With Netflix, once you've watched something, you're offered suggestions of similar titles. "If you liked this, you might also like this."
I chose to take Netflix up on its suggestion to watch "Outbreak," a 1995 movie starring Dustin Hoffman about a global biological meltdown in the form of a killer virus. After that came "Survivors," a British series about a group that lives through a worldwide flu outbreak. An excellent show, it took me all the way through to Monday.
Between episodes -- and often during -- I'd drift in and out of fevered sleep, my dreams mixing with the shows, leaving me not entirely sure what I'd seen and what my drugged mind created. It was surreal, yet I couldn't help but feel triumphant. Time and again, the flu virus was killing the world, yet I was still standing. Well, not technically standing, but you get the point.
As I stood wobblingly before the bathroom mirror on Monday, feeling as though the meat was boiling off my bones, with circles under my eyes even the most seasoned Hollywood makeup artist couldn't replicate, I realized finding another show with people who looked worse than me wasn't going to be easy.
But Netflix came through.
It recommended "The Walking Dead."
Although I'd already watched the first season once before, it bore watching again. This time, I felt an odd sort of kinship with the zombies. I'm not proud to admit it, but on more than one occasion, I was rooting for them.
Reach Karin Fuller via email at karinful...@gmail.com.