I dismissed the Featured Image, after taking it using Leica Q2 on Sept. 3, 2021. But tonight, while looking for something to share, I reconsidered the street shot.
My wife and I passed the discarded instant waffle, while walking along either Alabama or Mississippi on our way to Smart & Final in San Diego neighborhood North Park. Who left it, and why? Did someone accidentally “leggo my Eggo”, referring to the long-time marketing tagline? Blueberry!
What I want to know: Who rented this University Heights home? When my wife and I passed by on Aug. 3, 2022, a “For Rent” sign welcomed interest—well, until looking at the asking price of, uh-hum, $5,450 monthly. Granted, by square feet, the place is one of the larger houses in our San Diego neighborhood. But who commits to $65,400—more than an annual salary for many locals—to rent?
Buying is no bargain. One of the, ah, affordable homes for sale nearby lists for $1.1 million. Zillow estimates a monthly mortgage payment, along with insurance and taxes, of $5,797; that’s after 20 percent down. Who can afford to buy? Answer: The fine folks at Visual Capitalist rank San Diego as the nation’s third costliest home market, with a median price of $905,000. Necessary salary: $166,828.
I rarely walk down Shirley Ann Place in my San Diego neighborhood of University Heights because the atmosphere along the street is so heavy, which contrasts the quaint Spanish-style abodes. Residents sure seem to be politically, and opposingly, opinionated. American flags fly from houses next to those with rainbow banners. Angry progressive rhetoric signs fill windows one place, while conservative banter fills another.
The Featured Image, taken three days after the California Primary, captures some of the rivalry when compared to this shot of the house beyond—where, in second half 2020, hung Old Glory spray-painted with BLM.
The ninety-ninth feline found behind glass or screen resides in the same house as Lucy, assuming that she is still alive. The tabby was nine years old when appearing in the series four years ago. The newcomer prefers window to door, where Lucy would hang out.
I used iPhone 13 Pro to capture the Featured Image on July 2, 2022. Vitals: f/2.8, ISO 32, 1/673 sec, 77mm; 2:59 p.m. PDT. We need a nickname. How about Muffin? Oh, and happy Caturday!
Today is the fifth anniversary of mom’s passing. Chatting with my sister Nan, she said something about a Facebook quiz querying whether one would want a different mother if such circumstance could be. She wouldn’t. Nor would I. Mom was imperfectly perfect.
She was selfless in all the ways that matter. She was generous within her means. She wasn’t one to hold grudges or to flush with anger. By measure of core character, she was—and I should say is in the afterlife—genuinely good as most anyone can be in this world born from evil seed. We four children were blessed to have her.
Our Smart & Final shopping trips dropped from once or more every seven days to none over several weeks—until today (the store stocks a different, and pricier, cat food that’s not our preferred brand). Look what we missed, although I can say from driving by over the weekend that the SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 testing site is a rather recent addition.
I am accustomed to seeing indigent folks hanging out on that corner; uh-oh, somebody won’t be happy about losing their spot. Perhaps the test site is meant to reach the many homeless who are frequent fixtures in that area of San Diego neighborhood North Park (along University Avenue between Mississippi and Texas streets).
Call me shocked. On several occasions during the two years leading up to the SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 lockdowns—and at least once after they started—I contacted the woman who managed our rental in Kensington, Md. We lived there just shy of a decade, and I felt sentimental about the place. Should the house become available to rent, or to buy, could she let me know? Absolutely. Promises. Promises.
Opportunity passed unbeknownst to me, and I am baffled about missing it. The house, previously purchased for $56,000 in 1965, sold for $475,000 a few months ago. I had checked on the property’s disposition from time to time and never saw a listing, nor is there any indication that there ever was one. Perhaps the tenants bought the place. I’ll never know.
These loud squawkers occasionally fly around our block. We see, and hear, them every few months. They come and go, not staying long. I’d love to know where do they live and why they are irregular guests.
Without a good telephoto lens, I have failed at nearly every attempt to get a pleasing portrait of the birds. Typically, three or four group together. In the Featured Image, you see two—and this shot, from March 31, 2018, is the best to date. Sigh.
About two weeks ago, as I approached the barber for my bi-monthly trim, two adults, child, and dog pranced around in front of the adjacent grocery. The woman is sister to the owner and the little girl either belongs to her or the brother—my apologies for not knowing which. The doggie’s owner is the barber’s tenant living in an alley apartment. Their infectious happiness lifted the entire block’s emotional atmosphere.
But then the dark cloud came. In the bike lane, a woman approached, running behind another smallish dog. The little girl walked towards the newcomers, for a moment of meet-and-greet fido fun. Then came the tersely-emphasized putdown: “We don’t socialize on leash“. I turned to the store owner’s sister with a shrug, uplifted palms, and WTF expression. She similarly acknowledged.
As we walked along Mississippi Street, my wife heard meows behind bushes. I stopped to explore, which prompted the source to go camouflage—and revealed why the kitty beckoned but stopped short of coming out for pats: He (or she) watched birdies.
I pulled out iPhone 13 Pro and captured six shots, and that many is uncharacteristic of my shooting style. But the animal kept looking sideways towards birdsong, presenting obscured profiles. While in two others the tabby’s full face is visible, I chose for the Featured Image cuter expression—even if partially hidden. Vitals: f/2.8, ISO 125, 1/99 sec, 77mm; 6:07 p.m. PDT, July 20, 2022.
In a post dateline eight days ago, Phoblographer publisher Chris Gampat explains “What You Should Know Before Buying a 135mm Lens“. He describes my favorite Prime focal length: “a magical wonder for many photographers”; “optically speaking, no one looks bad on the other end of this lens”; “notoriously hard to get in focus”; and “render[s] super tight if you don’t have a lot of room”. Also calling 135mm a “pain”, he acknowledges: “I’ll admit they can create beautiful photos”.
If shooting an interchangeable lens camera, rather than fixed-28mm Leica Q2, I absolutely would favor 135mm. Honestly, I might go 85mm for close spaces but otherwise mainly use the longer focal length. I love 135mm.
I don’t watch gameshows, but who wouldn’t know the name of the one for which this post’s title is derived? Abandoned, and attached to a fence, this lonely bicycle wheel piqued my photographic interest on July 25, 2022. That afternoon, my wife and I walked along one of the Balboa Park trails that leads to a footbridge that crosses SR-163.
We entered the trail nearby the Girl Scouts and Boy Scouts of America headquarters near Robinson and Upas streets in San Diego’s Hillcrest neighborhood. I made a wisecrack about identity politics as we passed. What is a girl? What is a boy? Does anyone know anymore? Maybe the two organizations should merge, become Scouts of America, and avoid answering those questions or engaging in controversial debate. But I digress.