GOOD OL' FREDA: YEAH, YEAH, YEAH!

GOOD OL’ FREDA:  YEAH, YEAH, YEAH!

She flew through the hallowed halls of Baltimore’s Institute of Notre Dame, waving black-and-white Polaroid pictures for just one dollar each.  Where else could you get a personal memento of The Beatles U.S. debut on “The Ed Sullivan Show” on February 9, 1964?  Kathy McCabe was a promoter while still dressed in the pleated plaid skirt and saddle shoe uniform of IND, before she even knew what that term meant.  And she was absolutely crazy over this new group from Liverpool, England.  She LOVED music…so much so that she was almost expelled from the all-girls Catholic school for an in-school performance.  We sat through lots of performances during our time at IND:  choral groups, drama club, etc., but never had a student dared to put on one like Kathy did.  The curtain drew back to reveal (GASP) a group of girls performing a Beach Boys’ number, with Miss McCabe hammering away on a set of drums.  The principal rushed to the stage, her black veil flying behind her, and shut down such an affront to womanly decency.  

If you happened to stop by the gathering place for local Baltimore music in the mid 1960’s and 70’s – The Bluesette – you’d have seen her, decked out in hippie chick garb, singing with The Uncertain Things band and elsewhere for over thirty years.  Time moved on, and many of us re-directed our youthful passions, but not Kathy McCabe.  I caught up with my former classmate recently and discovered that she has indeed continued to do what she always loved.  

Her talent for picture-taking extended far beyond those Polaroids, too.  She is an award-winning photographer, who has worked as a publicist and manager, a music video and album producer, a recording studio manager, and a publicist and marketer for “Pelada”, a documentary film about pick-up soccer games around the world, far from the manicured fields of professional sports.  After making the rounds of about 30 film festivals, it was picked up by PBS and Netflix.  You can check “Pelada” out at pelada-themovie.com.

Kathy also happens to be an expert on all things Beatle.  If you are wondering what good it does to know everything there is about the Fab Four, well pull up a chair…

McCabe has initiated, engineered and produced a documentary film about the Beatles’ long-time, faithful secretary, Freda Kelly, a shy teen who jumped at the chance to be their secretary.  The film’s name comes from a shout-out on the group’s 1963 Christmas record.  The story of the four lads who became a huge and lasting success is told through Freda’s eyes.  She was a friend and confidant to the group and their families.  She was the head of their fan club for eleven years, dutifully responding to fan mail and unending requests, holding down what had to be one of the most enviable jobs on earth.  Freda wrote an article each month in a magazine called (what else?) “The Beatles Monthly”, and Kathy always bought a copy at Sherman’s Bookstore on Park Avenue in downtown Baltimore.  There was a pen pal request page in the magazine and Kathy added her name to the list.  In a serendipitous twist of fate, McCabe’s name was chosen by a fellow named Robbie Malloy, whose sister happened to work at the Beatles Fan Club with Freda.  The brother-in-law of Robbie’s sister was named “Billy”.  Billy (who appears in the documentary film) just happened to play for the Merseybeats, who played on the same bill with The Beatles many times.  Over the years, Kathy and Freda developed a friendship which led to the making of this film. 

 Kathy McCabe’s ties to Maryland run deep.  She was born in Baltimore, and is a graduate of both the Institute of Notre Dame and Towson State, with degrees in both Political Science and History.  She divides her time between Catonsville, Maryland and Gulf Shores, Alabama.  An avid wildlife photographer, Kathy travels regularly with her musician husband, Mac Walter, who just happens to be (among MANY other things) a member of the Governor Martin O’Malley’s band, O’Malley’s March.  

Don’t wait, because these screenings have been selling out to appreciative audiences at film festivals across the country for the last two months.   It’s impressive enough that Magnolia Pictures has acquired the distribution rights for North America.  

 #1 Screening: Get out of work early & come to the movies.
 Bring your friends, co-workers and boss too!

Tickets $10

Thursday, May 9, 2013 at 5pm, at the Charles Theater 1  1711 N. Charles St., Baltimore, MD.  21201 (410) 727-3464

The Link to purchase tickets is http://www.missiontix.com/events/product/17331

#2 Screening: Bring your mom, wife, aunt, daughter and family for Mother's Day!
Why sit in a crowded restaurant at noon when you can have fun at the movies?

Tickets $10

Sunday, May 12, 2013 at 12 noon at MICA Brown Center, Maryland Institute College of of Art,

1300 Mount Royal Avenue
Baltimore, Maryland 21217

The link  to purchase tickets:
http://www.missiontix.com/events/product/17332

THE LURE OF JUVENILE HUMOR: JUST ADMIT IT

Okay, if you crinkle your nose and won’t acknowledge that you once snickered at your grade school acquaintances’ manic competitions to produce the silliest names…or even contributed to the lists, just stop reading.  And spare me the acrimonious comments on the subject.  I get it.  You’re a grown-up and I’m not.  Happy? 

This is my third go-round.  I participated in this brand of humor in my own youth, re-visited it when my children entered the age group that glories in it, and now have a grandchild who has discovered it.  If you’re drawing a blank, I’m referring to such famous novels as “Yellow Rivers” by I. P. Daily, “One Hundred Recipes for Hamburger” by Chuck Roast, and down the endless list.

The best names are the ones that you don’t have to make up.  They occur naturally, but you have to pay attention to catch them.  I"ll never forgot the car salesman with the unfortunate moniker, “Orson Buggy”.  It’s kind of like looking at those weird patterns that contain a picture, if you stare at them long enough.  How does a guy with the name “Rusty Steele” wind up working at a body shop?  It should be an automatic disqualification for a woman named “Frieda Wander” to sit on a parole board.

Is there an ice rink caretaker named “Sam Boney”?  A barista who answers to “Bruno Moore”?  There just has to be a French lawyer named “Jacques Hughes” or a laid-back counselor who goes by “Saul Wellingood”.  Did you ever worry that if you quit going to the gym, you’d wind up wearing that dreaded clothing line by “Hugh Jass”?

I could go on, but my favorite juvenile television show just started, and I don‘t want to miss what happens this week when that mean vampire, Dustin Dubree, gets pushed out into the sunlight.   

IN-N-OUT….ANIMAL STYLE

No, it’s not the latest porn film, but legions of fans might ascribe similar feelings to this kind of addiction too.  

If you live in the Southwestern U.S., especially California and Texas, you know I’m referring to the burger chain with a cult-like following:  In-N-Out.   The company started in 1948 with just one drive-through in Los Angeles and now has 280 restaurants in five states.  That may not seem like an impressive number compared with such giants as McDonalds and Burger King, but the family-owned chain is famous for its fresh ingredients as well as the tiny quotations from the Bible on its cups and wrappers.  Devotees can even hire the company trailers to cater coporate or other party events.

Heading a business valued at an estimated $1.1 billion, In-N-Out’s newest owner and president is Lynsi Torres who, at just 30 years old, is arguably the youngest female billionaire on the planet.   Her daunting position resulted from a series of deaths in her family, leaving her as the last family heir.  At the time, she was just 23, and the family trust gave her half ownership when she turned 30 last year.  Full ownership will come on her 35th birthday.

In-N-Out’s future is uncertain as not a lot is known about Torres, who refuses most requests for interviews.  With no college degree or formal management training, it is unknown whether she will maintain ownership after gaining full control of the fabled company, which has never franchised to outsiders in order to maintain its legendary quality control.  In-N-Out offers a limited menu, concentrating on fresh beef delivered daily on refrigerated trucks.  In fact, that’s the main reason the company hasn’t expanded beyond its current zones:  its policy dictates that the trucks must be able to reach the restaurants on the same day.  And that’s not all.  They make every hamburger patty from whole chucks from premium cattle selected especially for In-N-Out Burger. Individually inspecting every single chuck, their butchers debone, grind and make the patties.  Lettuce is hand-leafed. American cheese is the real thing. There isn’t a microwave, heat lamp, or freezer in the restaurant. They even bake their buns with old-fashioned, slow-rising sponge dough. And every burger is cooked fresh to order.

In-N-Out french fries come from potatoes shipped directly from the grower, individually cut in the stores, then cooked in pure vegetable oil. Milkshakes are made with real ice cream. 

So, until Ms. Torres reaches her corporate age of majority, I’ll have to limit my consumption to one burger per visit to Southern California.   That’s probably a good thing, since I like my burger animal style (translation: lettuce, tomato, a mustard cooked beef patty, pickle, extra spread with grilled onions).

  

Did I hear that Southwest has an airfare sale?

THE DEATH OF A CATHOLIC SCHOOL

They consider me a valuable source of information.  Ugh.  That’s a nice way of calling me a dinosaur. 

The “Blessed Sacrament School –Old York Road in Baltimore, MD 21218” group on Facebook has 133 members.  I’d like to think it should be more, but then this is an elementary school that closed its doors in the 1970’s due to declining enrollment.  When I browsed the group’s page the other day, it saddened me to see that the school building, rectory and convent are all up for sale.  I gazed at the photographs.  What they called the parking lot had been our playground, but now it was as cracked and broken down as some of its earliest graduates.  Clicking through to the Archdiocese of Baltimore’s Real Estate page (which I didn’t know existed), I saw no less than seven Baltimore City Catholic schools and three Baltimore County Catholic schools for sale.

Aside from its clergy’s well-publicized faults, it was hard to top a Catholic education from the 1950’s through the 1980’s.  The nuns and priests were my second family.  Their watchful eyes saw and noted everything.  Missteps had consequences and transgressions were swiftly reported to my parents who followed up when I arrived home.  If my mathematics calculations or my grammar wasn’t correct, they made sure that I worked until the concepts had been mastered. 

In that flourishing era of Catholic schooling, there was no such thing as tuition.  Our parents were just supposed to toss a dollar or two into the collection basket at Sunday Mass.  Our religious educators didn’t receive salaries, only small stipends to cover their bare necessities.  My mother and other parents volunteered to ferry the nuns to medical and dental appointments on a rotating basis.  Mom volunteered me to struggle through my modest piano repertoire to entertain the sisters on occasional Sunday afternoons.  It was a shock when I graduated to Catholic high school, where the tuition was a then-staggering $200 a year.  My modest urban alma mater is now approximately $12,000 per year plus add-on fees.

Blessed Sacrament Parish recently celebrated its 100^th anniversary.  In the beginning the surrounding community was solidly blue collar.  Before it succumbed to the infection of drugs, crime and poverty, hard-working families raised their children in the rowhouse-filled streets, attended church and entrusted their children to the School Sisters of Notre Dame who lived in the greystone convent attached to the school building.  

It was the luck of the draw whether you got the fresh-faced nun, straight from the novitiate, sweet and kind, or the prune-skinned relic, counting the days until retirement from classroom duties.  We did have a few lay teachers, but they were the exception and exclusively female.   The pupil-teacher ratio was large.  It was not unusual to have 30+ kids in a class.  Yet the room was as silent as a tomb.  The nuns wielded a long, wooden pointer whose use wasn’t restricted to the blackboard.  After-school detention meant humiliation, additional homework and manual labor around the school grounds.  It just wasn’t worth it.

Conversely, the agony of self-control could be legendary.  Those unfortunate enough to be selected for the church choir were led by Sister Mary Teresa.  This poor woman’s sanity was borderline, due to teaching the combined 6^th/7^th grades with a total of 49 pupils daily.  We practiced in the choir loft of the church, accompanied by the organist, Maizie.  An object of very unchristian juvenile cruelty, Maizie had been born with a cleft palate which had been poorly repaired.  Back in the 50’s, the unsophisticated term was “harelip”, based on the shape of a hare’s lip.  This defect distorted her speech into nasal garbling.  “Nit nur buks uf muh urgun!” she would yell.  Translation:  “Get your books off my organ!”  We would raise our hymn books to cover our red, contorted faces as we fought to stifle our laughter and keep our pants dry.

As I write, the television networks are covering the Pope’s retirement….more convulsive change.  Yes, reflecting on and complaining of change is characteristic of an aging personality, but I’m not convinced that’s the complete explanation.  Change is accelerating on all fronts and I don’t think I’m alone in struggling to stay abreast.  The challenge is figuring out what changes are worth keeping.    

Excerpt from "Heart Search: Lost" Debut Novel

If you been reading my blog posts over the last few weeks, you know I've been publicizing the fab new paranormal romance novel of my friend, Carlie Cullen.  Before I return to my normal subject matter, I thought I'd leave you with a tasty morsel, aka "excerpt" from "Heart Search: Lost".  Just remember that Carlie is from the U.K. and their spelling as well as expressions often vary from U.S. authors.  Enjoy!

"Further down the street I came across a storefront which drew my attention immediately. On layered glass shelves was an exhibit of exquisite china fairies, their faces almost lifelike, their colours a range of pastels and earth tones. I gazed at each of them in turn, admiring the delicacy and skill which created them.

Once my eyes had feasted upon each fairy, my attention was drawn to the other half of the window; on this side were a range of glorious dragons – some with wings extended, some prone, some seated with fierce eyes that appeared to be searching for their next victim.

A strange sense of déjà vu came upon me. I didn’t remember seeing this shop when Josh and I had stopped here before yet I couldn’t escape the notion that this was all very . . . familiar. I also failed to shake the feeling that something was about to distract me. I continued to scrutinise the dragons, but when I reached one entitled ‘Freyedar the Fearsome’ a reflection in the glass caught my eye.
I looked up to see the reflection of a hooded man on the other side of the road. He moved as gracefully as a dancer as he slowly glided along. A sudden bluster of wind dislodged his hood and I was able to see the profile of his face. The skin was albino with prominent cheekbones, a strong jaw line and lips that were ruby in colour. He was beautiful, even angelic. In fact, he looked a great deal like Josh. Then with a gasp of recognition I realised it was him, but he had changed . . . subtly. I whispered his name and saw his head incline slightly towards me. An excited sparkle gleamed in his eye, but his face was agonised."

"Heart Search: Lost" Book Review

Like many readers, the “Twilight” series was the first modern-day vampire romance I’d ever read…and I was a big fan.  But as more books flooded the market, hoping to capitalize on its success, I lost my enthusiasm for the genre.  So when Carlie Cullen’s debut novel, “Heart Search: Lost” hit the digital shelves, I wasn’t sure I’d like it.  But knowing Carlie’s style, I decided to give it a chance…and I can honestly say that I’m very glad I did. 

Without spoiling the plot, the story revolves around Remy and Joshua, an attractive, happily engaged  British couple who are excitedly waiting out the last few days before their wedding.   Everything seems to be going along swimmingly until Joshua suddenly disappears.  Unbeknownst to heartbroken Remy, Joshua has a very good reason for his unexpected departure.  He has been bitten by a vampire and, to his horror, finds that he himself is being transformed into one of these dreaded creatures of legend.  Steadfast in his love for Remy, he knows he cannot remain with her without endangering her life.

Of course, Remy is devastated by his disappearance.  She initially spends time wallowing in desperate confusion before deciding to embark on a perilous journey to find him.  Author Cullen artfully weaves her story by alternating between the two main characters’ viewpoints, drawing lush verbal portraits of their worlds.  Even minor characters come alive in her descriptive passages.  The plot twists, especially in Joshua’s new life, made me impatient for the second book in the series, which I hope won’t be long coming.

You can find "Heart Search: Lost" to get your copy on Amazon.com.

 

Thirty-One Days of Classic Frights

 

The month of October is filled with pleasure:  nature's panorama of fiery leaf displays, the satisfying crunch as we wade through them, the relief of cooler temperatures and lower electric bills to name a few.  And as the losers among the new television shows begin to fall by the wayside, the increasingly popular variants of "31 Days of Halloween" churn out every Sci Fi and horror movie ever made.

Really good, scary movies are difficult to find.  The slash-and-gore films follow a formula that is numbingly boring or just plain offensive.  Body parts and serial killers abound, but films that produce delicious breath-holding shivers are rare indeed. 

 

My own  introduction to the genre came courtesy of my dad.  I have vivid memories of hanging onto him for dear life when he took me to the Waverly theater on Greenmount Avenue in Baltimore, Maryland to see "Godzilla" in the mid-1950's.  Of course, today's state-of-the-art special effects make the venerable monster look ridiculous - a man in a rubbery latex 200 pound suit who lumbered over minature cities and shot streams of faux fire from his mouth - but I'd never seen anything like it.  The first suit was so inflexible and heavy that the performer could only move about thirty feet before it became necessary to escape the heat and weight of the costume.  The story was inspired by a real-life nuclear accident in which a Japanese fishing boat floated too close to an American nuclear test and was contaminated....and the monster was originally meant to be an giant octopus.

The "B" (supposedly referring to "budget") movies florished under Hammer Films, Roger Corman's American International Pictures and then Universal International as the studios churned out the Frankenstein, Mummy and Dracula film series.

I was hooked.  As I became older and was allowed to stay up later, one of my favorite television shows was "Chiller Theater" in the early 60's.  The popular show's opening montage of the wavy word (Chiller) that dripped blood (in black and white) featured classic monster movies starring the likes of Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi, Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing.  It eventually evolved into a show hosted by "Vampira" who was the predecessor of  the late 1980's "Elvira, Mistress of the Night".  Cassandra Peterson's Elvira was a sexy, wise-cracking horror hostess who wore a low-cut gown and spouted trademark one-liners of varying degrees of taste.  As an example, when she arrived in character for the reading of a fictional aunt's last will and testament, she cracked "Hey guys! Sorry I'm late, but then, so is my aunt."  In response to a would-be suitor who asked if she smoked, while offering her a cigarette, she opined "Guess we'll find out soon enough."

Chiller Theater's originating television station, WPIX, has aired one-night-only revivals for the past four years, and there is even a Chiller Theater Convention held annually in New Jersey since 1990, which has become one of the largest horror conventions in the eastern United States. 

What's your favorite scary movie?