Pops is out of town. I had a late meeting in Mill Valley. And my mom offered to buy dinner.
So last night, I crashed at the Spotswood Estate and Grounds.
Hanging out with the Spotswood women means lots of plastic containers of prepared salads from Bryan's Fine Foods, lots of white wine and lots of intense discussion.
It's nice spending time alone with my mom. She's been doing all of this dicey volunteer work that I'm not allowed to write about (a black Jesus poster is involved) but offers the Spotswood-esque perspective on her outreach which is both hilarious and frightening.
One day, I'll be as pious as my mother.
And all of a sudden, over bottle 2 of Pinot Grigio, "Survivor is on!"
Wha? Who? Really?
Yeah. My mother, who is smarter than everyone and works with the poor is addicted to Survivor.
Which, as I learned last night, is the most embarrassing, stupid, ridiculous show on television.
It's just like the Real World. Formerly filled with interesting, complex personalities, it's now a blend of scantily clad, sexed up, retarded characters.
But Joanne is hooked. Engrossed. Enthralled. Entranced.
I guess after seeing black Jesus pinned to a tenement wall, even my mom needs an escape...