nakedpersimmon: Yesterday afternoon, it was brought to NP’s attention that this post had been made o

nakedpersimmon: Yesterday afternoon, it was brought to NP’s attention that this post had been made on Michael Nesmith’s personal Facebook page. In the post, I (Miss Mini) am called out by name, mentioned as someone instructing others to call the police on Nez, and otherwise painted as a deranged fan who is harassing him and his employees. Further, “Nez” implored his fans and followers to “hurl insults” at me, along with two other women who were also named. I never wanted to write this post. I never wanted things to get this bad, to where a fandom I once loved so deeply could be in utter shambles, and leave me reduced to tears over an unwarranted and completely baseless attack. But I can’t stay silent any longer, nor can I watch as me and others are dragged through the mud and beaten down, with the people doing it using someone I care about as their primary weapon. Some have said I don’t have much in the way of weaponry against these particular individuals. For most people, it would be a daunting prospect, to go up against these people who have become the gatekeepers of the fandom. So I am using the one weapon I do have. The one thing that I have held onto for all these years, and that has kept me sane: The truth. In 2011, I started talking to Michael Nesmith online. What began as private messaging in Videoranch3D (“whisper,” as it’s called there) soon became chatting on GoogleChat, and then a few months later, he asked me to Skype with him. I still remember the first time we spoke on video, when he asked me to “have lunch” with him. I remember the Annie Chun Miso Soup bowl I’d microwaved, and how it sat untouched on my desk the entire time because I was too nervous to eat. I remember defending and passing my Master’s thesis a few months later, and Nez being the second person that I told. I remember talking to him for hours, in text chat and over Skype, on topics as far-ranging and wide as God and metaphysics and religion and sex and love. I remember coming home from seeing one of Micky’s solo shows at Parx Casino and Nez asking me how it went, eager to know if “Mick” had sold a lot of tickets. I remember having a three-way Skype chat with him and my best friend Lynsey Moon, who was a DJ in Videoranch3D at the time and how–without pretense or prompting–he played music for us. I remember finally meeting Nez in person in 2013, after one of his solo shows in Somerville, Massachusetts. I remember seeing another show of his later that year in Englewood, New Jersey, and hanging out in his dressing room after. I remember how, again unprompted, he took my hand and held it all the way down in the elevator until we got to the parking lot. I remember another show that same year in Bay Shore on Long Island, sharing laughs and stories with his wonderful band, and how his keyboard player gave me a plate of rigatoni when I said I hadn’t eaten, and made me a drink from the bar on the tour bus. “Gin,” I said to Nez as he sat across from me. “So I can say that I went to a sophisticated party where I got a little drunk on gin.” He gave me such a pointed, hilarious look, but later insistently asked if I was okay to drive home. And I remember this comment, in this photo. I’d written about being asked to speak at the United Nations for World Autism Awareness Day, and out of nowhere, Nez commented, and said that he was proud of me. It was March of 2011. We’d only known each other for two months. He knew me when. And he was proud of me. I have loved the Monkees since I was 12 years old. I remember watching the show on Nick At Nite’s Summer Block Party, and how much of a comfort it was, when I was being bullied so badly in school and already contemplating suicide because of it. The Monkees were four friends that I didn’t have then, and who saved my life without even knowing it. Fifteen years later, one of those men I admired so greatly, who was a hero of mine, told me that he was proud of me. There just aren’t words. I never wanted to be someone who uses their relationship/friendship with someone to make a point. That is why I haven’t talked about any of this publicly, haven’t posted endless photos with Nez or video or any of the other countless receipts that I have. Because I know where I stand with him. Because at the Chiller Theatre convention in 2017, when I ended up in tears due to a stupid misunderstanding, Nez came over and took my hands again, and asked if I was okay. Because that is who Michael Nesmith is. That is the man I know. And that is why I have been heartbroken and worried as I’ve watched the two women in his employ, one of whom is his assistant, manipulate and use him for their own ends–regardless of what it’s doing to his reputation and legacy, and not noticing or caring that all of this is the opposite of everything Nez has ever stood for. Which brings us to yesterday. To the post that we are meant to believe Michael Nesmith wrote, telling his fans and followers to attack and insult me and two other women. A post that not only does not sound like it came from him, but that is so out of character as to nearly be laughable. But I’m not laughing. I know that some people will believe whatever they want to believe, no matter what I say. I know they will believe that I am jealous, because I don’t work for Nez, and because the people who do have told them that I am. They can choose to believe that, and I can’t do anything to stop them. I can only say that I have nothing to be jealous of. And I have nothing to hide. All I can do is share my truth, and that is what I have done. This post is public and will remain so, to be shared freely. Thank you for reading, and please take care of yourselves and each other. (This post was originally shared on Facebook.) -- source link

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