It doesn't help that everyone we talk to wears polite, slightly pained smiles as they explain how shocking the prices are, and how in any other part of the U.S. we could get a lovely home and a fair amount of land for what we wish to spend. Here, however, well, you see the market is outrageous, and it's barely possible we might find a two bedroom one bath with 1200 square feet and a yard, but it certainly wouldn't be in a good area, and wouldn't we like to consider a townhouse for our first purchase?

Perhaps. I want a house. I believe I will find a house. But I am willing to look at what's available right now, something I consider falling under the category of propitiating the gods of housing, and so we are dutifully driving around on Sundays looking at small homes in bad areas in our price range. Boy, parts of Menlo Park and Redwood City are nasty. I'm not going to gamble on any place I wouldn't be comfortable walking my dog at midnight right now even if eventually it's going to be gentrified, and that's just how it is. I am not a pioneer type.

I did, however, view the works of a pioneer on Saturday. Sei and I made it to the Julia Margaret Cameron show at SFMOMA. I am now going to display my lack of art appreciation. I honestly didn't admire most of the photos. The models were all dour, melancholic, and frizzy-haired. I know they were supposed to represent certain literary and mythological creatures, but I could not make out most of the purported emotions or virtues being emulated. In particular, I felt the photo of "Christobel" was nothing like Coleridge's innocent victim. I was struck by four or five photographs, particularly the grown Alice Liddell's defiant stare as Pomona, and some of Julia Jackson (Cameron's niece, Virginia Woolf and Vanessa Bell's mother) in high contrast lighting, but mostly I wasn't moved. Sei had the same reaction.

Afterwards, we strolled through the lobby of the W Hotel next door (great location, great modern decor, not sure it's worth $233 a night but I didn't see any of the rooms), and then walked up to the giant Williams-Sonoma on O'Farrell where we spent a delightful half hour. We tried guessing the purpose of some of the more esoteric implements. We admired the antique kitchen utensils in glass cases on display. We debated the merits of the many bread mixes for bread machines. I bought fat-free cajun bean dip as an experiment, and Sei bought a shrimp deveiner. We continued on to Sak's on Union Square, wiggling through the crowds. The city was teaming with people, and I was utterly content to be among them. Shopping with a good friend is a particular pleasure I never get tired of.

In Sak's, Sei checked on a Prada bag while I fondled the leather Ferragamo purses. Everything we liked was at least six bills. I was amazed at how much a Tod handbag was: a little bitty thing about the size of a paperback book was $1500. I remembered why I never shop at Sak's; too rich for me, and I don't care that much about haute couture. After a long lunch at the California Pizza Kitchen, we grabbed the bus to her office where I got the quickie tour. It was a very interesting set up, all brick walls and modernist carpets and minimalist furniture. I love seeing the places people write about. Now when she writes about watching wrestling, or talking to the Intern or the Boyfriend, I know exactly where she was.

We finished our day of shopping by meeting up with a squadron of my friends at the not terribly trendy SoMa microbrewery known as 20 Tanks. Rich Coad has given up comfy but uncreative stability at his engineering job to go to work for a new dotcom start-up, so a dozen of us met up for congratulatory beers. It was invigorating to see everyone and drink good beer at the same time. I am spoiled by the proliferation of microbreweries. Greatest social boon of the late 20th century, I swear. Naturally, I mentioned our househunting woes, and everyone exchanged housing horror stories. All of us regreted not buying sooner, and agreed it's only going to get worse so there's no reason to wait. Everyone became quite animated on the subject. I remember when we would have put the same energy into discussing the latest Joy Division or Residents album.

The shopping was therapy for me, as shopping generally is. It not only gave me a lift, it reminded me how good I am at it. The way I figure it, the same ingenuity and determination that I use to hunt down a particular type of lamp or a much desired sweater will stand me in good stead as I hunt for a house. I am a master shopper, and I will bag my prize sooner or later no matter what anyone says about markets and prices. There's always a way.

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