|Cows are very popular where I live. We even have our own sacred cow!|
When I was 22, my boyfriend, at 26, returned to college to finish up his degree. One day, he invited me to attend his class.
“Do I have to?” I whined. At the time, I worked long hours at my job and, at night, attended B-school. Taking courses was punishment enough, but to attend his, well...
“Please,” he whined back. He dragged me down the corridor at Brooklyn College and, with pride, escorted me into the classroom which was packed.
“Ah,” said the professor with enthusiasm. “Would you like to partake in an experiment?”
“Go ahead,” I said, while shooting daggers at the boyfriend. That explained his sudden interest in having me attend his class.
I stood with two other people at the back of the classroom. My boyfriend sat down in a vacant seat with his classmates. In front were three people holding signs.
“Which sign has the longer bar?” asked the professor. On three boards were lines of varying lengths - A, B and C.
That had to be the dumbest question I ever heard. “B,” I responded. The two other people responded, “A,” the shortest line.
I burst out in laughter. “You gotta be kidding!” I stated.
The professor said, “Let’s try it again.”
Three times later, I stared, incredulous at the two other people, believing them to be nuts. Instead, the professor had me move all over the place to see the signs clearer.
He asked, “Why did you continue to say ‘B’ when everyone else says ‘A’?”
I responded, “Because ‘B’ is the truth. I don’t care what they say, perhaps they’re blind or crazy, but I stand on what I see.”
At that moment, the entire class got to their feet and applauded. The professor laughed and said, “Most women would say ‘A’ just to be conciliatory or change their minds. Your boyfriend insisted you weren’t like that. Bravo!”
The students came up and shook my hand.
That was when I was 21. Not much has changed over the years and now I’m one year shy of 60 still saying it for what it is.
I want to be clear: I ain’t running a popularity contest here. I’m just saying what I see. Or writing what I perceive in my own satiric way which seems to drive people out of their gourds.
So much so that two went out of their way to put something on my amazon page. The only reason why I blog about this is because I’m impressed by the remarkable lengths some people will go to be heard. Okay, I admit it: I just found out about this last week even though their comments have been up for over a year.
One guy had to push a point across, as wrong as he was, on something inconsequential (to me). After he inundated me with numerous messages all over the damn web, I blocked him on FB, twitter, linkedin, this blog, but he snuck his point across on my amazon Five-Star FLEECING Canada page:
|SHE WON’T LISTEN TO ME!!|
1.0 out of 5 stars Author has mean streak Jan. 30 2013
By Rich Klein
I have not read this book but have tangled with the author online. Maura Stone referred to me as "mental" in a recent Tweet because I respectfully disagreed with her on an issue.
Respectfully disagreed?! I guess online stalking and bullying is respectful. Perhaps I was too respectful using the word, “mental.” The minute I spotted that ‘review’ last week (yes, a year and a half later) and contacted amazon, they removed it in a twinkling of an eye. But not before I cut and paste it here for virtual posterity.
Another case - still up on my author page on amazon from March 2012:
Initial post: Mar 26, 2012 6:01:24 PM PDT
|It’s My Way or the Highway!|
I've known Maura for a long time; we went to school together. Today we got in a facebook discussion about the current Women's health and Republican attitude. I asked if she agreed. After ducking the question, she finally resorted to insults and then removed all her comments.
Is that how a published author should behave? I don't think so. Will she stand by her convictions or insult the next person who disagrees with her?
My only regret is that I never told her how I REALLY felt. Like Israel being bombed by Hamas.
Then, there are those diehard fans of this blog who believe they’re better writers than me. Case in point: I put up the post (Pinned Butterflies) where I wrote:
"When he shrieked to young boys, “SUCK MY DICK” he made a new friend:
Which accounts for those meals at The Deathtrap.
I had the misfortune of being downwind from The Toad the other day. It farted, “You’re reprehensible” and went on the longest tirade, trumpeting so loud from its rectum that people fled from all directions.
I stood my ground although my kinky curly tresses straightened automatically.
“Your blog’s garbage,” it farted, seething in vitriol. “It’s disgusting."
“Stop reading it!” I stated with a sigh. “Although I’m glad you can relate so well to my fictional stories,” I responded in laughter, hanky in place over my nose and mouth. “Goes to show what an effective writer I am.”
With that, The Toad narrowed its beady eyes, one clouded with gristle from free eats out of the slop can at The Deathtrap and sauntered away after The Butterfly, leaving steaming pellets of excrement in its wake."
Before I proceed, let me introduce you to one ardent fan who constantly reads my blog as well as my books:
Judith Maidenbaum Maura, get a life. And buy a trash can. Throw all your blogs, and badly written books, and household garbage therein
Let me tell you, after I received the following excerpt, I realized that imitation is NOT the sincerest form of flattery! Hell, no, especially when she tried to imitate my writing style:
The Wild Boars of Bethel have made the newspaper several times; Most of us have no idea what a wild boar is. Nor what to do if by chance one comes waltzing up the garden path. I happen to have been visiting a tiny Greek village several years ago, the day some townies had butchered a Wild Boar right in the town square. Blood was everywhere and a local restaurant was serving that very boar that very evening and everyone was salivating. Except me. They scrubbed off the gore and my companions dined heartily while I looked on and explained that Boar was the theriomorphic form of the goddess of love, and should not be eaten. The Florentines, I reminded them, placed a Boar in the middle of their city Market because Florence is The City of Love. Of course, I was accused of making that up because my roots were stuck tight in a kosher past. But you can’t make most stuff up. Here in Bethel we are not butchering Boars in the No Parking Zones in Kauneonga Lake. And don’t expect to find Boar on the Fat Fuck menu any time soon.
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t put people’s names on this blog, fearing litigation. However, since these individuals openly and proudly signed in their own names to open threads online, hell, I just can’t let them get off that easily. They gotta sing for their dinner.
Or, perhaps, they can write their own blogs!
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