She chuckled. “Yeah. My old boss published that in an effort to show him in an unflattering light.” She cocked her head. “But I like it. Plus, it embarrasses my mom.”
I didn’t know anything to say, but my lack of response was bordering on rude, so I forced myself to smile and tell her, “Thank you. This is incredibly generous of you.”
“Nonsense. You’d do the same I’m sure.”
True. But would she have been so neighborly if she knew about my hobby? Would she invite me into her home if she knew I was the equivalent of an Internet peeping Tom?
Talking Disaster Forum
Topic: Walking Disaster - Adam - Hot Photo Thread 7 - Page 321
CaliforniaDreamin wrote:
I see tummy! *swoon*
AdamsWife wrote:
OMG, I love that one, CD! He’s so casually sexy, you know?
NewDawn wrote:
Hi. I’m new here. That photo brought me out of lurker mode to say, meow.
mAdam wrote:
Welcome to the forum, @NewDawn! I cannot disagree with you. That’s one beautiful photo . . . of one beautiful man.
NewDawn wrote:
Hee hee. Love your username! I think I’m going to love reading back through this thread.
WeedGirl wrote:
Holy shit! That photog sure knows how to capture Adam’s lips.
Pumpkin39 wrote:
That’s one of my favorites. Wouldn’t mind trading places with that microphone. :)
CaliforniaDreamin wrote:
We even got Pumpkin to comment. Score! Hey, Pumpkin, you think you could maybe get this one into the banner rotation?
Pumpkin39 wrote:
I dunno. You know how the music nerds object to the objectification . . . But I’ll see what I can do.
CaliforniaDreamin wrote:
Bows down. We’d love you forever!
WeedGirl wrote:
Marry me, Pumkpin! You’re the best.
Chapter Four
Alone, waiting for my things to arrive from my hotel, I slipped my shoes off and propped myself against the fat pillows in decorative shams.
I was exhausted, but I needed to get online soon, or I’d be so far behind I’d never catch up. I trusted Ash to keep order, but there was usually something to attend to, so I booted up my laptop and turned on my phone’s hotspot.
The front page of my site held the blog—curated content where I could post recent tour videos, new album releases, links to reviews, or write my own personal commentary about anything, band related of course. Usually. Sometimes I posted on other topics, but I kept it at least tangentially related. I could, for example, post a recap of my day, along with a picture of Micah Sinclair’s guest room. Fans would eat it up, and the hit count would explode, which would bring me more money since I’d monetized the site.
But I had no intention of exposing myself to that level of scrutiny. Tonight, I only wanted to make sure nobody had disrespected my order to stop talking about invading the comments section of Gabriel Sanchez’s review. I wasn’t surprised to find an inordinate number of private messages from people responding to my edict. I already knew these would fall out into a Neopolitan of three predictable flavors.
The yummy chocolate would be the do-gooders who’d observed the dramatic review revolt thread with consternation. They’d pat my back and tell me Adam should send me free tickets to his shows in heartfelt gratitude for all the hard work I did. I’d never ascertained what these suck-ups thought they’d get for praising me to high heaven. I was a nobody with a website. It wasn’t like I could get them backstage passes.
The banal vanilla would be the remorse-filled hooligans who’d been reprimanded and wanted to let me know how truly sorry they felt for crossing the line. There was no need for prostrating themselves at my altar. I rarely banned anyone.
Then there was the rebel strawberry: cantankerous rabble-rousers who intentionally broke the rules. Mostly, when confronted, they simply stopped without any further communication. Some special snowflakes thought we were friendly enough to have a spirited debate about free speech on the Internet, or worse, disliked me enough to argue vociferously against my reign of terror.
It made me laugh a little. I was just a grownup kid who went a little fanatic about a band and wanted to chat with others who understood my obsession. I did like these people, but they could drain my energy. I responded briefly to each message, then went into the forums.
While nobody fanned the flames of the Gabriel Sanchez invasion, the conversation about that review had run hot all day. To be honest, the new album hadn’t impressed me as much as I’d hoped. I planned to give it some time, but it felt too studio, too polished. They’d necessarily gotten more commercial over time. I expected I’d come to love the album eventually, but I never believed I had an obligation to love everything Adam ever did, nor did I ask the fans to be blind or uncritical. I only asked them to be fair.
Still, I actually agreed with the rebellious posters who took issue with Gabriel’s review. He’d essentially shredded the album for sounding inherently different from the old music, as if the band wasn’t allowed to go in a new direction. Earlier in the year, he’d torn Theater of the Absurd apart for the exact opposite reason, which was completely unfair. Theater of the Absurd had pushed the envelope since their first album, both in their performances and in their song architecture. They’d pulled from bands like Of Montreal, The Shins, Radiohead, and others to make melodies that sometimes took me a while to appreciate. It pissed me off a bit that Gabriel wrote them off so easily. Like he cared more about his reputation than about their career.
Especially after meeting the guys and realizing they really were just people.
Obviously, I came at things as a fan, not a critic, but I always thought one should be a little bit of both. Fandom without criticism was idiotic worship. Criticism without fandom was pointless and miserable.
I added my own opinion to that effect to the thread. I loved that I could be an administrative jerk to my posters in the morning, but by evening, I could count on them to argue with me on philosophical questions without hesitation. That’s what kept it fun for me to engage with them.
Still, the power to delete the Adam/Micah slash fanfic (no matter how hot) at any moment set me apart. Loved or hated, praised or feared, I would never really be one of them. Maybe that was why Ash still called me in to be the bad guy. She’d made too many friends to do the dirty work.
I opened the popular photo thread where the fan girls shared their favorite pictures of smoldering hot Adam Copeland. On a good night, they’d find new pictures to share, but on a slow night, like tonight, they never tired of recycling through the oldies.