I remember watching this documentary about John Waters where he said something about his parents not being allowed to watch his movies. He also said that Divine's parents were also banned from seeing them, and that after Divine's death Waters reminded them that they were still not supposed to see them. I think it's amazing that their parents had such self-control, although I suppose one wouldn't particularly want to watch their son dress in drag and eat dog shit.
Yesterday the Chicago Reader posted the picture of my cat reading Lolita on the homepage and, because I was so excited, I emailed my mother. Of course, the website included a link to this blog, and of course my mother CLICKED ON IT, thereby breaking our unspoken agreement that such an invasion of privacy is off limits. It's not only because I don't want her reading what I have to say; it's also for her benefit. She doesn't really want to know what I'm doing with my life either. I bet she wasn't pleased to know that I use "fuck" regularly in my vocabulary, and not just when I'm fighting with her. (For the record, the f-word slips out only in extreme cases, and don't think I'm the only one to use it.)
Anyway, I received an email this morning with the subject line reading, "blog," and immediately after I saw it in my inbox, I thought, "Hmm, I'm not going to be happy in twenty seconds." Luckily, it was short and to the point, and she basically said, "I can't believe the personal stuff you put in your blog. Now don't go write about my saying that." (Sorry.)
My response was that my blog isn't THAT personal, as I keep my heroin abuse secret, and I also sent her links to a few blogs I read that are incredibly and irresponsibly personal, just so she'd see the difference. I think, though, that she's more upset that I called her gay.