Just read a piece in the NYT about a writer who joined Facebook, and how her teenage daughter hates it. Heh. I don’t think I’d care if my parents joined Facebook. My profile is clean– no pictures of me half-naked trying to doing a keg stand or something idiotic like that. I doubt they will though. They’re still wrapping their brain around this whole idea of “blogging.”

Below, a conversation with my mother about blogging:

 Mum: How do you say it? Blawwg?

Me: Blog. Like log. With a B in front.

Mum: Huh. So it’s like a web diary?

Me: Yup, exactly.

Mum: Why would you want someone to read your diary?

Me: Well it’s not a PRIVATE diary, although I could make one if I wanted to. It’s more like “this is my life, aren’t I funny? Now comment!”

Mum: People can comment?

Me: Yea, there’s a feature for them to leave comments.

Mum: How do they know you even have a blog?

Me: Cuz I tell them.

Mum: Oh, so only your friends read it?

Me: No, strangers stop by.

Mum: Strangers? How do they know?

Me: It involves linking.

Mum: Linking?

Me: Forget it.

I have no fear of my mother EVER reading my blog. Or joining Facebook. Or switching on a computer, for that matter.