Tag: Wine

Ugly & Beautiful

Zombie, Zombie, Zombie: A Blog Post Under the Influence

Laura

mombie*It’s fairly late at night. I’ve had a good amount of white wine. and now I have a powerful hankering to write a blog post.

I tried to go to a zombie movie in the theater once. I lasted about ten minutes.

I made it all the way through the book Zombie by Joyce Carroll Oates, more out of stubbornness than enjoyment. It nauseated me. It felt gratuitous and rambling. It made me wonder what it’s like to have graphomania like Ms. Oates does and what percentage of her total writing has gone into the dozens of books she’s published.

I have yet to read anything by Joyce Carroll Oates that I really liked.

There. I said it. Somebody had to.

I’ve seen Shaun of the Dead at least a dozen times. What’s his name?–Simon Pegg. Sexy. So sexy. If you disagree, I understand. But–Mmmm.

And whatever happened to the idea of zombies as rising from the dead rather than having been “infected” by some “virus” that makes them “zombies?” Was it that Milla Jovovitch movie? Did that start the virus thing? I guess it’s scarier that way. More “realistic.” More “plausible.” More “something.”

Anyway.

I love the song “Zombie” by The Cranberries. One of the few I hear on the radio and immediately stop talking to listen. Turn it up, sing along. There was a woman who used to sing at the Brass Rail in Spokane (is that the name of the bar?) on karaoke night whose voice made my whole being vibrate. She was beautiful and enormous and I heard she was part of the Spokane burlesque circuit. When she sang, people closed their eyes and listened. It was beautiful.

There’s a friend I used to do karaoke with who knows what I mean. For a long time, I texted her whenever I heard the song.

I bought my cousin the book World War Z when he was about eleven. His mom told me he loved it but I don’t remember him ever mentioning it. He used to hug me so tight it hurt–back when he was three. Now he’s unfriended me on Facebook, I assume because I’m old and uncool. I tell stories at Thanksgivings and Christmases about the summer I spent at his house when he was three, when I carried him on my back and we both held our first sparklers though I was a decade older.

I don’t know why we are fascinated by the idea of the undead. Not even the undead anymore–the diseased. What does it mean when magic is no longer scary but science is?

 

 

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