like in the movies, zombies did respond if they heard loud noises. I took two of the rifles (fully loaded) and, as quietly as I could manage, climbed down from the roof and made my way over to the group of trees on the other side of the parking lot. I figured it would be a good idea to take cover.
I looked through the rifle sight and saw what used to be a good friend. He looked nothing like the guy I’d come to love like a brother. And his girlfriend, well, let’s just say that she had seen better days. I put my finger on the trigger and put my friend in the sight again. One shot would be all it would take. Of course, this assumes that I’d be accurate enough to do it in one shot. No guarantee there.
And then there was sentiment. Tears again stung my eyes. I told myself I had to fight through them or I’d be their next meal. Thus resolved (?), I stole myself to do this heinous, but necessary deed. Suddenly, though, the rifle was at my side, the barrel aiming at the ground. I wavered, not sure if I’d be able to do this.
Then, somehow, they detected me. Started moving toward me. Shit. I raised the rifle. Got my friend in the sight. Man, these tears sting! The sound of the rifle shot caused me to jump. I had no idea it would be so loud. I don’t think I was even conscious of having pulled the trigger. Or maybe that sound was just my heartbeat?
The first shot, of course, missed. No idea where the bullet went.
The second shot – well, that nearly took off his head. The top part, from just under his eyes – was gone. I could see what was left of it on the ground next to him. He staggered for what seemed like an eternity. Probably more like 15 seconds. Then he lurched in my direction, and if he still had eyes, he’d have looked right at me. I am assuming he was thanking me for doing that. I don’t know, I was about to wet my pants.
His girlfriend was startled, but recovered quickly. She watched him fall, turned toward me, and with a sickening, labored gait, made a beeline for me. Damn, she moved faster than I thought any zombie could move. I froze, watching impending doom racing at me. But then I found my resolve, and got her in the sight.
She made it about 10 feet away, when my 3rd shot ripped the left side of her face off. The sound was like thunder. I think I was bawling at that point. She dropped in a heap and didn’t move. I went over to her and put another bullet in the remains of her head just in case. Then I did the same to my friend.
I looked around. I noticed that there were a few more folks about now. Clearly attracted by the sound. I was glad I’d moved away from the roof. I ran in the opposite direction, with those bastards on my tail. They had my scent – I’d never be able to get away from them now. After wasting six more zombies, I ran over to one of the gassed cars and drove off. I went about two miles down the road and then doubled back, slowly.
It struck me as I drove past how used to this I was getting. How easy it was becoming to pull the trigger. I pretty much decided then and there that I was performing a service. And – if this nightmare should befall me – I hope that a remaining human has the stones and the decency to put a couple bullets in my head.
There were some zombies milling about, but not much else going on. Without the noise, they went back to shambling, mindless … zombies. I guess I’ll have to wait it out now. Give them time to disperse. Then make my way back to the roof and figure out what the hell to do next.
Welcome to hell, folks. I’ll try to be a good tour guide. But –word to the wise – keep your hands off my Diet Coke – I’m kinda twitchy these days. 🙂
You, Zombie
In honor of Short Story Month and Zombie Awareness Month, I decided to try my hand at some second-person, present-tense prose. I whipped it up quickly so it’s raw and unpolished, but then again, it is a zombie story, so perhaps raw is appropriate . . .
You, Zombie
By Michael Rappa
The hunger. Oh God, the hunger. What is this compulsion to eat raw flesh? The taste—the foul, foul taste. You want to vomit but your body craves the blood, the sinew, the ligaments. You grow stronger with each bite of spongy muscle. You wish you could just starve yourself into oblivion but it seems the will to exist persists beyond death.
So you move on in search of your next meal—your next victim. You can’t stop. When a human enters your line of site or wanders into the radius of your supernatural sense of smell, primal instinct takes over. You’re a shark on feet . . . well, one foot and a stub (the zombie that turned you into this abomination ate most of your right foot for dinner). Last week you consumed your first child. You live every day with her screams in your head. The undead never sleep so the screams never stop.
You beg people for help but they don’t seem to understand what you’re saying. You try to let them kill you but your body fights back when they attack. You have no control. You’re a slave to the affliction. You’re terribly lonely. You can’t even communicate with your fellow zombies. They’re not kin; they’re competition.
You just want to go home, to see a familiar face, to forget this hellish existence—even if only for a moment. So you hobble down a corpse-littered street to the crimson-colored Cape Cod-style cottage of your youth. Surely your parents won’t turn you away. You knock (bang) on the door and call (groan) their names (something unintelligible). Your father opens the door and points a shotgun at you.
“Go away!” he hollers as a tear rolls down his cheek.
You plead with him, but he only pumps the weapon in response.
“I said go! You’re not my child! You’re a monster! My child is dead!”
“Please, don’t shoot!” you hear your mother cry from inside the house. She runs out to stand between you and your father. “Please don’t shoot our baby!”
The gun shakes in your father’s hand and he breaks out into a sob as he drops it to the ground. He slumps down beside it. Your mother turns and opens her arms. You rush to embrace her. She will make everything better; she always has.
You want to ask her why she’s suddenly screaming but she always told you never to talk with your mouth full. Your father tries to pry your teeth away from her throat but you cling to her flesh like a ravenous animal. He reaches for the gun and points it at your head, but by this time the neighborhood zombies have been alerted to the commotion and he is overrun. The undead mob scratches and claws and you soon find yourself on the outside of the feeding frenzy that quickly turns your parents into mounds of meat.
So you begin to walk away. For a moment you pause and look back, overwhelmed by sadness and guilt—but only for a moment. Then you move on in search of your next meal. You can’t stop.
Andy Blank
Mike Frangione
Depends on What the Meaning of the Word 'Blog' is 
Alone in His Field; No Zombies or Mad Men
Based on what I am seeing on Facebook, I am apparently the only person on Earth who is not lamenting the season’s end of The Walking Dead and also not watching (nor have ever watched) Mad Men.
But that’s OK – this sort of thing isn’t exactly new territory for me. I am often on the opposite side of the fence on matters such as this. For example: I never saw an episode of Lost. I know. I’ll pause now so you can pick up your drink, or get your heart restarted or just allow time for you to recover from the shock of this bombshell.
While I am sure that Mad Men is a fine TV show, and I am sure that the near universal praise for the show is fully and truly warranted – I have little interest in watching it. And truth be told, for whatever reason – I never did. My reasons for this are best kept to myself. Suffice it to say that I see Mad Men as a fairly generic, sterotypical, recycled set up that has been covered many times over by countless TV shows before it.
I’m sure that this is a narrow minded and frustratingly dismissive attitude to take, but I’ve gotta be me. Sometimes I will decide years later to check out a show from the past and find out that my assessment of it was inaccurate. I don’t see that happening here, but you never know. I can see this happening with Lost, but not with Mad Men. Time will tell.
Now, the Walking Dead is another story. I did watch the first season, and thought it was one of the best shows around. All I needed to hear is that it was based on a comic book and that Frank Darabont (he of Shawshank Redemption fame) was going to be the writer/director for at least some of it, and I was intrigued. And was not disappointed.
Those first six episodes were chilling, compelling, horrifying and just plain fun. Everything you’d want a show to be! At least, what you’d want a horror show to be. I found the story and characters intriguing and the acting and writing was top notch. Every episode left me wanting more, and wanting to see what happened next.
Season two was another story. Started off with a hootenanny, then got a mite slow midway through. Came up with a humdinger of a midseason finale, then drifted back to meandering until the end of the sophomore offering. Unlike with the first season, I was not left with a burning desire to see the next season. I was interested, but the luster had faded. And I think that Darabont had since moved on to other projects somewhere during the season.
I watched maybe the first two or three installments of season three, then called it quits. Among my ill conceived reasons:
Perhaps it’s for the best. I mean, we are talking about the extermination of the human race here. Eventually, all of these people will be Zombie Chow. I think I got the best of what the show had to offer, and I look back fondly to the scenes and moments that made the first two seasons so … utterly watchable.
Now, the good news in all of this is that I have a new show to be looking forward to: Joss Whedon’s Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. After The Avengers, I will definitely be giving this a look. And who knows, if things go well it could join Arrow and Big Bang Theory in a very exclusive club.
That being shows that I watch with anything resembling consistency.