The Five Stages of Lindsay Robertson
Our first reaction on reading New York's report that Lindsayism.com proprietress Lindsay Robertson had been "cyberstalking" Corey Feldman was, in a word, denial. "Mild-mannered Lindsay?" we asked ourselves, amazed. "That blonde pixie we've known all these years? Her?" (And, more to the point, in what world is that cyberstalking?) It couldn't be, we thought. It just couldn't.
Then we got angry. If it is her, how dare she? And she probably knows where we live, too. Was she planning to give out our addresses? What sort of person is she? An evil, horrible one, apparently. Damn her.
But maybe we could make a deal with her, we thought next. Perhaps she'd agree not to publish our addresses if we were willing to give her something in exchange: the promise of links, a few drinks, cash. We must be able to work out something, right? Right?
No. No, we wouldn't be able to, we realized. She wouldn't buy into our bargaining, and it'd just encourage her. This was just a disaster, and nothing was going to work. We felt like we needed a Zoloft.
But that's when we realized it was really all out of our hands. If Lindsay wants to go cyberstalking, there's nothing we can do. We'd reached it: Acceptance.
