Night of the Living Dead

Never done: Walked across the Hudson River
Never done: Watched Night of the Living Dead

After the wedding, I wanted to cross the Hudson on the walking bridge at Poughkeepsie -- which has been on my list of things to do since it re-opened a year ago. So I called my college friend Cyndi, who lives in Poughkeepsie, to see if she wanted to walk over the river too. She told me it was her anniversary with Mark, whom she fell in love with at a Halloween party five years ago, where he was a terrorist, and she was Elizabeth Taylor in her dressing room while playing Cleopatra. (She didn't have good Cleopatra shoes, so she wore fluffy slippers, and then came up with the identity to match her outfit.) And sure -- they had the day off, and would love to walk on water. We dressed in polar fleece and wool hats (no high concept Halloween costumes, although we did meet a gorilla along the way) and set out across the world's longest elevated pedestrian bridge. The walkway is broad and solid, in fitting balance to the broad river that flows both ways. The view was expansive and beautiful. I needed that after a weekend staying in a hermetically sealed hotel. I don't do well in enclosed spaces. I leave windows and doors open -- even in the city -- more concerned, it seems, with whether I can get out than if someone else can get in. Which is a surprisingly apt segue to my second never done activity of the day: I finally, finally, finally watched Night of the Living Dead.

Is it safer to barricade yourself into an enclosed space where you can't see what's coming, or to take your chances near the windows and doors, where you can get in and out if you need to torch something? I'd be upstairs with Ben, but hopefully I'd be HELPING him. What's up with the catatonic white woman, Barbra? And all the other less-than-helpful white people? (Tom and Judy at least tried.) And Ben, the black man, who has to do everything for everyone, and manages to survive by a combination of his strength and seykhl (wits) but STILL gets shot by the cops at the end of the movie? When I saw those men crossing the field, I knew in my heart what was coming, but I didn't want to believe the film would be so politically sobering. My friend Eric wrote to me that George Romero was way ahead of his time, but I would argue back that he was completely OF his time. That film was made in 1968. The same year as the Tet Offensive and the Fair Housing Act. And the same year I learned the hard way that I prefer doors to be left open.