So now that the idea of a Las Vegas Zombie Convention has been proposed … let’s not bury it, just yet. I’d like to savor the concept. The vision of thousands of zombies monster-stepping into the Luxor, the Venetian or the MGM Grand is—dare I say it?—staggering. Clement would be so pleased. I’m sure he’d come too.
And why not? Vegas has hosted conventions for belly dancers and brides, for techies and trekkies; zombies would feel right at home. This is a place where the bejeweled and befurred wardrobe of that ghoulish, long dead lover of ivory keys and huge candelabra, Wladziu Valentino “Lee” Liberace, hangs in state; where ancient, reconstituted stars reinvent themselves nightly; where carnival and circus are all in a day’s work. Not to mention the convention attendees could be joined by the resident zombies … that is if we could tear them away from the slots, the slow moving buffet lines of the lesser hotels, the endless parade of food and flesh. Ooooh, it’s a zombie paradise, you see.
I’m sure zombies would gather from all over the globe. Can’t you just see them, stumbling along on the Strip? No, he’s not drunk; he’s a zombie! The only questions are: Where would we hold it? What would we charge? What would we wear? My vote is for the Luxor or the Venetian, but I welcome other recommendations. Of course, there is the little problem of zombies polluting the pools. But no matter like dead matter—there are stumbling blocks in every great plan … especially when the plan involves zombies.
—Erin Orison, DEAD LOVE/the Daily Slice
Photo by Bart Frescura, courtesy of Bart Frescura