I will start with a confession. I have distinctly lowbrow tastes when it comes to literature, movies and entertainment. I would much rather read a novel about a unhinged serial killer than one written by the latest Nobel Literature Prizewinner, watch The Avengers than an art film and be at Yankee stadium than the Museum of Modern Art. That may reflect the limits of my intellect and the shortcomings of my cultural education, but I know what I like, am set in my ways and no cultural gatekeeper is going to tell me otherwise. Given my plebeian tastes, it should come as no surprise that last summer, I joined my fifteen-year old son in binge-watching the first three seasons of The Walking Dead, a television show with not much of a stray line, lots of gore and few redeeming social qualities. For those of
you who have never watched the show, here is a taste:
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The Walking Dead: Blackberry, Yahoo and the Zombie Apocalypse!
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