Proper Perspective & Self-Deception

Yesterday's financial summit on OEGY began with a toast to old friendships and the new year. It ended in a free-for-all wrestling match, Captain JB eventually taking the upper hand and returning calm to Clooney's wall-of-windows bar area. Nothing was decided, but Beej, Corkface, and Baha did make some interesting points.

First, the problem. We have a big loss. We started buying Open Energy Corp. (OTCBB) at 72 cents a share. Average cost, just over 66 cents. It's now worth about half that, 35 or 36 cents.

As you can see by the top chart, things have been straight downhill lately. But things look even worse if you check out THIS chart of OEGY's past 12 months:



See that second tallest peak? That's the day we made our first purchase.

Nice tip. I didn't check his timing, but the chairman's been selling some shares. "Open Energy Corp. Chairman and Chief Executive David Saltman today addressed shareholder questions concerning his recent sales of securities. Mr. Saltman noted that quarterly stock grants awarded to him under his original employment contract with the Company created a significant...."

Blah, blah, blah. He sold some of his shares to pay income taxes on the gain he made from earlier stock options. Uncle Sam wants his share of those gains. I'm not blaming Mr. S.

But here's the chart that still gave our unnamed tipster hope. It goes back five years:



The Tipster says OEGY is going to be a $2.00 stock again. Certain stockholders sold out recently because they needed tax-losses. That is, gains in other investments made 2007 yearend a wonderful time to clean their portfolio of dogs. OEGY should start coming back this month.

CONFERENCE RESULT: I can't believe it, but this tipster conned me again. We're holding on for another week or two, see if OEGY actually begins to move back up from yearend tax-loss selling.

A WORD OF EXTREME WARNING: Penny stocks are no place to put your money. Go to the horsetrack. Better odds. And while OEGY is a real company, Austin Carr (that's me!) is not a real stockbroker. He's not even a real person! I'm a character in a series of mystery novels, and anyone who would take my advice on stock purchases should have his entire estate confiscated for felony ignorance! How's that for a disclaimer?

Quiet Dawn on an Undisclosed Beach

Enjoy a peaceful and gentle day of rest, humans. On the morrow, vacation ends.

Photo credit to The Famous Author. He's the one who got up early, grabbed our camera, and hit the beach this morning. He said he took this shot, not really expecting there to be enough light, and without noticing the translucent spray of first direct sunlight soaring above the horizon like a Japanese flag.

Can't Wait for the New Book Cover!

My second mystery novel, BIG MONEY, is due from Hilliard & Harris March 1, and any day now, H&H's chief executive and resident artist Stephanie Reilly is going to email The Famous Author our new cover art. Both TFA and I are VERY excited to see what Stephanie will come up with this time.

Last year, for our debut BIG NUMBERS, Stephanie knocked me out with this representation of the camper that both begins and ends the story.



We'd been expecting something with a million-dollar yacht, hot redheads, and a fat, green stack of C-notes. But Ms. Reilly ignored the obvious flash and grabbed at the story's center, a symbol of my struggle to win back Beth and Ryan.

So like I said, TFA and I are dying to see what Stephanie comes up with for BIG MONEY.

We've always wanted to know what that story's about.

:-)

BIG MONEY, Chapter 24

I’m slowly adapting to my new environment: Black Ford Motor Company leather. Buffed silver and polished walnut trim. Riding with the King and Queen of the Brooklyn mafia’s spring prom.

Last time I saw Gina she wanted to shoot her husband with some kind of bazooka-size handgun. Now the two of them are all kissy-kissy, Tony’s knockout wife looking extra sexy in a silky black dress.

“Hungry?” Gina says.

Like she can’t tell. “I’ll let you know when my stomach grows back.”

“Did we scare you?” she says.

“Not more than Boris Karloff when I was six.”

Tony laughs. Not Gina. She hasn’t smiled at me since I climbed in behind them. I’m in the back seat of the Farascio’s Lincoln. The air tastes of leather and perfume, or maybe it’s Tony’s after-shave. On the radio, Frank Sinatra sings “Summer Wind.”

“We were having a little fun, sunshine,” Tony says to me. “Don’t worry about your car. I’ll take care of the towing...everything.”

“What the hell happened at the hotel, Tony?”

“You got forty-five minutes to work up an appetite,” he says. “Maybe longer if the tunnel’s choked up. You’re eating at the best Italian restaurant in Little Italy.”

Oh, boy. Comfort food. “Instead of dinner, how about discussing you disappearing with Bluefish’s hundred grand? Maybe a line or two about Talbot turning up dead? What the hell happened?”

The Farascios trade glances.

“Wait ‘til you taste the baked mac,” Gina says.


Hanging twine-covered wine bottles camouflage three short walls of the narrow, one-room restaurant. A single glass window faces Mulberry Street. A tiny bar and fourteen white-linen tables fill the boxcar like space. Me and the Farascios take up two, Tony needing a table all by himself.

Green bell pepper-shaped wall lamps provide the only inside light. Sinatra is playing in here. too. Some Doris Day love song from the early sixties I don’t even want to remember the name of. Truth is, I’m a bit dizzy. Can’t shake this time-warp feel. It’s either a Sinatra overload, or maybe it’s because Tony just told me to “forget about” Bluefish and the money, “not to worry ‘bout nuttin’.”

“Bluefish will back off me and Luis just because you tell him to?” I say.

“Ab-so-fucking-lutely,” Tony says. “And he’ll eat the one-hundred gees I took from him, too. The war’s over. It’s already been explained to Bluefish.”

I’m far from expert on mob organizational matters, but I suppose it’s logical that a New York mafia family would hold sway over a bookie from Branchtown, New Jersey. Maybe Tony can have Bluefish and the Creeper called off. Mr. Vick certainly gave me Tony’s number for a reason.

I hope Mr. Vick didn’t know about this mob trouble before he left for Tuscany. I’d have to kill him when he gets back.

“But what about Talbot?” I say. “Did you go to her room? Did you see her?”

“Sure,” Tony says. “She’s an old friend. I gave her a taste of Bluefish’s cash, explained about me and Vick, and now everything’s cool. No more co-mingling. She was okay when I left her.”

Gina’s fist goes for her husband’s face like a firecracker. But Tony’s quicker. He catches her wrist, Gina’s white knuckles six inches from contact.

“Bastard!”

“Not here,” he says. “Please.”

Gina screaming, “You gave her a taste, all right, didn’t you, asshole? A taste of your prick.”

Tony’s fingers turn white around Gina’s wrist. She winces from the pain. Her eyes flash submission. Her lips press together in forced silence.

Gosh I’m glad I came to dinner with the Farascios.

International Summit Underway

Great business minds from all over the world gather in Branchtown, NJ today, not to solve hunger, rid the world of disease, or halt poverty, but to find a new home for Austin Carr's hot tip money. We are sick of OEGY, barking dog that she is. We are losing our shirts. The tip sucked. Down by half!

Egads, it chokes me to discuss the subject. But something has to be done. We can't go on pretending the old hot tip account doesn't exist.

Anyway, I've called in the best. The Beej, The Corkster, Captain JB, Baha...no tipster has been left out.

Plus, we've invited The Famous Author who can actually read those stock tables in The Wall Street Journal. We will eat, drink, discuss the weather, and finally get down to my investment account. We need a winner, fast!

What we really need is some inside information. Any CEOs out there who want to risk their careers, jail time, and the wrath of TV commentators by giving me the scoop on an upcoming merger?

Chickens.

(Above chart showing Open Energy Corp. courtesy of E-TRADE)

Angelina Trumpets in 2008

Who better to herald in the new year than Miss Angelina here, a young lady born a few hours before dawn on Christmas Day, 2004, and whose surprise arrival--she came, she saw, she conquered--changed every member of The Famous Author's family with her unconditional love and extra sunny nature.

May you all give more love in the new year. Seems like a good way to find it as well.

Redhead of the Week

Why did this woman never marry?

Queen Elizabeth I is one of the most admired rulers of all time, a legend in her own lifetime, famed for kicking some serious Spanish butt when Spain tried to invade England. But Elizabeth is also an enigma.

Why did she never marry?

The daughter of King Henry VIII and his second wife, Anne Boleyn, Elizabeth was born on September 7, 1533 at Greenwich Palace. Her birth was possibly the greatest disappointment of her father's life. He had wanted a son and heir to succeed him as he already had a daughter, Mary, by his first wife, Katherine of Aragon.

Since Elizabeth's mother failed to provide the King with a son, Anne Boleyn was executed on charges of incest and adultery in 1536. (It took Henry a few years to work up the courage.) Anne's marriage to the King was declared null and void, and Elizabeth, like her half-sister, Mary, was declared illegitimate and deprived of succession.

How she eventually won the crown is another story, but illustrative of redheads. You don't want to cross'em.

Theories on why Elizabeth never married: Lots of women died in childbirth back then, including one of her stepmothers. If you don't want children, why get married? Some historians say the right sort of partner never showed, a worthy match. Others point out that her father executed half a dozen wives. Would you want to be a wife?

I have another theory. I think maybe Liz and I met in another lifetime somewhere, we fell in love, and she could never bring herself to marry anyone but Austin Carr. I wonder if The Famous Author would go for this as the story line in book four or five--Time Traveling Austin Carr Seduces Famous Queen.

Maybe I'll get him to throw in a vampire cat, too.

Thanks to the monarchy and queenelizabethI.org