tavie.com

Lately my mom has been getting really into Kevin Smith movies. Being a very recent Kevin Smith fan myself, I have applauded this, and been secretly proud of the fact that she seems to enjoy the movies even more than I do myself. (She was the only one of us to go see Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back. She went alone. She has a crush on Silent Bob.) Last night as we were serving ourselves dinner, she was telling me how much she'd enjoyed watching Chasing Amy a few nights previous. We began discussing the few Kevin Smith movies we'd seen (um... Clerks... Chasing Amy... Dogma...) and I said, "There was one I didn't like, though."
"Which one was that?"
"I hated Mallrats."
"Oh, yes," agreed my mom. "That movie was wack. Would you like some apple sauce with that?"
"Excuse me?!" I shrieked. "WHAT did you just say??? Did you say that movie was WACK?"
She nodded, looking vaguely pleased with herself. "It was wack."
"As in, 'Yo, that movie was wack, yo'?" I cried.
She nodded in reply, taking her plate to her chair.
I stood there, holding my plate and sputtering. "Are you trying to-- are you trying to adopt the vernacular of the current youth?"
"Yes," she admitted.
"But-- no one-- no one even-- are you an early 90's gangsta rapper?!"
"Yes," she deadpanned.

That's when I began to scream.

I'm screaming still.

--
In more distressingly cute mom news, she had a day off today and went by herself to see the Big Apple Circus. I find that so sweet, and sort of sad. A fifty-one year old woman is, at this very moment, sitting alone in a big tent surrounded by small children, none of which are her own, munching a pink cloud of sugary fluff and laughing at the antics of (the, I admit, legendarily great) Grandma Clown.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:14 PM | shower me with attention