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Season 10, Break Week, Entry #3
Dec. 27th, 2016 12:40 pmTopic: Jantelagen
Jantelagen: “Generally used colloquially in Sweden and the rest of the Nordic countries as a sociological term to describe a condescending attitude towards individuality and success, the term refers to a mentality that de-emphasizes individual effort and places all emphasis on the collective, while discouraging those who stand out as achievers.” Wikipedia.
Ann McKenzie’s proposal for her doctoral thesis had very nearly resulted in her discharge from the university. “We cannot be associated with this . . . this . . .” sputtered the dean, before laughter consumed him and he waved her out of his office. “At least he tried to be polite," thought Ann, who no longer expected such common courtesies when discussing her work.
Ann was a sociologist who studied group behavior. It was nothing very exciting, even though she specialized in non-humans. “Monkeys, sheep, and people,” her ex-boyfriend had once told her, “it’s all been done.”
“I have something groundbreaking, something urgent,” she told her cat Theo, who ignored her. “I want to study zombies, and all anyone can do is laugh!”
Ann knew this was her moment, and it would never come again. Everyone wanted to wipe zombies off the earth, but they were unique. Not animals, no longer human; not dead, but no longer alive; dangerous as individuals, certainly, but overwhelming in a group, despite not having any real language, except perhaps a few grunts and groans.
Zombies would either destroy mankind or be eradicated, and it all hung in the balance. “I’ve got to study them,” thought Ann, “there’s never been anything like a zombie horde.”
There were almost no women in the field of zombie studies, and most of them had military backgrounds. All the big zombie money was going to destruction or cure. “I’m on my own, but that didn’t stop Jane Goodall from studying chimps or Thomas Thwaites from living as a goat.”
Ann knew what she had to do. The risks were enormous, both to her safety and to her academic career. For all the talk about pushing the frontiers of knowledge, scientists were very adept at discouraging real progress. “I can’t let them stop me!”
It was summer break, and Ann had no family, no boyfriend, and almost no friends. No one would miss her for the next three weeks. Ann just needed someone to take care of Theo, and Mr. Wyznowski, her next door neighbor, was happy to oblige.
Ann had been studying tapes of captured and wild zombies for months, and could imitate their gestures, mannerisms, sounds and expressions in great detail. She would have been fun at parties, if she had ever been invited to any.
“All I need is some makeup and clothes, and I’m set.” A trip to a costume store (“Sure, we've got plenty of zombie stuff”) and an appointment with a professional for some long-term makeup (“You’re even scaring me!”) took care of the basics. “Time to live as a zombie!”
Ann drove to West Virginia that night, with her zombie gear in the trunk, including several cans of Spam to hide under her baggy clothes. “I hope zombies can’t smell the meatish product through the can.”
West Virginia was the site of the original zombie sightings and the most heavily infested. Almost no humans survived in certain parts of the state. “Fortunately, the Alleghenies and rivers have slowed zombie expansion, but it’s spreading. No wonder everyone’s scared to death.”
The new moon cast almost no light, but Ann eventually found Creek Hollow, home of both the MineCo mine where the zombie toxin started and Zeke Gronkers, zombie zero.
Creek Hollow was devastated – windows shattered, doors broken, buildings burned, bullet holes everywhere. The streets were empty and littered with abandoned vehicles – mostly old Ford and Dodge pickups – furniture, toys, busted T.V.’s -- everyone had left in a hurry. “Maybe not; there’s blood everywhere!”
This was Ann’s first visit to a zombie zone, and the desolation and violence made her sick. Ann smeared handfuls of dirt on herself to add a little local zombie authenticity. “What I really need is some blood.”
Then Ann heard it. There was no mistaking the sound of a herd of zombies on the move. “This is it – they’ll either accept me, eat me, or turn me.” As the herd came into view, Ann turned on her concealed videocam, which sent a signal to her office computer. “No one has experienced zombies like this!”
The main herd was coming slowly down Main Street, with smaller groups filtering in from cross-streets and alleys, while clusters of three to five were going through the buildings. There were no single zombies. It looked like zombies had already been through Creek Hollow many times. “They’re dumber than toast, because there’s nothing living here but me!”
Ann moved off to approach one of the search groups from behind. They were in the old liquor store, with overturned shelves, broken glass, and pools of beer and liquor. And blood. Ann covered herself in the noxious liquid.
GRRR! Grrrrr! Ugghhhh! Random sounds to most, but common enough among zombies. Ann hoped she could pass unnoticed – she was now surrounded by the searchers. A commotion outside from the main horde distracted her group, and Ann lurched and shuffled off with the others, grunting and groaning as she went. She was accepted for now. “Time to tap into my inner beast!”
A day in the life of a zombie was frightening. There was constant motion, and a horde could easily advance 10 – 15 miles a day. Zombies never slept. Their insatiable hunger for fresh meat drove them on and on. It was like a grunting, staggering plague of locusts.
Ann found that the direction of a horde was not random, but was a complex pattern of searcher zombies fanning out over an area, and if they found any food, their grunting and moaning called the main group over to begin the pursuit. It was a slow-motion hunt, but the zombies always won. They didn’t have to be faster, just more relentless until the victim was cornered or simply collapsed.
What staggered Ann was the degree of cooperation. If an individual zombie broke from a group, that zombie became prey. There was no cannibalism within a group, but single zombies were hunted down and eaten. “Zombies in a city would be unstoppable!”
Some zombies were missing arms or legs, but they survived. Those without legs just pulled themselves along. The only way to kill them was to behead them or destroy them completely, with an explosion or fire.
Ann grunted when the zombies grunted, staggered when they staggered, and, sometimes, ate what they ate (“It’s all data”), supplemented with a little Spam, which the zombies wouldn’t touch. After nearly three weeks, though, she couldn’t take anymore. “I have everything I need – my time’s almost up and I need to eat something cooked!”
Her horde had been moving down a highway, branching off to eat anyone left in the nearby towns. Ann escaped by hiding in a hardware store one night, and the horde simply left her behind.
Even after pulling off her zombie make-up, it still took Ann several days to get a ride back to Creek Hollow (“You stink like a zombie – you sure you’re not gonna turn?”).
Hugo was not glad to see her when Ann returned, and it took several showers before she could pet him. After a few days, Ann returned to her office, retrieved her video records, and began to write.
Her colleagues avoided her, which was fine with Ann. It took a few months, but My Life as a Zombie was finally finished.
Her thesis committee nearly rejected it (“It’s not scholarly enough.” “Fine for a general reader, but there’s no statistical analysis.” “I can’t see anyone citing something called My Life as a Zombie, can you?”). In the end, despite all the resistance, Ann was awarded her Ph.D., but denied a tenure-track position at the university.
Dr. McKenzie was able to publish parts of her research. In particular, “Grazing Patterns in Slow-Moving Zombie Hordes” was well-received. It was not until much later, when the book industry began to recover, that My Life as a Zombie was published, and became a sensational hit with the public.
When her old sociology department approached her for a donation, Dr. McKenzie made a sizable gift to State College, the university’s rival.
While academic recognition always eluded Dr. McKenzie, fame and fortune did not. She was often in demand at zombie studies conferences, consulted frequently with the CDC, and worked closely with scientists attempting to cure zombitis.
Dr. McKenzie is rumored to be hard at work on another sociological in-place study of an as-yet-undisclosed species.
*********
Dame Jane Goodall, DBE, is famous for her 55 year study of social and family interactions of wild chimpanzees in Tanzania.
Thomas Thwaites, author of GoatMan: How I Took a Holiday from Being Human (2016), is less well known. Co-winner of the 2016 Ig Nobel Prize for Biology, he created “prosthetic extensions of his limbs that allowed him to move in the manner of, and spend time roaming hills in the company of, goats.” Ig Nobel Prize citation. http://www.improbable.com/ig/winners/
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Important
My domputer has died. Unfortunately, until I can replace it, I will not have internet access, and so, regretably, I will not be able to thank you for reading my entry. I appreciate your taking the time to read this, and I appreciate any comments.
##########
Links to the other three Break Week entries:
1. “Gone, But Not Fergettin’”
http://rayaso.livejournal.com/21271.html
2. “Zombies Galore!”
http://rayaso.livejournal.com/21515.html
4. “Saving the Herd”
http://rayaso.livejournal.com/22064.html
Jantelagen: “Generally used colloquially in Sweden and the rest of the Nordic countries as a sociological term to describe a condescending attitude towards individuality and success, the term refers to a mentality that de-emphasizes individual effort and places all emphasis on the collective, while discouraging those who stand out as achievers.” Wikipedia.
ZOMBIE STUDIES
Ann McKenzie’s proposal for her doctoral thesis had very nearly resulted in her discharge from the university. “We cannot be associated with this . . . this . . .” sputtered the dean, before laughter consumed him and he waved her out of his office. “At least he tried to be polite," thought Ann, who no longer expected such common courtesies when discussing her work.
Ann was a sociologist who studied group behavior. It was nothing very exciting, even though she specialized in non-humans. “Monkeys, sheep, and people,” her ex-boyfriend had once told her, “it’s all been done.”
“I have something groundbreaking, something urgent,” she told her cat Theo, who ignored her. “I want to study zombies, and all anyone can do is laugh!”
Ann knew this was her moment, and it would never come again. Everyone wanted to wipe zombies off the earth, but they were unique. Not animals, no longer human; not dead, but no longer alive; dangerous as individuals, certainly, but overwhelming in a group, despite not having any real language, except perhaps a few grunts and groans.
Zombies would either destroy mankind or be eradicated, and it all hung in the balance. “I’ve got to study them,” thought Ann, “there’s never been anything like a zombie horde.”
There were almost no women in the field of zombie studies, and most of them had military backgrounds. All the big zombie money was going to destruction or cure. “I’m on my own, but that didn’t stop Jane Goodall from studying chimps or Thomas Thwaites from living as a goat.”
Ann knew what she had to do. The risks were enormous, both to her safety and to her academic career. For all the talk about pushing the frontiers of knowledge, scientists were very adept at discouraging real progress. “I can’t let them stop me!”
It was summer break, and Ann had no family, no boyfriend, and almost no friends. No one would miss her for the next three weeks. Ann just needed someone to take care of Theo, and Mr. Wyznowski, her next door neighbor, was happy to oblige.
Ann had been studying tapes of captured and wild zombies for months, and could imitate their gestures, mannerisms, sounds and expressions in great detail. She would have been fun at parties, if she had ever been invited to any.
“All I need is some makeup and clothes, and I’m set.” A trip to a costume store (“Sure, we've got plenty of zombie stuff”) and an appointment with a professional for some long-term makeup (“You’re even scaring me!”) took care of the basics. “Time to live as a zombie!”
Ann drove to West Virginia that night, with her zombie gear in the trunk, including several cans of Spam to hide under her baggy clothes. “I hope zombies can’t smell the meatish product through the can.”
West Virginia was the site of the original zombie sightings and the most heavily infested. Almost no humans survived in certain parts of the state. “Fortunately, the Alleghenies and rivers have slowed zombie expansion, but it’s spreading. No wonder everyone’s scared to death.”
The new moon cast almost no light, but Ann eventually found Creek Hollow, home of both the MineCo mine where the zombie toxin started and Zeke Gronkers, zombie zero.
Creek Hollow was devastated – windows shattered, doors broken, buildings burned, bullet holes everywhere. The streets were empty and littered with abandoned vehicles – mostly old Ford and Dodge pickups – furniture, toys, busted T.V.’s -- everyone had left in a hurry. “Maybe not; there’s blood everywhere!”
This was Ann’s first visit to a zombie zone, and the desolation and violence made her sick. Ann smeared handfuls of dirt on herself to add a little local zombie authenticity. “What I really need is some blood.”
Then Ann heard it. There was no mistaking the sound of a herd of zombies on the move. “This is it – they’ll either accept me, eat me, or turn me.” As the herd came into view, Ann turned on her concealed videocam, which sent a signal to her office computer. “No one has experienced zombies like this!”
The main herd was coming slowly down Main Street, with smaller groups filtering in from cross-streets and alleys, while clusters of three to five were going through the buildings. There were no single zombies. It looked like zombies had already been through Creek Hollow many times. “They’re dumber than toast, because there’s nothing living here but me!”
Ann moved off to approach one of the search groups from behind. They were in the old liquor store, with overturned shelves, broken glass, and pools of beer and liquor. And blood. Ann covered herself in the noxious liquid.
GRRR! Grrrrr! Ugghhhh! Random sounds to most, but common enough among zombies. Ann hoped she could pass unnoticed – she was now surrounded by the searchers. A commotion outside from the main horde distracted her group, and Ann lurched and shuffled off with the others, grunting and groaning as she went. She was accepted for now. “Time to tap into my inner beast!”
A day in the life of a zombie was frightening. There was constant motion, and a horde could easily advance 10 – 15 miles a day. Zombies never slept. Their insatiable hunger for fresh meat drove them on and on. It was like a grunting, staggering plague of locusts.
Ann found that the direction of a horde was not random, but was a complex pattern of searcher zombies fanning out over an area, and if they found any food, their grunting and moaning called the main group over to begin the pursuit. It was a slow-motion hunt, but the zombies always won. They didn’t have to be faster, just more relentless until the victim was cornered or simply collapsed.
What staggered Ann was the degree of cooperation. If an individual zombie broke from a group, that zombie became prey. There was no cannibalism within a group, but single zombies were hunted down and eaten. “Zombies in a city would be unstoppable!”
Some zombies were missing arms or legs, but they survived. Those without legs just pulled themselves along. The only way to kill them was to behead them or destroy them completely, with an explosion or fire.
Ann grunted when the zombies grunted, staggered when they staggered, and, sometimes, ate what they ate (“It’s all data”), supplemented with a little Spam, which the zombies wouldn’t touch. After nearly three weeks, though, she couldn’t take anymore. “I have everything I need – my time’s almost up and I need to eat something cooked!”
Her horde had been moving down a highway, branching off to eat anyone left in the nearby towns. Ann escaped by hiding in a hardware store one night, and the horde simply left her behind.
Even after pulling off her zombie make-up, it still took Ann several days to get a ride back to Creek Hollow (“You stink like a zombie – you sure you’re not gonna turn?”).
Hugo was not glad to see her when Ann returned, and it took several showers before she could pet him. After a few days, Ann returned to her office, retrieved her video records, and began to write.
Her colleagues avoided her, which was fine with Ann. It took a few months, but My Life as a Zombie was finally finished.
Her thesis committee nearly rejected it (“It’s not scholarly enough.” “Fine for a general reader, but there’s no statistical analysis.” “I can’t see anyone citing something called My Life as a Zombie, can you?”). In the end, despite all the resistance, Ann was awarded her Ph.D., but denied a tenure-track position at the university.
Dr. McKenzie was able to publish parts of her research. In particular, “Grazing Patterns in Slow-Moving Zombie Hordes” was well-received. It was not until much later, when the book industry began to recover, that My Life as a Zombie was published, and became a sensational hit with the public.
When her old sociology department approached her for a donation, Dr. McKenzie made a sizable gift to State College, the university’s rival.
While academic recognition always eluded Dr. McKenzie, fame and fortune did not. She was often in demand at zombie studies conferences, consulted frequently with the CDC, and worked closely with scientists attempting to cure zombitis.
Dr. McKenzie is rumored to be hard at work on another sociological in-place study of an as-yet-undisclosed species.
*********
Dame Jane Goodall, DBE, is famous for her 55 year study of social and family interactions of wild chimpanzees in Tanzania.
Thomas Thwaites, author of GoatMan: How I Took a Holiday from Being Human (2016), is less well known. Co-winner of the 2016 Ig Nobel Prize for Biology, he created “prosthetic extensions of his limbs that allowed him to move in the manner of, and spend time roaming hills in the company of, goats.” Ig Nobel Prize citation. http://www.improbable.com/ig/winners/
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Important
My domputer has died. Unfortunately, until I can replace it, I will not have internet access, and so, regretably, I will not be able to thank you for reading my entry. I appreciate your taking the time to read this, and I appreciate any comments.
##########
Links to the other three Break Week entries:
1. “Gone, But Not Fergettin’”
http://rayaso.livejournal.com/21271.html
2. “Zombies Galore!”
http://rayaso.livejournal.com/21515.html
4. “Saving the Herd”
http://rayaso.livejournal.com/22064.html
