New Year's Resolutions

With 2012 coming to a close, I reviewed the list prepared in 2011 and compared it to the events that occurred over the past year. Surprisingly, I achieved a lot of my goals.

Kiss - Keep it Simple, Schmuck Hit 15,000 Readers!! WooHoo!

Reality Bites

This is what happens when you eat cookies 1 year past the expiration date while adding peanut butter to disguise the taste. Peanut butter which was sabotaged by the inclusion of lemon juice. Go figure.


Hey - not everything in life is free. Someone has to pay for the donuts. 

And You Wonder Why I'm Not A Happy Camper???

Two months after Hurricane Sandy, an electrician arrived at my house to make repairs. First off, forget about getting anyone sooner than that! Business is a-booming due to the destructive force of that hurricane, even in my small neck of the woods. Which was reflected the past two weeks or so when I was stood up by 4 different electrical contracting companies. I won't even go into the licensed and insured construction contractors who fail to show up as well!

Remembrance of Things Past

“Remembrance of Things Past”
by Maura Stone

I read somewhere that certain people are magnets for ghosts and ghostly events. That’s true; I know firsthand.

Welcome to the Snake-Pit

Mom always said that if you're thrown in a snake-pit, you'll find out how sane you are. Well, she said something to that effect. She referred to a movie, The Snake-Pit, where a woman finds herself in an insane asylum, not knowing why or how she got there.

My mother had very pithy sayings with some very strange tastes. The only book she loved was "Dry Guillotine." I searched high and low for that book at least a decade. When I found and read it, a book about Devil's Island penal colony off La Rochelle, France, it made me wonder even more about my mother.

It's Only Facebook/Twitter

While making my bed this morning, I came across a big chip of plastic on my sheets. What is it? ran through my mind. What's THAT doing in my bed? Scratching my head, I couldn't even imagine anything I own which resembles that piece of plastic. Could it be from the washing machine? Dryer? Vibrator? 

My Two Cents in Face of the End of the Mayan Calendar - UPDATE

When I was a little girl, my parents taught me a family joke, a mix of yiddish and English:

A lady goes into a butcher shop. On the top of the counter was a row of chickens. She picks one up and sniffs it under the fligl (wing), the polka (thigh) and then stuffs her nose in the cavity. Disgusted, she yells to the butcher, "Hey, this chicken stinks!"

He glares at her, "Hey lady, can you pass such a test?"

Really, Now: What the Fuck is Dawson's Creek & Who is James Van Der Beek?

Now I know I live in a parallel universe for I never saw Dawson's Creek. I never even HEARD of Dawson's Creek. Or of this actor, James Van Der Beek. Only through heavy hitting ads for this newish tv show, "Don't Trust the B in Apartment 23," which cracks me up because I don't watch tv, haven't for over 6 years, just internet tv. The fact that I'm bombarded for ads of a tv show on internet tv astounds me. Even more so because this torrential flood of internet tv ads pushing "Don't Trust the B" tv show extols James Van Der Beek from Dawson's Creek.

A Little Interlude Between Storms

One of the worst phrases people regret hearing from me is, "Let me get you up to speed."

There's a collective groan for it means they're going to be subjected to a few hours of storytelling to get to understand:

(1) Why I was homeless when I returned from India;

(2) How I caught cradle cap; and

(3) Why I was accused of burying a guy's body in the middle of the lake.


The following story is fictional and does not depict any actual person or event.

Olivia discusses a new case with Captain Cragen in his office.

"Sir, this is an unusual case."

She points with her chin at the victim seated outside. He's  a 6' tall, thin white geeky guy with three long pieces of blond hair pasted across his bald head.

She rolls her eyes. "He doesn't want to testify."

The chief scratches his head. "What do you mean he doesn't want to testify? For Christ's sake, he was scammed by a guy who pretended to be a woman. He sent the guy a Macbook Pro laptop, the latest iPad, hundreds of dollars through paypal, one gift certificate for the Body Works -"

"Sir, the perp sent that gift certificate to a friend."

"Well, Olivia, get him talking."

"We can't, sir. He's rather embarrassed. He repeats, 'It's only money, it doesn't mean anything.'"

"Olivia, get to the bottom of it. Without this guy testifying, the perp walks." Cragen shakes his head. "Let your partner talk to him. You gotta find another witness. Without this victim, we've got nothing to tie the perp up with his crime."



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Back to our Regularly Scheduled Program:

Det. Nick Amaro flashes his intense eyes at the cowering man seated behind a desk in the interrogation room. Prior to sitting down across the table, Det. Amaros states, "You know, we all do stupid things at times when we're in love."

The victim laughs. "Oh, I wasn't in love with him."

Det. Amaro gives him a wry smile. "Yet, you spoke to him every night for two months. You spent thousands of dollars on products on him."

"Her," corrects the victim. "She sent me pictures of herself. She was some looker. Gorgeous."

"You do realize she's a he?"

The victim squirms.

"I know how it's like. She sez she's married. She sez she has a boyfriend. She can't phone you or show you her face on video chat. But she watches you. She sez it's okay for you to masturbate. She sez she loves watching you, imagining you pleasing her."

The victim shuts his eyes closed.

"Is this what you fear? That you're possibly gay? Because you masturbated for a woman when in reality you masturbated for a 350lb bearded gay man?"

The victim nods his head rapidly, suppressing tears, red-faced.

"You thought she was a she. How would you know elsewise? She sent you tons of pics."

"But I jacked off to her every night for two months!"

"You wanted to show her your love. Nothing wrong with that. And, not bad considering you're 52, right?"

"Yes, she couldn't get over my stamina," he sadly bragged.

"Listen. As embarrassing as this is, it happens to a lot of men. But, this guy's gonna get away with doing it to others. Unless you help. Your testimony's quite important."

The witness breaks down. "But... but... I haven't stopped."

"WHAT?" cries the detective.

"Ever since the newspapers wrote articles that she's a he, I just can't stop myself from chatting with him. I have to every day. I know he's a man, but it's my heart... I can't help myself. I still masturbate for him."

"One moment," says Det. Amaro before he exits the interrogation room. In moments, he's in the squad room and collars Olivia before ushering her into Captain Cragen's office.



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Back to our Regularly Scheduled Program:

"Sir, I don't even know whether we can use this guy's testimony. He still chats to this guy every day, knowing he's a man."

Captain Cragen sighs. "Liv, there must be some way or someone else who can tie this up."

Olivia looks up. "I was thinking, Captain, about that gift certificate, the one the perp gave to someone else..."

"Get on it, Liv. Please find some way to tie this up for the DA's office."

Hours Later in Western New York:

Olivia and Det. Munch sat in a rustic country house with a pretty middle aged woman, Morlita Adams. She flashes them a smile while serving them tea in the large kitchen overlooking a valley.

Munch peers into her face and over-enunciates, "You're deaf!"

The woman smiles again. "Very observant, Detective. Not many people realize that from the beginning. Yes, I've a rare deafness where my brain can't translate the sound it hears. But, how can I help you, detectives? Is it about Phil and Todd?"

Olivia rears up. "What can you tell me about them?"

The woman joins them at the table. Taking a swift sip of tea, she says wistfully, "To preface, the good thing about being deaf is that I'm very much in tune with words and the way people express themselves, considering I spend all my time online writing."

Olivia states, "Wait. You're THE Morlita Adams? The reclusive novelist?"

Morlita nods and peers in Det. Munch's direction. "I can tell in a flash when a guy masquerades as a woman online. It never ceases to amaze me how others can't. Phil and I only had a business relationship. I wrote articles for his magazine where he posed as a woman Editor-in-Chief and, in return, he openly marketed and promoted my books. That's about it in a nutshell."

Olivia asks, "So you didn't know about his scamming activities?"

"I didn't say that. He told me all about his scamming activities. But, Phil's a pathological liar. I couldn't tell truth from fiction or I could discern truth, but I couldn't believe it was the truth! Hell, when he roped in Todd, I encouraged him to take Todd for all his money, for the Macbook, the iPad. Because I honestly didn't know that situation was real. Thought it was another one of Phil's wishful dreams or blends of fantasy. He believed he was smarter than everyone."

Munch asks, "When did you know it was real?"

"Around the time he sent me the gift certificate. He wasn't interested in body products." Both Munch and Olivia exchange glances. "Then, a little while later, Phil sent me a link on his website to a video where I watched Todd masturbate in a men's bathroom, attired in his business suit." Morlita sighs, "Phil wrote, 'He never heard my voice, I never allowed him to see me on the video chat and he's been doing this every night for the past two months. It's all in his head.'"

"Is there anything else you can tell us?"asks Olivia.

The woman shrugs. "Oh boy. Too much. I'll testify to everything. Even the fact that Phil did all his work on the magazine while at his job as a government employee. When Phil was exposed in the newspapers as a man and not as a woman, that's when Todd contacted me."

Hours Later, Late Night in Captain Cragen's Office:

Munch heaves a sigh. "Just when things get wilder and wilder. Our perp, Phil is an online female dominatrix, a gay man who scammed tons of straight men of which only one, Todd, his submissive is willing to testify. But that's only because of this woman, Morlita."

Olivia cut in. "Phil introduced Todd to Morlita online when Morlita needed information on a topic for Phil's magazine. It was also a way to further whatever game he was playing. When the newspapers exposed Phil as a woman, Todd contacted Morlita to determine whether she knew he was a man all along.  Of course she knew, being deaf, relying on Phil's words. One thing led to another and Morlita and Todd video chatted for almost two months. And then he visited her."

Cragen shakes his head, "Unbelievable."

Munch interjected, "Morlita's a nice lady. She felt bad about the guy and the situation. Not only that, the two of them are around the same age and both had a lot of things in common. When Todd visited, they had an intimate relationship. But, Todd refused to drop Phil for Morlita. She gave him an ultimatum; he dropped her for Phil."

Cragen asks, "Then why is he willing to testify?"

"Morlita's been writing articles about the three of them, wild romantic comedies. About how Phil kept contacting her to laugh about how Todd's in love with him and not her.  How Todd prefers masturbating to an empty video cam for Phil rather than share his life with her," states Munch. "She keeps upping the bar because the situation is so outrageous."

Olivia adds, "It's his last ditch attempt to maintain whatever little self-respect he may have."

"Let's bring this to the DA's office and see if we've anything solid here."



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Back to our Regularly Scheduled Program:

In NYC Courtroom:

The jury forewoman stands up. "We believe the defendant, Phillip Egglander, is guilty on all counts of felony."

At the defendant's table, Phil burst out in tears. Behind him, in the spectator's row, Todd shouts out, "I love you, Phil. I'll wait for you!"

Morlita stands up from her seat in the galley and approaches the detectives at the back of the room. "I'm still in shock that Todd prefers his fantasy woman over me, the real deal. When I realized he prefers a life of humiliation, debasement and submission, I knew I had to exit and fast. It makes great entertainment, though."

Olivia and Munch nod.



To Non-Insiders of the background story, please refer to the following blog posts:

A little Background about an Unscrupulous Lunatic

Maybe I Grew Up After All

The One Who Got Away - Conclusion

Where we left off from "The One Who Got Away - Part Deux" in the previous post:

At the ripe age of 20, Maura met the love of her life after returning from studying in France. 10 months later, she got a job in NYC and moved in with him in a tiny apartment. After one year, she accidentally found his Marriage Certificate which he purposely left in his favorite jacket for a month. Heartbroken, she threw him out. Meanwhile, the company Lothario, Kerry, kept stopping by her desk to chat. Immune to his charms, Maura ignored him. Until he asked her out. 
They dated under a cloak of secrecy because company policy forbade romantic fraternization. When Kerry proposed and Maura declined, he bragged to colleagues that he bedded her. She was reprimanded by the CEO and he, in turn, was sent off to an Australian subsidiary as punishment. After three months, he returned to NYC, quit his job and stuck around trying to get her back. Thwarted, he left America for good.

The One Who Got Away - Part Deux

Where we left off from "The One Who Got Away" in the previous post:

At the ripe age of 20, Maura met the love of her life after returning from studying in France. 10 months later, she got a job in NYC and moved in with him in a tiny apartment. After one year, she accidentally found his Marriage Certificate which he purposely left in his favorite jacket for a month. Heartbroken, she threw him out. Meanwhile, the company Lothario, Kerry, kept stopping by her desk to chat. Immune to his charms, Maura ignored him. Until that fateful day...

The One Who Got Away

Up until her death, my mother insisted that Kerry was the love of my life, the one who got away scot-free, the ship that left the port without me. No matter how many times I said to her, "Mom, what're you talking about? I didn't even like him!" she shot her damn Mona Lisa smile and shook her head wisely.

Maybe I Grew Up After All

Craziness is going down the same road over and over expecting a different result each time. So, within that context I must be crazy. Because I recognize with my now ex-beau that indeed I ran down the same road.

Could It Possibly Be That I'm Growing Up?

Someone told me the UPS code for "Adult" is "A" for signing authority.
"You mean to tell me it's not G?"
"What's a G?" asked that person.

At the Bake House in Kauneonga Lake, NY

This ol' chestnut was published August 2012 in The Last Goddess Magazine, now defunct:

“The 7-Grain Challenge”
by Maura Stone

The Bake House at Kauneonga Lake, New York

What's Wrong with Being a Recluse?

After spending three hours at the garage the other morning, the owner came up to me. "We're still waiting for the part to be delivered. Let me drive you home and we'll pick you up before closing."

That was a kind gesture. And a way to save the proprietor's marriage. For his wife worked the front desk and my constant babble in addition to a phone argument with an acquaintance drove her mad.

R I P Pip

My close friend, Michelle, possesses a very large heart. A year ago, she found this stray kitten, took her in and named her, "Pip."

December Seasonal Holiday Sentiment

With the upcoming holiday season, I recall an office tradition I reluctantly took part in: Secret Santa. The guidelines were simple: no gag gifts and $20 of value. The person who I drew (we pulled slips of paper from a bag) was easy enough as he loved fine wine. When the time came, the entire department assembled in the conference room to exchange gifts.

Verizon - It's 10 Years Now & I Never Came Back - Watch out AT&T & TIME-WARNER CABLE!

Here we go again with Time-Warner Cable!!

My Kid Brother

Today would've been my brother's 56th birthday. He died on March 15, 2011. I wrote this short story a few months' after.

Happy Thanksgiving to a Wackadoodle

At first, I thought the wackadoodle was a lot of fun until it set in that that non-stop manic energy and strangled laughter were indicators of insanity. She literally drove me crazy and didn't understand my subtle ways of ending the friendship. It was an out and out confrontation two years ago. I hoped and prayed she'd disappear. But not my luck.

The Final Chapter of Zippo & Monkey Boy - The End of an Era

To those dear readers who have been following my blog, I wrote about Zippo and Monkey Boy several times. This is the final chapter.

So Here's To You, FedEx Guy!

Two days ago, a nice man came and cut down the rest of the tree from the shed. In good time too! I made 25 trips toting 150lb logs in the wheelbarrow to the road. My gluteus maximum lifted half a foot and my biceps are now huge. The following day it snowed. So the timing worked out.


You gotta love it. It drives newspaper sales, hell, online paper clicks skywards. How appropriate that after a contentious Presidential election the shit hits the fan!

Shit People Say

As our lives return to normalcy or a mere façade of what poses as normal, after the recent turmoil of a Presidential election combined with a devastating storm, I want to impart a few laughs. Don't know about you, I really need one!

I'm LIVID ABOUT THIS - Best Buy & Their Bait & Switch Game on Me Ref iPhones!

Being a klutz, I'm rather proud I didn't destroy my iPhone during the massive clean up in the wake of Hurricane Sandy. I kept it tucked in my pocket just in case I maim myself hauling 60 to 150 foot–long tree limbs uphill 1/2 an acre to the road while dodging upright trees where the branches invariably got entangled.

Zombie America - America Has Spoken

I'll always associate the disaster of Hurricane Sandy with the American election while waiting for the nor'easter to make the picture complete. Sorry, kids, but if you don't like what I write, move on to another blog. Better yet, don't buy my books - you may THINK! And laugh. I do poke fingers at EVERYONE. No one's unscathed. Yet, I digress...


To preface, I once dated a guy named Sandy, a true shithead. Quite soon in our relationship he demonstrated his rage and violence and I barely escaped intact. In this vein, the hurricane was aptly named, a real motherfucking veritable disaster leaving quite an aftermath.

Reflections from a Victim of Hurricane Sandy

Hurricane Sandy's turning into quite the learning experience. By reviewing the contents of my backpack where I stuffed the most important things I can't do without, I realized my first priority's writing, my second's skin care.

Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop

As some dear readers know by now, I suffer from a rare neurological deafness, SSNHL. When this occurred on 2/17/11, the drs gave me steroids, the only known medication that could restore my hearing. It didn't do shit for restoring my hearing. Instead, the steroids nearly killed me.

Divulgence of Confidences

This was one of my last columns before the e-magazine where I was Editor was yanked offline. A fine example of a mellower piece:

The Taxidermied Rodent Speaketh
Musings and rantings from the nearly dead

It's Not Fun Being an "R"

For the past year or so, I brooded over a situation the few times I was confronted by it, and after tonight, feel compelled to post this blog. Back then, while attending an anti-fracking rally, I met a woman in a neighboring community. At any rate, this woman voiced her opinion about something political. In return, I did as well.


Get the Fuck Away from Me, Even AFTER I'm Dead!

A woman in my town recently committed suicide, someone who I didn't know very well. Once her death was announced, overnight EVERYONE in town became her best friend. Notice they had to wait until after she was dead?

The Beautiful Scam of Bogus Book Reviews

I've been digging up the articles and columns I wrote for an e-magazine and in the process of publishing them here on my blog. To my dismay, I found out that not only was my work plagiarized, others have taken credit. This reminds me of a situation I found myself over a decade or so ago when people discussed the "Audrey Hepburn poem."

How I Met Dustin Hamman, One of the Most Talented Musicians Out There

Over a year or so ago, I met this guy at an anti-fracking rally. A much younger guy, very endearing, who looked like he walked out of a two-dimensional lithograph. He wore an old vintage suit circa 1824 and a beat-up hat. Yet, it was his long hair and wild beard that made him stand out from everyone else. Besides his piercing blue eyes.

"It's True What They Say About Jews"

I wrote this article on July 2, 2012 which was subsequently published in The Last Goddess Magazine. Talk about sensation! Yes, I was plagiarized and quoted globally!

Free Meals Have Strings Attached

Upon my entrance in a local tavern around two years ago, a guy bellowed to his friends, "This is the woman I told you guys about! You know, that wild date I had last year?"

Second Worst Vacation

For some reason, Mexico and I don't agree. I always got sick when I visited Mexico. Then again, I got sick when I visited Spain, Brazil, Portugal and Colombia (I lived there for a short period of time).

Leprosy is Not Contagious

Several times in my life I've been a social leper. It's quite funny, actually. In retrospect.

Merrill Lynch -> Do You REALLY Need $188 THAT MUCH???

I spent the majority of the day today dealing with Merrill Lynch. All I wanted to do was close down a trust account which I had since 2002 when my mother died. There's only a paltry $188 of cash and a miniscule CMO they wouldn't let me sell a decade earlier. Why? I don't recall.

I Love a Foggy Morning

I love a foggy morning. Actually a very foggy early morning. It triggers something deep inside me, like memories of how, at 16, I lived in France alone for the first time.

I Don't Have to Leave Home...

I'm back to kvetching again. The big joke running here is that I never have to leave home for drama to park itself on my doorstep. I guess the reclusive almost totally deaf author bit really piques people's curiosity, accounting for strange visits. I never have to go online to pick up men - they seem to materialize in front of my door without any effort whatsoever on my part. Literally.

My Upfront & Personal Close Encounter {Yes, that UFO Story}

At the Kitchen Table

I did a reading this past spring in a magnificent flower, fruit and vegetable garden. The topic was, "At the Kitchen Table" and the goal was to keep it short enough without boring the audience to death. Having no volume control, I believe I deafened them in the process as well.

Now For Something Political....

I purposely kept one foot out of mentioning politics or not revealing my true political leanings fearing that people won't purchase my books because they didn't like my political point of view.

Fuck it. I get sales, but really not the volume that substantiates a living. I came to the conclusion that even though I use "Fuck," "Shit," "Motherfucker," people still deem my books intellectual. Shit, one fan told me she had to resort to the dictionary while reading Five-Star FLEECING. Many others complained that they had to think while they read it. That's a complaint??? Which makes me wonder about the American educational system and ability to think. If Men, eDating and Mat*****ion is deemed intellectual... well, let's say the standard for American intelligent thought lies more in the success of Fifty Shades of Shit.

That's why, when I received the following cartoons from overseas, I couldn't refrain from posting. Rarely does American media have the intellect or balls to say, "The Emperor is Nekkid!"

From England . . . . . Interesting that the British easily see what our News Media seems blind to:

Pillow Talk

My girlfriends and I love talking about our men du jour. Men, the bad thing about women is they disclose ALL. You really don't want to know what we say. You really don't want to know. You may cringe.

My Worst Vacation

No blog's complete without a vacation post. Especially a miserable vacation! I had one of the worst in my entire life around five years ago with my friend, Casey.

Anticipating Winter without Insulation

I live in a rickety 100 year old plywood cottage tilting 30 degrees on peg legs. Around 20 years ago, my sister 'winterized' it, meaning someone blew something, perhaps halvah or lint, between the plywood walls and attic. She also invested in a propane gas heater that fills one side of the living room wall. For four years she lived there with two toddlers before she moved to an even colder place in Vermont.

Moving Day

Moving Day – A Quick and Dirty Review of Movers and all the Elements

Moving Van
Moving Day – A Review of Movers and all the Elements

The Probability of Getting Laid

I found that decision tree analysis was the most effective tool in determining the probability of getting laid again by a certain guy. Actually, I referred to him in an earlier post as "Monkey Boy."

Monkey Boy was a mercurial little monster. At that time, I had around 3 different lovers scattered around NYC and Astoria. And Monkey Boy tucked away upstate New York for those occasional weekend romps. Yes, I was a busy little bee. I was unusually attracted to him. Unusually in that nothing about the guy appealed to me. Except the sex. Even that came about in a convoluted way.

I met Monkey Boy through his friend, my very first boyfriend, Zippo.

This Magic Moment

One of my really close buds, Mich, shlepped up here a few Saturdays ago to spend the day with me.

Apolitical Aside

I apologize for being repetitive here for the frequent readers. To the new readers of this blog, I'm neurologically deaf meaning the sounds I hear tend to resemble Klingons singing their triumph over slaying the kibbles - distorted through a wad of cotton. As a result, I don't watch tv or listen to radio. Hell, I can't tolerate any sound whatsoever. In fact, I'm an audible mess.

In homage to my dear friend, Lucy Fishman 9/11/01

Written in 2012:

On 9-11, I was supposed to interview in a company in the WTC. It was a loosey-goosey kind of affair since I knew the principals involved. Instead, it being a beautiful day, I stayed upstate and drove to the hardware store where I heard the news.

Whiny, Puling Boy-Men

What happened to the wonderful men of yesteryear? Did they die off? Or did they get so self-absorbed in becoming too much in touch with their inner child they devolved?

WTF is wrong with men today? Why won't they grow up and grow a pair?

The Beauty of Being Underestimated

Possessing the face of the girl next door, a high pitched voice and a nice smile, I fall within the parameters of being underestimated. Or perhaps my self-denigrating sense of humor culled to perfection. Or my ability to let 99% of the shit around me roll off my back and not pass judgment. Until I break. Whatever it is, it never ceases to amaze me that people continually underestimate me, my intelligence and ability to do things.

Crazy Ass Story about Water... Water? WTF?

Around 8 years ago or so I contacted Helen Marshall, Queens County Borough President. The poor woman already had encounters from me years earlier when I fought against urban sprawl in Astoria. And won. That was a story in and of itself.

Fuck Yeah, I'm Back from Vacation Full of Piss and Vinegar about... Crazy People & UPDATE!

I’ve a huge tolerance for aberrant behavior. It must be, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to stomach the people or situations into which I chronically fall. Like a moth to a flame, I gravitate towards people who drop outside the bell curve of normal.

Never Thought of This!

A fan of my blog and books shot me an email this weekend: Are you all right? You haven't posted in your blog for a few days.

Why is Cockblocking Reviews of my Books: The Larger They Are, the Harder They Fall

I've been gnashing my teeth over this one: over the past 8 months, readers have contacted me letting me know how much they enjoy my first novel, Five-Star FLEECING. I begged them to put their positive comments on the site where they purchased it, namely, Not much ensued.

Obama's True Birth Certificate? Conspiracy Theory

My friend sent me the following email. I love conspiracy theories as much as anyone else. So, this entire Obama birth certificate controversy warms the cockles of my soul. Imagine the books and films this'll create for the upcoming decade or MORE! Manchurian Candidate + Illuminati with a little Communism tossed in for effect. Perhaps one with a space alien.

Integrity's Overrated {Why I'm an Asshole}

Integrity's way overrated. It definitely doesn't pay the mortgage. And, it leaves you penniless, in bad health.

Blame it on the Baby Boomers Wa Wa Wa Wa

I love reading articles about my unremarkable my generation, The Baby Boomers. About how we fucked everything up for the following generations. How we didn't produce a brilliant gleaming light of intellectualism and cure cancer, extend longevity, heal the economy and, basically, how corrupt we are.

Wa wa wa wa. Wail away.

The Stone Tradition: Hold a Grudge to the Very End

Besides a quirky deafness, I've a quirky memory. An even quirkier way of holding onto things for a long time, drop them for decades because I forgot all about them and pick them right back up again when something stirs the tendrils of my mind. I guess that's called, "revisiting an issue" or "having an epiphany." I think it's because at that moment there's nothing better to do. Or focusing on a dead topic will get me through whatever dire circumstances await me that I can't deal with.

In Homage to Another Anniversary of the '69 Woodstock Music Festival

It was summer of 1969 and that Thursday night it took my father nearly 6 hours to drive up to the house located in the town of Bethel as opposed to the 2 1/2 hours from suburban NY.

"You wouldn't believe the traffic!" he said. 

Mom said, "What's going on? We heard helicopters all day and 17B's flooded with cars."

Us kids knew better. There was a rock concert going on at Max Yasgur's farm up the street, a few miles away.

That summer was a definitive time for me. Bittersweet, in retrospect. And here's the short story I wrote and performed in front of a live audience in January 2012:

"Summer in White Lake"
by Maura Stone