I like to keep private matters private. A person's business is his or her own. If you tell me something I'd consider private, I'll keep it to myself.
This is probably a side effect of growing up in the closet. It doesn't matter too much, except for one thing. I hate it when people tell me secrets about mutual friends. George tells me something about Ringo, but I'm not supposed to let on to Ringo that I know this thing about him. Arrgh. It's happened to me at least three times in the past year. Please, do me a favor: if you're going to tell me a secret, warn me first. Give me a choice, please. It's the polite thing to do.
In return, I promise to protect your privacy. I'm good at that. In fact, my friend Ryland once put this ability into a nice little analogy:
Say you're in the room with Mark, and he's on the phone with mutual friends of yours. These friends are outside on their lawn, watching in horror as their house burns down, but you don't know that. If you asked Mark how they are, he'd reply "Warm".
I like that.
[Historical note: Ryland was also the person who originated Fuck-O's, the breakfast of fuck-ups. Hence the phrases, "He's had his bowl today", "Have a bowl", and "Did you have a heaping bowl this morning?".]
Last updated 25 May 2002
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