Helen H. Moore's Blog, page 1112

RIP Paul Bearer: Bring Back the Old WWF

 I never longed for a daughter that I could dress like a Disney Princess-- I wanted sons, and I got lucky, 'cause sons is what I got.

Starting in the year of the bicentennial, and at two to two-and-a- half year intervals afterward, I had three of them. Raising those boys in an average American household took lots of instant oatmeal, lots of Legos, and many, many GI Joes. It also took a lot of television, which in those pre-cable days meant that I was exposed to some of the best kids entertainment that ever existed. 

I don't mean Star Wars, and Indiana Jones, although of course we stood on line to see them at the movie theater . . . more than once. And I can still name the members of the A Team, and sing The Dukes of Hazzard theme song. But one of my favorite things about raising boys turned out to be a cheesy local  tv show that aired on one of the local New York channels, 5 or 9, or 11. Wrestling.

 

The World Wrestling Federation or WWF, as it was known then before the World Wildlife Fund forced them to change their name after a legal battle, had matches called by an announcer named Vince McMahon, Jr. In those days Vince McMahon was not the seemingly steroid-enhanced, Donald-Trump-esque character  we've seen more recently. He was a rather subdued announcer with his tongue seemingly planted firmly in his cheek.

The  the wrestlers themselves were the stars of the show; and they provided the excitement. There was Ivan Putsky, "The Polish Power." He'd enter the ring to his theme song--Bobby Vinton's "Melody of Love," which had some lyrics  in Polish.

In a nod to political incorrectness, there was "The Samoan Chief," Jay Strongbow, who inexplicably dressed as an Indian chief doing war dances at the beginning of each match. Authenticity, schmauthenticity!

Then there was George "The Animal" Steele. A violently psychopathic customer who would eat the turnbuckle cushions off of the ring. They say he had a green tongue, but as our tv was only black and white, I couldn't swear to it...

 

The characters, like Paul Bearer, The Undertaker, may he rest in peace, were schticky and fake, and completely lovable in their cheesiness. Vince McMahon certainly knew what he was doing over there in New Jersey, and I tip my hat to him and the empire he built out of a dying pseudo-sport. I remember with great fondness watching WWF wrestling with my sons back in the 1970s.

I even loved that crazy little 5'7"  "Grand Wizard of Wrestling" the "Heel Manager" who promoted bad guys (heels, in the parlance of the sport). With his lurex turban that seemed to have come from his granny's rag-bag, deliberately mismatched clothes, and wrap-around sunglasses, the Wizard made a splash almost every week. 

Ah, memories. "We will enjoy them."

 

 

 

Mindy McCready's Death; Why It's Anonymity, Not Celebrity

 
  Mindy McCready, Country Singer, Alcoholic, Dies at 37. Well, at least she lasted ten years longer than Amy Winehouse. 
 
When will we learn that twelve-step programs are Anonymous for a reason? The very idea that an alcoholic or addict of any kind can achieve lasting recovery on camera for the entertainment and titillation of others completely ignores the time-tested, proven tenets of the spiritual nature of the disease and the need for a spiritual program of recovery.   I've seen the commercials (full disclosure, here, I'm in long-term recovery myself) that feature clients of pricey rehabs proclaiming with relief  "best of all,  it's not a twelve-step program" --- as if that's a positive.    The basic text of the grandaddy of all twelve-step recovery programs, Alcoholics Anonymous, spells it right out: "almost no one likes the self-searching, the leveling of pride" that the process demands. That leveling of pride starts with anonymity. Tell me; are there two more diametrically opposed concepts than "anonymity" and "celebrity?" And yet we react with surprise when we read that Mindy McCready is the FIFTH celebrity addict/alcoholic to have died in the last two years after appearing on Dr. Drew's show.   Addiction, including alcoholism, is a very real, very painful, progressive and fatal brain disease that not only kills the patient but also those who love him or her. The good news is that there is a solution. The bad news is that almost no one likes it.  The really bad news is that what addicts need to recover has been understood since Bill Wilson first published in 1939, only we will not follow the simple program he outlined--most of us will relapse. All of us will die. The object of the exercise is to die with the disease, not of it.   We don't need celebrity doctors or expensive treatments. We need to do it ourselves, anonymously, one addict talking to another.   May flights of Ten Thousand Angels guide thee to thy rest, Mindy M.       

On Valentine's Eve

My hands are full.

I need to put something down.

 

In the too-short evening, in order to love you,

I need to let go of myself.

 

I will empty my hands of myself,

In order to carry your love.

 

Leaving myself to love you, then,

In the too-short evening,

I think; yes, this is what love is.

As I leave myself and move

Toward you, closer and closer toward you,

 

Until there is no where else,

And my eyes close, and we are breathing the same air,

And my empty hands

Close around you; you, and your love and my love.

Writing Is the Easy Part

Thanks, thanks, thanks, to my PR-person extraordinaire, Kathy Kubic, as National Poetry Month gets off to a perfect start with the publication of Pick a Poem AND my profile, by Andrew Kiraly, in Desert Companion Magazine!  You'll be hearing more from me about Pick a Poem in the days and weeks to come, but I just wanted to give a big shout-out to Kathy and Andrew for their efforts on my behalf!
[image error] Thanks, as well, to all my friends and family who love and support me as I do the work to make my dreams come true. 

Writing Is Easy . . . PR IS Hard!

Thanks, thanks, thanks, to Kathy Kubic, PR-Mistress Extraordinaire, for her efforts on behalf of yours truly, which have thus far resulted in a terrific profile by Andrew Kiraly, editor of KNPR's Desert Companion Magazine! Just in time for National Poetry Month, too!

Do I wish I had fewer chins? Yes, but then I guess I shouldn't have eaten so many donuts! 
[image error] Thanks to everyone who has been so interested in Pick a Poem, from my fantabulous editorial team at Scholastic, Inc., especially the multi-talented Liza Charlesworth and Virginia Dooley, to the wonderful Julie Kobayashi at the Clark County Library, to Maria DePina of the Coral Academy, and of course, to Jorge Lara, Renee Christy, and all the other FABULOUS Las Vegas Poets!

And of course, no thank-you would be complete without mention of my family--Paul, Matt, Mike, Taba and Sarah (and all the in-laws, outlaws, and grandbabies included), my publishing mentor, John Coombes, my wonderful stepson, Anthony, and my very own Kim Catalano.

I hope you enjoy!

Forever Young

Pete Seeger is one of my heroes. He "discovered" my Uncle Matt McGinn and
brought him to the US in 1962, where Matt played Carnegie Hall and
headlined above a skinny young Bob Dylan!

Uncle Matt's successful folksinging career changed
the course of my life, as I saw for
myself that music and poetry were not just for the "elites," but for wee
lassies whose daddies were bricklayers, too. I am a poet and author
today because Pete Seeger promised his sister Peggy and her husband,
Ewan McColl, to "keep Matt McGinn singing!"




You need Flash Player in order to view this.Pete Seeger - "Forever Young"From "Chimes of Freedom: The Songs of Bob Dylan Honoring 50 Years of Amnesty International". http://amnestyusa.org/chimes Buy this track now! http://tinyurl.com/6wkdvxc Also see: "The Story Behi...

The Secret World of Grandmothers

On Saturday, I took Clementine for her "day." Each grandchild gets one day to spend with me, alone. The grandchild gets to select one or two activities, and we do them together. It is easier on my energy level and on my pocketbook, and it provides some quality time for us both. I get to know my grandchildren as individuals, not a ten-armed, ten-legged, maelstrom of activity and joyful noise, at least for an afternoon.  As the oldest, and the grandchild I've had the longest, Damien has played pinball, got his ear pierced, and seen movies, including Wall-e, and Hugo in 3-D. Scarlet went with me to the Imperial Spa, where she liked the Warm Tub but found the sauna too hot, like Goldilocks! Collin wanted to play at the local arcade before we went to see Hugo (in regular D). Amy's turn comes next, and she wants to go to "someplace beautiful," so I'm planning a trip to the Oo-la-la Girly Spa, followed by a visit to the Bellagio Conservatory.  Clementine wanted to see The Secret World of Arrietty, and then to stop at the Pinball Hall of Fame. So that's what we did. Both highly recommended, and grandparents, especially, will get a kick out of some of the very "vintage" pinball machines that have been restored to (pretty much) working order.   [image error] Damien will turn eleven at the end of this month, and probably won't want to go on too many more Days of his own with me. I'm so glad I took the time to make special Grannie Hellie memories with him and all the other grandkids throughout the years . . . and I wonder what Tesla Mae will want to do when it's her day, in a year or two?

Nothin' Says Easter Like . . . Pie?

[image error] My former mother-in-law's Italian Easter Pie is too good not to share. She died last year, and hadn't baked since the circumstances of her later life, which for her included a greatly reduced immediate family circle as well as dementia, changed her from the middle-aged woman I knew and loved into the old woman who didn't know me. I make this pie every year now for her grandsons. I use a lightly-oiled springform pan and pizza dough purchased in a ball from the pizzeria-- my former mother in law was up at o'dark-hundred making her own dough for the crust, but I don't do that. Heat oven to 375-400 degrees. For the filling, use one tall container of ricotta cheese, at least. An egg or two, as you prefer. Black pepper to taste (and I always like a sprinkle of nutmeg with ricotta, but that's just me). Mix til creamy.I use a stand mixer, and while that's mixing on low, I cut into cubes:  provolone and mozzarella cheesesItalian dried sausageGenoa salami. I also roll up and jullienne some proscuitto, not much--it's expensive and a little goes a long way, anyway. Some people also add quartered hard-boiled eggs. I don't, but you could if you liked. As you can see, this is not so much a recipe as a "feel your way."  Add the cubed meats and cheeses to the ricotta mixture and blend. Some people add parsely, but I don't like the color it turns when baked, so I don't.  Place springform pan on a baking sheet (line with foil for cleaning purposes), and bake on middle shelf for approx. 15 minutes. Check once; if edges of crust are browning while center is pale, place strips of foil around and over the browned parts (be careful, they're hot). Adhere with toothpicks if necessary.  Put pie back in oven for increments of four minutes, checking for doneness mostly by looking at the color of the crust. Should end up golden in the middle, browner on the edges.  Remove from oven and let cool in the pan before placing in fridge for 6-8 hours. Remove from pan before serving. I usually bake it on Saturday night for Sunday morning (breakfast) consumption. Serve cold or let come to room temp.  Caveat: the bottom dough soaks up the moisture from the cheese, and becomes soggy upon sitting. It might be possible to strain the cheese before mixing, but I have never been able to get myself together enough to do that in advance. Just be aware of this as the day wears on, and when eating slices later in the day, just eat the top and side crusts with the incredibly rich, creamy and flavorful filling.  (I don't think individual slices can be rebaked; the filling would ooze out. Just practice acceptance. And give thanks to Rose Castellano Sorvillo, the patient and loving mother-in-law who taught me, a daft Scottish girl,  to make this delicious Italian Easter Pie.)

Cringe-worthy? Or Kinda Sweet

Looking over my life's ouvre (actually just cleaning out the garage) I found some of my earliest poems. This one, I think, is okay. You'll forgive me if I file most of the others under "Youthful Indiscretions." "What I am in the morning is what I really am,
When you bend down for my sleepy, slack-mouthed kiss.
I feel like a new thing--
warm, and with
wet feathers."

Helen H. Moore (aged 19) Word of the Day: Kiss-- to touch or press with the lips slightly pursed, and then often to part them, and to emit a smacking sound, in an expression of affection, love, greeting, reverence, etc.

Las Vegas? Poets? Are You Joking?

Just in time for National Poetry Month, when  Pick a Poem  will be published (April 1), the newly formed Las Vegas Poets Organization will be holding its inaugural meeting on March 17! St. Patrick, being one of my "spiritual ancestors," will surely smile on this auspicious event! I'll be attending, and I'll be sure to keep you posted. There's more to "The Town That Taste Forgot," than the old jokes about how you'd find more culture on a week-old slice of bread-- Las Vegas is home to a burgeoning arts scene, and we host a First Friday that can't be beat! The Poets Organization is headquartered in The Arts Factory on Charleston Blvd. How cool is THAT? I plan to be there and I'll be sure to take some pix for posting!  What is National Poetry Month?  
National Poetry Month is a month-long, national celebration of poetry established by the Academy of American Poets. The concept is to widen the attention of individuals and the media—to the art of poetry, to living poets, to our complex poetic heritage, and to poetry books and journals of wide aesthetic range and concern. We hope to increase the visibility and availability of poetry in popular culture while acknowledging and celebrating poetry's ability to sustain itself in the many places where it is practiced and appreciated.