Funny Bunny?

ManFriend and I went on a very long drive to a wedding on the weekend, which called for an audio book – for the drive, not the wedding. We used to take the question cards from Trivial Pursuit to keep the driver awake (and by driver, I mean ManFriend, since I haven’t driven in 16 years. I didn’t mean to forget how to drive, it just happened when I left home and moved to Sydney where I’ve always lived near decent public transport), but it makes me feel dishonest about playing TP with others. We take a pile of CDs, of course, but audio books are better at keeping you alert.

We had the excellent World War Z by Max Brooks, featuring Alan Alda, Mark Hamill, Henry Rollins, John Turturro and more, but it wasn’t quite long enough, so we stopped at a bookshop on the way back and bought The Death of Bunny Munroe, by Nick Cave, read by Nick Cave, with music by Nick Cave and Warren Ellis. (Linda Radfem was talking about this book at her place a while ago, about how the cover and the title make you think it’s about a sexy chick who gets killed, and about how hard it is to reconcile political/social views with some of the music we like.) I really enjoyed When the Ass saw the Angel, although that was in 1998 or 1999 when I was in London, so it could very well have been a bunch of self-important tripe that fit in with my early-twenties self-important view of the world.

Anyway, The Death of Bunny Munroe is pretty funny. He’s taking the piss, right?

Now the zombies are middle class

I had a rotten night last night. Couldn’t get into a deep sleep. Was still just dozing at 5.53am. I did have one dream though.

I was back in the house of my childhood (I never dream about the house we moved to when I was 14), under attack from zombies. No surprises there as I’ve just finished reading the fantastic World War Z by Max Brooks. It tells the stories of the people who survived the zombie war. Even if you don’t like zombies, you should check it out because it’s so well written.

Anyway, we had sticks with sharpened ends to ram into their heads. Most of the zombies died (again) straight away. Except the middle class ones. The sticks wouldn’t go into their heads. Yesterday I had a rant at work about the ridiculousness of David Penberthy’s piece in The Punch, complaining about how no one has asked men what they think of female body image. Because, you know, middle class blokes always struggle to be heard.