Supply and Demand Shifts during a Zombie Apocalypse in a Beach Resort Town

Let's explore a macroeconomics scenario set during a zombie apocalypse in a beach resort town. The setting is a once-busy vacation destination, with beaches, miniature golf courses, pizza places, boardwalk attractions, and gelato shops now overrun by chaos.

The zombies are shuffling toward places where they can reliably find crowds of people — and therefore, in the logic of the scenario, “fresh brains to munch on.” This creates a vivid way to think about how consumer behavior changes during a crisis. Instead of focusing on leisure and tourism, people suddenly become much more interested in safety, escape, and survival. The imagery of panicked tourists, overwhelmed businesses, and zombies converging on popular attractions helps illustrate how an external shock can completely transform normal patterns of economic activity.

https://youtu.be/nNhjrWDVYJs 

The slide also shows how demand shifts during an emergency. In ordinary times, a beach town might see strong demand for pizza, mini golf, boardwalk treats, and other recreational services. But when zombies appear, demand surges for barriers, fencing, helmets, security services, and even experimental deterrents — such as blasting Bach and Mozart if people believe the music annoys zombies. 

This is a playful example of demand shifting to the right for goods and services associated with protection and survival. The slide uses the idea of “anti-zombie” strategies to make a serious economic point: when fear and risk rise, consumers reallocate spending toward whatever they think will help keep them safe. Even if some solutions are unconventional or unproven, people may still rush to buy them if they believe there is a chance they will work. 

 At the same time, the slide demonstrates supply problems and labor shortages. As much of the labor force flees the zombies, local businesses can no longer operate normally. Restaurants, resorts, mini golf businesses, shops, and boardwalk vendors may cut hours, reduce services, or close altogether. 

This is shown through the “supply shifts left” idea: fewer available workers means fewer goods and services can be provided. The result is a reduced supply of local services and rising prices for whatever remains available. This is why the slide includes “Help Wanted” signs — in a crisis, some employers may become desperate to hire anyone willing to stay, which can drive wages upward. In macroeconomic terms, the labor supply falls, and businesses must compete harder for scarce workers. 

 Overall, the slide is a creative illustration of supply and demand interacting under extreme conditions. Demand rises for protection-related goods, supply falls for normal local services, and labor shortages create additional disruptions across the economy. Prices increase in some areas, output falls in others, and the entire local market becomes unstable. 

The zombie-apocalypse theme makes the lesson memorable, but the underlying economics is very real: when a major shock changes people’s priorities and limits the ability of businesses to operate, both supply and demand can shift dramatically. The slide uses humor — from brain-hungry zombies to Bach-and-Mozart deterrents and emergency help-wanted signs — to show that macroeconomics helps explain how communities respond when normal life is suddenly turned upside down.

Todos Santos: Just published!

What if death wasn’t the end—but only a border? And what if someone found a way to cross it?

Dr. Wisteria Vanish, a trauma psychologist grappling with unbearable grief, is drawn to the remote desert town of Todos Santos, Mexico, where whispers of resurrection swirl around a rogue military medic. In an underground lab carved from ancient stone, the dead stir—but what returns may not be human.  Available now on Amazon.com

 Todos Santos is a philosophical literary science fiction novel that follows Wisteria Vanish, a trauma psychologist and former competitive swimmer reeling from the loss of her husband, David, who was killed by an IED in Afghanistan. When a mysterious biotech defense contractor, VitaNuova, contacts her with a shocking proposal—to investigate a rogue scientist in Baja California who may have found a way to reverse death—Wisteria reluctantly accepts, drawn by both professional curiosity and personal longing.

The journey takes her from Norman, Oklahoma through the haunted landscapes of the Texas Panhandle and into the deserts of Baja California, Mexico. There she meets Dr. Holdsby Asher, a former Army medic turned controversial researcher operating out of an abandoned silver mine. His reanimation experiments blur the lines between life and death, resulting in disturbing partial resurrections: biologically functional beings without apparent consciousness.

As Wisteria becomes immersed in Holdsby’s world of ethical ambiguity and scientific obsession, she also connects with Maria Bentley, a hotelier and former pharmaceutical researcher, and Elena, a once-dead trafficking victim who regains agency and becomes a symbol of consciousness evolution. Together, they confront the implications of Holdsby’s work—and the darker motives of VitaNuova, who seeks military applications for the technology.

Through a series of morally fraught encounters, Wisteria is forced to choose between complicity in a terrifying future or becoming a bridge to new understandings of grief, healing, and being. Her poetic reflections on trauma, memory, and identity deepen as she explores the “spaces between” death and resurrection—not only in others, but within herself.

Structured in four parts—Descent, Darkness, Transformation, and Resurrection—the novel foregrounds themes such as Julia Kristeva’s concept of abjection, the existential dilemmas posed by Sartre and Camus, and Berger and Luckmann’s social construction of reality. It interrogates the meaning of consciousness, identity, and personhood through the reanimation of partially conscious bodies and the corporate desire to militarize immortality.

With its haunting desert setting, philosophical underpinnings drawn from existentialism, social construction theory, and Kristeva’s abjection, Todos Santos is a meditation on what it means to be alive, to grieve, and to evolve. Ultimately, it is a story of resurrection—both literal and metaphorical—and the dangerous, liberating, and deeply human desire to bring the dead back, if only to say goodbye.

Interested in writing a review?  Let me know and I'll send you a galley proof ... Thank you in advance!

Each Madman with his/her Theme (Dir. Juan Bustillo Oro, 1939): Why I Love Mexican Cinema: 3

Cada loco con su tema (Each Madman with his / her Own Theme) is a high-energy and highly intelligent farce from the Golden Age of Mexican Cinema (Cine de Oro). As a farce, it entertains the audience its use of exaggeration, absurdity, and over-the-top performances. However, as in most of Bustillo Oro’s work, Cada loco con su tema uses Expressionistic cinematography and themes from film noir to satirize a genre (pulp horror radio) and to pull in the tradition of the “carpas.” The carpas were Mexican (and also Mexican-American) traveling tent shows that traversed Mexico and the southwest United States from the time of the Mexican Revolution, 1910, through the 1940s. The high-energy theatrical spectacles were intended for working-class Spanish-speaking audiences and as such, they often mocked the wealthy classes and the mores of the rich, especially the elites descended from the Spanish who were granted land and privilege during the Spanish colonial times.  Thus, they could be, and generally were, anarchic and subversive. The brilliant comedian, Cantinflas, got his start in the carpas, where he perfected his “peladito” character, a cheerful and quick-witted street-smart character who finds himself in absurd situations, often deliberately defying conventions of the upper classes (who are indistinguishable from corrupt politicians and organized crime families).

In Cada loco con su tema, there are many levels of mistaken identity and misperceptions due to completely flawed assumptions. The main premise is that a horror-radio show writer with a comical name (Julio César Napoleón ) has driven himself into a state of extreme paranoia by being immersed in crime drama and horror all day, every day. After a nervous breakdown, he is advised to spend a month at a sanatorium operated by his doctor. To avoid possible career repercussions, he takes on an assumed name, Justiniano Conquián , which, coincidentally, is the same name as a mild-mannered and rather befuddled taxidermist who must endure one month in the ancestral family mansion, reputed to be haunted by spirits that drive one mad or to one’s death. Justiniano will inherit the full 6 million pesos. The catch is that he has to emerge from the month both alive and sane.  It won’t be easy. The real Justiniano has the bad luck of having greedy relatives who are eager to push Justiniano into madness or death so that they can have equal shares of the inheritance.

So, with such a premise, there are many opportunities for identity confusion, mix-ups, and comical misperceptions.  Most of the action takes place at the ancestral family castle, where Julio César  and his assistant, Serafin, end up after taking a wrong turn on their way to the mountain sanatorium. Justiniano’s scheming relatives are already installed there. Justiniano arrives a day late, having spent a night at the mountain sanatorium after also taking a wrong turn.

MAIN CHARACTERS

Julio César Napoleón                A successful, but very high-strung writer of horror shows for the radio          

Justiniano Conquián                  A mild-mannered taxidermist who may inherit 6 million pesos

Josefina Larios Conquián          Lovely younger sister of Justiniano

Serafin del Monte                      Julio César’s assistant

Dr. German Casca Conquián     Distant relative who devises a scheme to cheat Justiniano

Augusta                                    The butler’s wife who foretells doom and gloom

Severo                                     The butler, and also, secretly a contender to the inheritance

Lucrecia                                   The scheming wife of one of the contenders to the inheritance

Dr. Luis Jiménez                       Psychiatrist who runs a sanatorium based on his personal theories

THEMES

Grand Guignol-esque Naturalism:  The Grand-Guignol Theatre was a theatre in Paris that specialized in horrifying spectacles known to make people faint, become sick, and otherwise traumatized. In a way, they can be said to make a mockery of the Greek notion that the efficacy of theatre is in its purifying and emotionally clarifying catharsis. The Grand Guignol productions were extremely popular from the late 19^th century through 1962 and exercised a tremendous influence on radio, film, and expressionistic experimental theatre such as that of Antonin Artaud (The Theatre of Cruelty). The theatre was an outgrowth of literary naturalism as pioneered by Zola, Flaubert, and Proust. The spectacles were highly popular, and prided themselves on giving people extreme experiences – something that found its way into French philosophy as well; for example, in the case of Foucault’s quest for “limit experiences.”  Always a bit disreputable and willing to toy with the frontiers of life and death (they often boasted of having a doctor on call for people who needed medical attention due to the intense shock), the Grand-Guignol Theatre became a kind of “guilty secret.” The direct heirs of the horror spectacles were the popular genres in literature and film, which included pulp fiction, horror radio, sensation novels, and horror films. Cada loco con su tema is a parody of the Grand-Guignolesque productions, and in subverting the genre, it also calls into question the true impact of art, and the nature of catharsis in theatre.

Reality is a Deconstruction.  In Cada loco con su tema reality is seriously and repeatedly called into question. Perhaps the most powerful message in Cada loco is the tacit suggestion that reality is a choice, and not something to be independently verified by empirical observation or sensory perceptions. Because they believe that they are in an asylum and that what they are seeing are simply theatrical productions designed to shock them into their senses, Julio César  and Serafin scrunch up their faces, close their eyes, and loudly chant: This is not real! This is not real! The comical aspect is that they are actually closing their eyes to something that is quite real.  When Julio César  chooses to assume the identity of Justiniano Conquián , he is also choosing his own reality. For the “real” Justiniano Conquián , his befuddlement and tenuous grasp on what is going on around him have the opposite effect. For Justiniano Conquián , reality is not a choice, but a slippery slope that slides just beyond his grasp. Taxidermy further illustrates the “reality dialectic” – the taxidermy specimens are real depictions of a life that is no longer a life. They are dead – except for the supposedly taxidermied gorilla, which turns out to be quite alive (albeit not a taxidermy specimen at all, but a man in a gorilla suit).

 This is a brief excerpt of a larger work by Susan Smith Nash, Ph.D.  You may access the article here. 

Julio César Napoleón, a horror radio show writer, arrives home to the sound of “hands up or I’ll shoot!” but does not realize it is his radio that has automatically turned on at the hour of his “Murder in the Madhouse.” Bustillo Oro uses the chiaroscuro of German Expressionism to emphasize the fact that this is a part of the horror genre (or a parody / subversion of it). 

Justiniano Conquián, a mild-mannered taxidermist, learns that he will inherit $6 million pesos if he can manage to survive a month in the Conquián Castle without going insane or dying. 

Dramatic backlighting gives Augusta an unearthly glow, and the light that illuminates her crucifix gives rise to the thought that one needs divine protection to survive a night in the castle

This is a dramatic point of view shot that reminds one of Bustillo Oro’s masterpiece, Dos Monjes. Dr. Conquián takes Julio César’s suggestion to start the evening meal with a prayer – a “Black Mass Prayer” to an absurd extreme. When Julio César enthusiastically joins in, Dr. Conquián impatiently chides him, “Stop blaspheming my blasphemy!”  While the Black Mass is an inversion of Christianity and Catholic rituals, the Julio César’s interruptions and farcical asides are inversions and subversions of the subversion. The result is comical chaos. 

When the loudly blaring radio program, “Murder in the Madhouse,” opens with “drop your gun!” it so startles everyone that they drop their guns. Julio César scoops it up and subdues the scoundrels, the scheming, greedy distant relatives. 

The Russian Horror Film, "The Bride" (2017) Does Not Disappoint

I recently saw the Russian horror film, The Bride (Svyatoslav Podgayevskiy, 2017).  The film is often listed as HEBECTA (pronounced Nevestia – which means “The Bride” or “The Fiancee”).

Any good horror film worth its salt is subversive. This film reminded me of that.

Okay, to start, let me make a confession. I’m not a fan of horror films. In fact, I would say that I avoid them whenever I can. I’m not sure why I thought that the Russian film, “The Bride” would be a chick flick. Probably because I did not watch the trailer. I was also wrong in thinking that it would be in Russian with English subtitles.  It was dubbed. So, I was prepared to be underwhelmed.

To my surprise, I liked it. And, I was reminded that horror is something that, if it’s really good, gives you insight into the dynamics of our social and political milieu, but in coded form, if you will.

Like the best horror films, the premise is of a scientific breakthrough and technology gone horribly wrong, combined with creepy anthropology and folklore.

Moscow University. Professor is talking about two things: first, the belief in the 19th century that the silver emulsions used in photography captured not just the image but the essence of the soul of the subject. So, they took to taking photographs of their dead loved ones .. painting eyes on their eyelids.

Second, the ancient Slavic belief that a wedding ceremony was actually a funeral ceremony for the bride, because she was dead to her old life – hence, the bridal veil (inspired by shrouds used to wrap the cadaver), the color white (of death; “purity” would have been good old nunnery and nun’s habit black), and the flowers.

Now, in the case of the movie, the bride died, and so a replacement bride was found to inter with the dead girlfriend and a silver emulsion containing her soul, with the hope that the silver plate would be as potent as lightning in Frankenstein’s laboratory. Yeah, a bit weak, and very derivative, but the fact that the entire film was shot in Moscow and the Moscow Oblast made it interesting.

So, here is a checklist underpinning ideas and psychological / existential anxieties:
Fear of women’s sexuality: CHECK
Suspicion of technology: CHECK
Belief in the suppression of scientific discoveries of the 19th century: CHECK
Belief in a hungry, devouring, undead entity that seeks to steal your healthy body, will killing your soul: CHECK
Belief that the body-snatcher is consumer culture?? NO NON NYET NYET NYET
Belief that the body-snatching soul-stealer is the GOVERNMENT (or that the “Bride” is ‘gasp' a politician!) CHECK CHECK CHECK

The special effects of horror leave me cold. I am disgusted by them.  I do not care to see wormy cadavers, or to vicariously experience a rotted zombie female checking to make sure that the prospective new bride is a virgin so she can consign her soul to her rotting cadaver, thus using the new, living bride for her evil designs.

Okay, I liked the Russian house. It made me think of the Romanov times, and the museums I visited in Russia. I also recognize the metonymical significance of secret passages, hallways, and ducts in the old house. The metonymical potential of the silver nitrate images on glass, and the images of candles, winding stairways, foggy trackless forests are also clear to me. I enjoy them, but they are like eating candy corn for breakfast. You’ve just substituted discounted Halloween candy for the tough, bitter, adult palate that prefers something steel-cut.

The subversive elements of The Bride have to do with the vexed relationship a culture has with its past. The past is usually mythologized, and history is hammered into a weapon or a plowshare to do the bidding of the one's in power. To have a past that persists, and actually devours today is quite a subversive message, especially in a culture that tries to build on past accomplishments to reinforce a national identity capable of cohering and fending off outside threats.  To have a being from the past who insists on taking over the body of a young, virginal woman admits that there is a profound fear of one's own latent impulses. Dostoevsky's doppelgangers (The Double and Notes from Underground) are alive and well.