Do we all, as the night follows the day, turn into our mothers? I can recall the very moment that I finally accepted that I had turned into Julia Morgan Hall Hays, a lady who once ran from a room tearfully proclaiming, “I refuse to be a part of this” because somebody used the word b–b (she actually didn’t know what it meant, but she knew is wasn’t nice).

My epiphany that I am Julia Morgan now came the day I became almost hysterical in the Dupont Circle movie theater because the stranger in the next seat had “used foul language in front of a lady.” As the daughter of my mother, I complained bitterly to management, insisting upon and receiving a refund for the pain and suffering.

As you might guess I’m not the sort of person who’s sympathetic to Janet Jackson’s now-infamous “wardrobe malfunction” during the Houston half-time show that left her exposed her before millions(see The Other Charlotte’s critique below). What appalled me most, though, was hearing, on the next day, one of her brothers–not THAT one’saying giddily, “That’s my sister!”

Some brother, huh?

I fondly remember the good old days when the studio system and a healthy dose of hypocrisy kept stars from behaving badly in public. I hope there’s all hell to pay if it turns out that this stunt was planned (and what kind of dummy believes it wasn’t?)

And don’t get me started on that gaseous equine!

I am, after all, my mother’s daughter.