Now some people are wondering if that’s once a century too often.
The temperature keeps dropping and the family visits keep coming. On a cold Friday night, I hopped on a BART train to SFO and found Mom at the U.S. Air terminal. She was wearing wooden shoes with a trim blazer and it would be the nicest she looked all weekend. The next day she put on a borrowed baseball tee-shirt and found a way to pedal a borrowed bike all the way out to the Pacific Ocean and up to the Dumpling King. Of course I didn’t mention it, but I was proud of her. And over a BYOBed bottle of Shiraz, she also also helped me settle a longstanding internal battle: Tajine on Polk Street does in fact make the best lamb ever. Unfortunately, the photo booth at Lost Weekend Video was out of order, but they had plenty of working copies of Knocked Up (Is it just me, or was this Judd Apatow’s vaginal counterpart to his dick-centric Superbad?). Mom’s jet lag got the best of her, but at least she found my Mission apartment comfortable.