The movie was fun for a lot of reasons. I particularly liked Sam Spade's office view, it being nearly identical to the view from the window where Denise Rehse used to work down on the Embarcadero. And oh those clothes! We were inspired. John will wear his North Beach fedora on the walk. I'm going to wear my fur collar unless it rains. Yes, it's made of real fur. Weasels, I think. Or are they mink in the off-season? Something long and skinny and colored like a fox, at any rate. My grandmother gave it to me years ago, and I love it chiefly because they are biting each other's butts and the little tails dangle. It's such a demented item of clothing.

Heard from Lynn Peril today, calling for professional help with getting to her mom's for Thanksgiving. She consoled me on the househunting blues by providing living proof that someone else in our situation can actually buy a nice place. They bought in Oakland, not an option for us, but since Oakland is now feeling the spillover of the housing crisis brought on by the Silicon Valley squeeze, it's pretty impressive. Inspiring, too.

It's sort of sad that virtually all of my friends who have bought houses have done so outside of the City. No one can afford to stay. And we all have good jobs and make reasonable amounts of money, usually double incomes with no kids. We're not poor by anyone's definition, and yet we can't compete with the insane amount of cash out there. It's because everyone who has shares in a high tech company tries to turn those dubious pieces of paper into something solid like land or a house once the company goes public. A sensible decision, but the backwash is vicious.

Personally, I'm having a housing crisis brought on by the knowledge that my parents are going to be in town Sunday and I haven't got time to really clean. It's time for their winter migration south, and they're stopping by to have brunch. I hope I have time to tidy up after our walking tour. Otherwise, it's going to look like a flash flood swept through the house depositing cat toys, piles of books, coffee cups, assorted maps of Germany, rubber stamps, and a truly impressive pile of newspapers on every surface in the place. And that's not the way I like to live. I prefer to keep the surfaces cleared of detritus, the papers recycled, the books on the shelves, and the dishes done minutes after dinner is over. In my perfect house, there would be a place for everything: shelves, baskets, drawers, boxes, everything neatly labeled and put away. No stacks of stuff just lying around because we don't really know where to put it. There would be visual harmony, and I would be able to find everything when I wanted it instead of having to root around like a pig going after truffles.

Now that's the stuff dreams are made of.

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