Night of the Living Dead

All posts tagged Night of the Living Dead

Two words: hanta virus

Published October 18, 2012 by Sandee

I’ve scheduled my reading for 10/27, 10:30pm at the Indian Road Café.  I’ll read for half an hour.  Afterward they’re screening Night of the Living Dead.  That’s crazy because I had no idea they’d be showing this movie and it’s one of my favorites – I know the whole script.  Two great lines from it:

“They’re coming to get you Bar-ba-ra.”

“Yeah they’re dead…they’re…all messed up”

I’d like to write a treatise on this movie.  It’s been done.  They make it a metaphor for the times in 1968.  The zombies are the encroaching threat to the establishment.  They represent black people too, I think I’ve heard.  George Romero used a black protagonist which was progressive, but then again, he doesn’t survive, AND his plan for keeping everyone safe — as the alpha male in the bunch — failed.  Womp womp oh well.

Since I’m on zombies – anybody ever see Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things? One of the reasons I love Fright Night is because the kid in the movie watches it on TV, the part where Orville is reanimated and goes after the leader of the theater group. This movie has a cult following so I feel cool because I knew it when.

My horror story in my book, Mean-Spirited Tales doesn’t have zombies.  I may have a friend read one of the stories. I’m going to miss Bob being at the reading.  I’ve been to the Indian Road Café a few times to eat and Bob would be there.  He was retired so I think he went everyday for lunch.  “There goes that Sword-Chinned Bitch,” he’d snarl. I was thrilled the first time he said it because I fantasize about walking down the street with people whispering “Hey, there’s the Sword-Chinned Bitch” — hehe.  So Bob helped me realize my fantasy.  After I got my hair butchered by the salon, Bob sees me and says, “So the flat-headed Sword Chinned Bee-itch is here.”  He made bitch two syllables.

When I went to the café to speak with the owner about my reading, I hear behind me, “I know I’ll be there to see the Sword-Chinned Bitch.”  It was Bob.  He bought my book and read my blog.  I wrote about my love affair with a mouse in my apartment on my blog.  He commented:  “Two words:  hanta virus.”  Ahahaha!

If no one else comes to my reading Bob will be there and perhaps with his lover, I used to say.  Bob passed away of a heart attack a week after I saw him at the café.  He was both wicked and very kind.  When I spoke to him last, he talked about having a good life and being fortunate.  I was fortunate to know Bob.  He was one of those blessings that we get in the minute of the day.

I’m going to be a zombie

Published July 3, 2012 by Sandee

 

I am so damn lame.  I entered a contest to win a free funeral but haven’t checked to see when the drawing is.  The contest is part of Zombie Run.  I wanted to be a zombie in their race in Boston last May, but the spaces were all filled.  There were plenty of openings for anybody who wanted to be a regular person in the race however.  Ha ha!  When you do things online, fill out forms for this that and such, expect to get googobs of other crap from the organization.  But I like zombies, so I don’t mind getting things from Zombie Run and I was excited about the funeral.  I need to see if the drawing is over – who won it.  I’m really superstitious about it though.  Like if I win the funeral, I’ll be dead soon.  If I win – it’s $5000 worth of funeral expenses – yeah!  But besides the funeral contest, Zombie Run is a great opportunity for people to become zombies.

Everybody wants to be a zombie.  Now everybody’s all into them.  But I was into zombies way before everybody.  Karen Cooper from The Night of the Living Dead, she’s my background image on my computer.  She’s the little girl zombie.  I know almost the whole script to that movie.  I’ll get to be a zombie someday.  But I don’t want to be one of those cyber zombies, the fast running ones they have in movies nowadays.  I want to be old school, with one foot sliding on the ground, dragging around real slow – the kind that creep around but pop up from behind the wall and take a chunk out of your head.