One of the things I appreciate about living in San Diego is all the different neighborhoods this city has, each with its own array of restaurants, coffee shops, movie theaters, and other attractions. There's nothing I like better than to step out my front door, bound down the steps, and stroll to the nearest local establishment where I can fill my stomach, empty my wallet, and soak up the atmosphere. (Other combinations of these activities are not recommended, as I found out one evening when I soaked up my wallet, filled the atmosphere, and ultimately emptied my stomach. It was an ugly scene and I am no longer welcome there.)

In a perfect world I would take advantage of all that my neighborhood had to offer. Every morning I would saunter to the bakery to buy a loaf of fresh bread, greeting everyone by name as they wished me good morning. After work I'd visit the local grocer to select fresh veggies and meat for my dinner - or I'd choose from one of the many restaurants in the area. Would I try that new Italian restaurant, or go to my old favorite where they made that herb roasted chicken just right? Oh, what a wonderful world we live in!

I, however, do not live in a perfect world. I live in Mission Valley. What was once a bucolic region of dairy farms nestled in the valley of the San Diego River is now home to four interstate highways, three malls, a crush of luxury apartment complexes, retail plazas, parking lots, and enough traffic lights to make a sane man bark at the moon in frustration. Mission Valley is not Hillcrest, where all of San Diego's good sushi restaurants and wine bars are. Mission Valley is not North Park, with its delightful little coffee shops. And Mission Valley is most certainly not Ocean Beach, where the area's hippies gather to lie in the sun and play their bongo drums.

Mission Valley is where you go to get a new pair of shoes, a larger mattress, and new towels for the bathroom all in one stop.

I step out my front door, bound down the steps, and stroll down the street - until I get lost in the Lowe's parking lot. I saunter to the nearest bakery - at Costco, where I emerge with 15 loaves of bread, 20 pounds of sliced turkey, and a jar of mayonnaise the size of a horse. After work I choose from one of the local restaurants; will I try the new Italian meatball sandwich at Subway or go to my old favorite, Ikea, where I can get a hotdog for a buck fifty? Oh, what a tasty world we live in! Despite my complaints, Mission Valley is still my neighborhood, and I'm going to enjoy it. I amble along the tree-lined parking lot at Home Depot, I savor the watery eggs at IHOP, and I call everyone by name even though they have no idea who I am. If that doesn't bring a smile to my lips, at least I know I can bark at the moon if I have to.

BILL ZUCK, a Foxboro native now living in San Diego, eats two loaves of bread per day to make sure none of it goes bad. You can reach him at wcz78@yahoo.com.