8:16 PM — Hi Dad! He found this blog. I have no fucking clue how, but he found it. After reading a few pages of posts, he apparently figured out that it was slightly personal (but not entirely private as it IS out there on the web) and stopped reading and told me that he found it thru a simple Google search on my first and last names. I know that "Star Stories" still shows up under those as I only recently removed my name from on it, so it'll take a while to flush out of the Google cache, but Dad implied that he didn't go thru that page, but found this one directly. I'm really baffled as to how... But anyways, I do trust when he said he's taking it off his favorites and won't read it in the future - there's nothing here I really *hide* from them, just stuff I'm not comfortable talking about with them. Unlike how I really DO want to hide stuff on here from my job. Speaking of which, Dad's point of telling me was that he realized I probably didn't want this info out there for anyone to find. Which he was entirely correct about, so if anyone does a similar search and comes up with however in the world he got here, PLEASE let me know!


Quotes from the conversation with Dad:

• "Wow, your HS is really bad. Kinda like how I used to have painful sores from cystic acne all over my face when I was a teenager. This one time my boss had to take me to the hospital for it and I was so embarassed. I really feel for you hon." See, this is why I don't like talking about it with them, then I have to sit and compare horror stories. I am not my disease, why can't we talk about something interesting instead?


• "I swear I'll never visit your blog again." Huh, he knows what a blog is!


• "You're a really good writer." Um, thanks, I think...


• "I didn't realize you were so liberal. You're a commie!" (The last was in jest.) More of a socialist actually, though only a very slight bit. And I get the liberalism from you - you taught me to listen to what people have to say and that everyone's opinion counts. "I'm not really all that liberal. Not for New York." Heh.


• "Really, I mean it, I won't read it again." Ok, I believe you, you can drop it now.


• "I can tell it really upsets you that I found it." No shit, Sherlock. It's a matter of a breach of privacy, and I worry who else could find it, and most of all I'm pissed at myself for not hiding it better (not that I'm yet certain it's my own fault he found it). This's worse than when my research advisor's collaborator found my proto-blog, because then the worst was mushy stuff about T$ on the one hand, and my Muslim German physicist stalker on the other. Yeah, he was as wierd as he sounds; I should tell the story someday - when Dad's not reading! :-P

And from Mom (she didn't actually see the site I believe, but Dad told her about the content of the entries he read):

• "Dad says you have this blog thing. What is it?" It's like a journal that my friends can read. "Do they?" Um, yeah. But it's stuff I talk about with friends, I don't really talk about this stuff with coworkers or, well, you.


• "I want you to know you can talk with us about anything." And when I want to talk about these things with you, I do.


• "Why don't you tell us about these things more?" Because then we end up having conversations like these.

  ¶ permalink | 2 musings