June 12, 2013
Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to hit the book’s Amazon customer review page and show some love for the reviewers.
It’s pretty easy. Just hit the :::link::: and hit “yes” next to “was this review helpful to you?”
It’s a small action that goes a long way.
You might want to skip the crazy stalker’s review but all the other reviewers are golden, thanks again to everyone who took the time to review the book, you rock.
May 6, 2013
Some Twitter stalker going all balls out to hit me. This happens. The stalker thing. I appear to be stalker candy.
Sometimes I wonder if I should even be out in the world, but, fuck it, I want to live my life.
It generally happens because someone makes up in his or her mind what I am supposed to be. And then splat, they meet me, and I’m not it. Ahhh! She isn’t my imagined girl on the unicorn! Ahhhh!
Look I’m not a girl on a unicorn. And a very smart friend once told me, Look, you owe people who bought the book one thing and one thing only: The book. And you don’t have to be anything more or less than that. The end.
This fucker didn’t even buy the book. He just chased me around on Twitter. His intro was him telling me how amusing he found the Boston Marathon Bombing and West, Texas explosions. And since I did not find either amusing, it went downhill from there.
But he kept following me.
When I posted, Had anyone read the book who could give it a review? He said, “So, did I want HIM to give it a review”?
It was a threat.
I said I’d prefer people who read the book gave it reviews. And then he got more freaky and I blocked him.
He reviewed the book on Amazon. Just like he promised to do if I wasn’t nicer to him. A book he never read.
And he started a WordPress blog titled MaxAdamsAndTwitter. And pasted my photo on it and went to town with posts — with a link off his Amazon “review.”
WordPress took the blog down. Seeing as it was wearing my name and was draped in my photos and that’s kind of fucked up.
Amazon, however, is a little kinder and friskier with stalkers.
Amazon was the link out to the Max Adams Stalker Blog, see. But no worries. First, Amazon couldn’t find the one 1 star review on the book’s Amazon page even with an ISBN and link to the review. I know, that was the first email a week or so later after I asked for help.
(No worries, Amazon, I will send them to you again.)
Then, the review that flat out says “I didn’t read the book I just hate and want to fuck with the author” and links to a WordPress blog wearing the author’s name and photo attacking the author, well, no worries. That doesn’t violate Amazon terms of service. Because I guess being a conduit to personal and professional attacks on authors on the internet is no biggy, Amazon?
For fuck’s sake, Amazon, what are your terms of service?
I have to go call my lawyers now to find out what it means when an online business is actively operating as a conduit for personal and professional stalker attacks on female individuals through the internet. I asked for help more than once from you guys.
Love and Kisses,
Your Fuck You Amazon Adams Girl
PS: Hey, I posted your photo up there, you won’t mind right? You didn’t mind linking out to a stalker who was posting my photos, so I figured it would not bother you. Smooches!
May 5, 2013
I forgot how funny this is, it is from Raincoaster, circa August 12, 2007:
max adams: the Pinkertons dossier
As promised, here is max‘s biography. Consider biographization to be a meme if you enjoy such things.
Warning: your mileage may vary. We assume no liability. No warranty implied. Before beginning this or any exercise plan, consult your physician. Not intended as a replacement for the advice of a competent professional.
Which, if I’d had access to, would probably have resulted in something a lot less interesting.
max adams: the Pinkertons dossier
Editor’s note: In relating the circumstances which have led to my confinement within this refuge for the demented, I am aware that my present position will create a natural doubt of the authenticity of my narrative. It is an unfortunate fact that the bulk of humanity is too limited in its mental vision to weigh with patience and intelligence those isolated phenomena, seen and felt only by a psychologically sensitive few, which lie outside its common experience. Men of broader intellect know that there is no sharp distinction betwixt the real and the unreal; that all things appear as they do only be virtue of the delicate individual physical and mental media through which we are made conscious of them; but the prosaic materialism of the majority condemns as madness the flashes of supersight which penetrate the common veil of obvious empiricism.
max adams is such a phenomenon.
In creating this dossier we have been in constant contact with our offices in St. Petersburg, Istanbul, Silverlake, Ponape, Zurich, Area 51, Abu Simbel, Great Zimbabwe, and of course, Head-Smashed-In-Buffalo-Jump. Although facts are few, and expensively won, we have been able to assemble the following biographical sketch.
max adams is the laboratory-created daughter of the frozen sperm of Errol Flynn and pioneering biologist Nicolette Tesla (granddaughter of the famous physicist) who, deprived by the relentless progress of Glasnost of a ready supply of involuntary subjects, was forced to experiment upon herself.
Succeeding beyond her wildest dreams, she gave birth to max, whom she named Erriol in an epidural trance, during which she recited the entirety of The Tempest, with different voices and everything, pausing only to berate the attending doula for her hopelessly provincial dress sense.
max was raised in Tesla‘s mountain fortress to the age of four, when she was taken away by agents of the state to undertake the gruelling process of being schooled for the Olympic ice dancing team.
During a particularly contentious international competition in Bakersfield, California, max defected to the West and since that time has denied all knowledge of the former European Ice Dancing Championship team of Erriol Tesla and Sergey Brin.
She currently lives a quiet life as a night custodian and DJ at Slim Jim’s Crematorium and Rib House hidden deep in the bowels of the the new CAA headquarters, while maintaining a small scientific consulting practice with an exclusive clientele including MIT’s jet propulsion laboratory, Chicago’s Slam Poetry Championship, and Burger King.
May 4, 2013
This is from the new SeeMaxRun site, it is an old life post, but one of my favorites.
There was this woman named Annette when I was little who was friends with my parents. She was very glamorous and dashing, tall (or at least she seemed tall to me but I was little and everyone is tall to you when you are little), and thin and pale with dark eyes and long dark hair. My mother said Annette could put on army fatigues she found at a used clothes shop and look elegant. This was before everyone went to used clothes shops and bought army fatigue pants but Annette did and my mother talked about Annette the way she talked about me when she said “lace curtains in winter and snow suits in summer.” Like she sort of disapproved and was fascinated all at the same time by something she found elegant and incomprehensible. So I knew Annette and I were alike but I did not know why except it was like lace curtains in winter and snow suits in summer.
Annette had this toy whale. It was just a little hollow plastic toy whale. Blue and white. But it had a special name I have forgotten and Annette loved that whale and still let me play with it. This was before my brother was born and after my sister was gone so I was the only kid mostly in a sea of adults and most of them didn’t have much time for kids and all had toys kids absolutely could not play with so playing with Annette’s little hollow whale was special. She said if I was real careful I could take the whale out and let it float on the stream in the wash. I forget what city we were in, we were in so many cities when I was little. But this had to be in a canyon because mostly only canyons have washes. These man made streams for water run off from somewhere wild nearby. They have cement walls and cobbled bases and the streams trickle and sometimes run fast across them and away somewhere to an ocean. It must have been winter sometime around my birthday because that is when those washes always ran fast. And Annette put a ribbon around the whale’s neck and she was going to tie the other end of the ribbon around my wrist so the whale could not float away but I said no, I could hold it. And she said are you sure? And I said oh yes, I would hold on tight. So then I took the whale out and let it float in the little wash river.
And I was a dumb kid who should have had that ribbon tied around my wrist just like Annette said and of course I lost hold of the ribbon and the Annette whale floated right away down that wash.
I couldn’t catch it the water moved too fast across all those man set cobbles the wash ran down and my legs were too short and there were sticks and I was wearing too many clothes because it was cold to really run so that whale just went away.
And I had to go back and tell Annette I lost her whale because I didn’t want her to tie that ribbon around my wrist because I wanted her to think I was big enough to hold it myself and I wasn’t.
You know how your feet get real heavy when you are little and have to tell someone you did something wrong? My feet were real real heavy and the walk back to tell Annette was a real long walk especially up stairs through a door not carrying any whale or ribbon.
When Annette saw me with no whale or ribbon she knew right off but she did not say, Did you lose that whale? She let me tell her I lost the whale. And she did not get mad. Even though you could tell she really loved that whale toy and was sorry it was gone. I figure she knew I was a little kid and tying that ribbon had really been up to her. But I did not know that. I always thought that stuff was up to me and I felt bad.
The next time we visited Annette the Annette whale was back. A man we knew had hiked all the way down that wash looking for Annette’s whale till he found it with its ribbon tangled in wash sticks and brought it back.
I tie ribbons around my wrist now so I don’t lose what matters to other people.
– In memory of Annette
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