To Think You Worry About Illegal Alien Criminals

The sign in the Featured Image speaks for itself: There are other risks around the canyons of San Diego—perhaps more worrisome than foreign troublemakers hiding in them and coming out to assault, rob, or murder the locales. My SoCal county is one of the throughways by which illegals cross into the United States, and they are frequent enough topic on the local news or social media to scare some residents.

But coyotes—and I don’t mean smugglers sneaking immigrants across the border—present problems you might not consider. Sure, residents should keep cats and smaller dogs inside, but these coyotes could carry dynamite or drop anvils from hot-air balloons. Drones are a pitting nuisance, by comparison.

Photo by Joe WilcoxOct 9, 20249:29 pm

Royal but Rustic

This isn’t the first rustic typewriter that I have seen put out for the taking. The vintage is way older than the one that I used as a teenager, but it is the same brand: Royal. I am a poorly, but efficient enough, self-taught typist—starting around age 14 (my handwriting is notoriously sloppy).

My recollection is dim about why I inherited a typewriter, which got plenty of usage. I punched out many poems and song lyrics on the thing; they were lost inside a box of memorabilia sometime in 1989. Advice: Don’t leave something precious in someone else’s garage. Your treasure could be put out as trash.

Photo by Joe WilcoxOct 5, 20247:56 pm

Witchy Women

As I walked along Louisiana Street from El Cajon Blvd, today, a lady dressed in full witch regalia—black with red accents—turned the corner from Meade. We passed and I wondered where she could be going 26 days before Halloween.

An answer approached after I crossed onto the next block: Two more witches walked my way. So, I stopped them and inquired, explaining about the other costume dresser. Some of the local ladies were off to University Heights neighborhood bar Gilly’s, which recently changed ownership and partially its name.

Photo by Joe WilcoxSep 29, 20249:25 pm

Would You Want to Live Here?

As explained three days ago, apartment landlords are taking away tenant garages and converting them into residential rentals. The practice is rampant across San Diego County, including my neighborhood of University Heights.

Unsurprisingly, the alleys separating streets fill with parked cars, particularly late day into the evening hours. You lost your garage and can’t find a legal space, so you make do and hope to move before the parking police blast by writing tickets.

Photo by Joe WilcoxSep 28, 20249:33 pm

Simply Scary

Some moments are humbling. Today, my wife and I walked across the Spruce Street Suspension Bridge—and not since Spring 2021. I have always been sure-footed, even as the thing wildly swayed. But not today. I was clumsy, dizzy, off-balance, uncertain. I wasn’t prepared for the dramatic, and wildly changed, reaction.

Gasp. We don’t necessarily see the effects of aging, because the diminishing capacity isn’t sudden but result of a long process. I joked with Annie about a what-if: joining a volleyball game and waking in the hospital, following a dig to save the ball. Muscle memory may be there, but not the physical agility or stamina. “Well, Mr. Wilcox, you have a broken arm, three cracked ribs, and a fractured collar bone”.

Photo by Joe WilcoxSep 26, 20249:09 pm

Say Goodbye to Your Garage Parking Space

When we relocated to San Diego nearly 17 years ago, most home garage renovations were illegal—meaning they had been done without proper permits, if any. The stated interior size revealed all: A 600-square-foot cottage would be obviously larger, because of the undocumented, unsanctioned expansion.

Oh, and the buyer inherited any liability. Imagine one consequence, where the city, county, or state issued fines or demanded the whole, ah, illegal project be torn out. For the short time my wife and I considered buying a home here, we stayed clear of such properties.

Photo by Joe WilcoxSep 20, 20247:40 pm

Adios, Aldi

Food inflation is way worse than official, government data states if my local Aldi is a measure. The German-owned grocery was my favorite supermarket—until today’s visit. The many changes—higher costs among them—dismay and disappoint.

Aldi is about a 20-minute drive from our apartment, making it an expedition when other grocers are walking distance away. I hadn’t been to the place since sometime in 2023, although my wife has ventured there more recently. Today’s trip was my suggestion.

Photo by Joe WilcoxSep 18, 20248:44 pm

The Cats of University Heights: Oliver (the Fourth)

Finally, we start to seriously address the backlog, and this fine feline is by no means farthest back in the queue. Meet Oliver—and, yes, that’s his real name, which is surprisingly popular; three other Olivers precede him. Another distinction: He is the one-hundred-fourth kitty seen along Alabama Street, somewhere between boundaries Adams and Lincoln, since the series‘ start in October 2016; that’s out of 592 profiles, including this one.

I used Samsung Galaxy S24 Ultra to capture the Featured Image, on April 11, 2024. Vitals: f/3.4, ISO 64, 1/60 sec, 115mm (film equivalent); 3:27 p.m. PDT.

Photo by Joe WilcoxSep 11, 20243:33 pm

You Choose Which

During last night’s Presidental debate, Kamala Harris led Donald Trump to the slaughterhouse and gave him a quick kick. He marched inside, where the two ABC News moderators butchered him. That’s a fair assessment of how efficiently Harris taunted Trump, and he overreacted. Over and over.

The tactic let the Democrat largely ignore most questions directed by the moderators. She repeatedly deflected by switching to Trump, effectively making his record—and let’s be honest, ego—topic du jour. Not only did the moderators fail to call out her lack of answering, or ask her follow-up questions, they pestered the Republican with corrections even though, by my count, her lies massively eclipsed his. The, ah, event started out one-on-one but quickly disintegrated into a three-on-one beating.

Photo by Joe WilcoxSep 6, 202410:12 pm

Heatwave Reading

The Summer’s hot days have finally arrived in San Diego. Official high yesterday, according to my phone: 34 Celsius (94 Fahrenheit)—although the thermometer in the apartment complex’s courtyard read 38 C (100 F). Well, all the cement makes quite the heat island, so that is unsurprising.

This morning, the mercury touched 33 C (91 F) before thin, high clouds provided some relief. Forecasted high for tomorrow is about the same and scorching like yesterday for Sunday. We don’t have air conditioning, by the way. Fans provide plenty of relief, as long as breeze outside blows indoors. Unfortunately, winds are light, and air is muggy.

Photo by Joe WilcoxSep 4, 202410:20 pm

When No One Helps You

This morning, as my wife and I waited to cross Mississippi at University Avenue in North Park, we heard arguing and shouting. We both turned back to see some kind of disagreement between a man and woman near the distant bus stop on the opposite side of the street.

The dude looked to be stealing, or trying to steal, the lady’s bicycle. Shirtless, he was clearly homeless; she was well-dressed. Taller than her, he was racially white but so sunburned to be almost black; dirty, my guess, too. We weren’t sure what to do, being older folks, but we decided to walk down the block nevertheless. She needed help.

Photo by Joe WilcoxAug 31, 20249:05 pm

Oh, You Nag!

I am not someone who often feels, or actually is, sick. Aging—and San Diego’s unhealthy air (and overall) environment—means I don’t feel as consistently good as in the past. But my overall constitution and immunity are robust enough—usually.

That’s my explanation for four-day lapse posting. Something got me this week, and it wasn’t terribly debilitating either. Symptoms started strangely: Sharp pains over my left eye, which sunlight exacerbated. That passed by Day 2, when body aches and general exhaustion manifested. I also developed a low-grade fever (37.7 Celsius; 99.9 Fahrenheit)—my first since December 2017. Honestly.