I was DYING to try! I grew UP on zombie flicks! Dawn of the Dead and 28 Days Later still gives me nightmares! I HAD to see if I could survive a zombie apocalypse.
AKA: The Night I Met Neil Gaiman and Didn’t Get My Picture With Edgar Oliver. On Friday night, The Unchained Tour came to Charleston, South Carolina, one of the final stops on their heart-shaped trip around the southeast.
I kicked. I screamed. I howled. All under the guise of a headache, massively exacerbated by the noisy subway system. People stared! And my poor mother had no idea of the real cause. It was all thanks to C.H.U.D.
My daughter is four, and has an unrelenting fear of witches. Brave has a witch, and spells, and bears, and pushed her comfort zone a little. But thanks to the peer pressure of preschool, soon we were on our way to the movies: my husband, me, Zoe, and Zoe’s stuffed rabbit, Funny Bunny.
This certainly wasn’t a movie created for high-def. I don’t think the film was even high quality for its day, and on my TV, it was downright blurry.
Four years ago, my daughter was delivered by c-section. Thanks to a slight hospital snafu, I was given nothing stronger than extra-strength Tylenol.
By now, you’ve probably read about the man who got his face eaten off by another man on the side of a Miami causeway. If you’re like me, that story made you stop and shudder, and also to wonder, more than half-jokingly: Is this the start of the Zombie Apocalypse?
Hellraiser came out in 1987. I was eight. Pictures of the white-faced Hellraiser guy with pins sticking out of his head sent me running. Literally running, from the TV or the poster or wherever I saw him glare at me.
I want a bad-ass kid, like Newt. Because, as a kid myself, I loved her. Wanted to be her. I mimicked her shriek; I said “aaaafirmative.” And then, in the Third Movie Which Shall Not Be Referred to By Name, they killed her. Bastards.