Category: Oddlies

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The AI Scoundrel

I praised the artist’s skills of Rick’s male owner to his partner. But, as she confessed, he uses artificial intelligence tools to create the stickers, which are quite popular around the neighborhood. So is the black cat, who is a glutton for attention and knows how to easily get it.

Rick joined my “Cats of University Heights” series in August 2021, when he lived in an alley house with (presumed) litter mate Pixie (nickname). She’s still there; Rick moved on to Alabama Street, where he chose new owners and has lived lavishly since.

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What the Hell Happened Here?

I regard Meade and Mississippi as the most dangerous intersection in the village of University Heights. Countless car crashes occur with too much frequency there. My speculation: Cause has something to do with human nature related to impatience. Drivers go from Monroe to Mission, which is a short block to Meade. If driving from Adams to Madison, there is yet another stop sign. They’re ready to go and tired of stopping at every intersection..

Meanwhile, on either side of Mississippi are traffic circles along Meade at Alabama and Louisiana. Traffic slows, and drivers are sometimes—if not often—confused about right of way. Many of them speed up as they approach Mississippi, where antsy drivers wait to enter an intersection where oncoming traffic may move more brisky than anticipated—and from two directions, simultaneously.

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A Total Loss

A series of squatter fires has culminated in the near destruction of the last house among the derelict cottages located on Georgia Street across from Kindred Hospital. In June 2021, Georgy joined my “Cats of University Heights” series. She lived with her owners in one of the residences—before being rehomed, following their renoviction.

Later becoming what I called squatter villas, the buildings burned partially here and there over the course of several years. Yesterday morning, another fire gutted the front building that had been the most intact. Presumably, homeless folk seeking to stay warm or cook food started all the blazes.

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In Memory of Scott Adams

Creator of the Dilbert comic strip passed away today, at age 68, following a protracted battle with prostate cancer. Scott Adams was, and perhaps will continue to be, a cultural and social enigma. He charmed people of all ages and persuasions with Dilbert, which started its syndication run in April 1989 (officially ending in March 2023).

But during Donald Trump’s first presidential campaign, he took on a different role: Political and societal agitator, for his sharp wit and astute analysis that antagonized many on the Left and galvanized others on the Right. For example, he astutely identified how “The Donald” chose not to play by the rules of political norms during debates with his Republican rivals, many of whom he reduced to demeaning nicknames.

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Something Sweet Before the Sour Comes

Two weeks to Christmas, time comes to start spreading holiday cheer—decorations, too—and pledge to keep the spirit alive all through the upcoming year. My wife and I dispatched holiday cards today, for the first time in a couple of ages (yeah, too long a time). A final batch goes in the mail tomorrow—followed by, during the coming days, distribution to local friends and neighbors.

The candy canes come courtesy of San Diego Zoo, where we saw them on Nov. 10, 2025. Yeah, Christmas starts early there but means less this year because of the big bah, humbug coming on January 5. Parking will no longer be free for everyone at the zoo, nor in adjoining Balboa Park.

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Makeshift Food Bank

The longest government shutdown in U.S. history means millions of people are not receiving federal funds for basics—you know, things like food. People employed by Uncle Sam are either furloughed or working without pay (and delayed only, hopefully). Don’t get me going about families who count on SNAP benefits and won’t receive them for November.

To the Congress, I say this: Do your job! Pass a damn budget. Stop pissing away days whining over line items like expiring subsidies for the Affordable Care Act. Agree to punt! Fund the damn government for X number of days and fight among yourselves meantime about a final budget. Don’t punish people while you bicker like kids in the schoolyard or, worse, an angry soon-to-be-divorced couple gouging one another in spiteful rages over splitting assets (or assigning child custody).

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Your Pet is Not Your Child!

Cue the music. I had a Twilight Zone moment today. While walking into PetSmart, I heard the cashier tell a customer about weekend festivities. The store will welcome self-described pet parents to celebrate Halloween. There will be “treat stations set up throughout the store”, the checker said. Oh, and of course, humans are encouraged to bring their animal(s) dressed in costume. Seriously? What alternate universe have I unexpectedly entered?

Trick or treat will be Sunday, that’s Oct. 26, 2025, from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. Don’t have a costume for fido or frisky? No problem, PetSmart sells them. Treats are free (I presume), assuming your animal is smart enough to find any. The trick is for those beasts unable to sniff out any, I guess.

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I Wouldn’t Live Here

On September 29, I asked: “Would You Want to Live Here?” regarding the new, ah, studio apartments converted from garages along the alley separating Alabama and Florida streets. One of the five units is still available, and it’s the lowest-cost rental here in University Heights: $1,295. Wow, what a bargain.

How much room do you need? The domicile provides a whole 180-square-feet of living space. You don’t mind sleeping on the floor, do you—or eating there—all Japanese style? But the big benefit is proximity to trash and recycle bins. You can practically open the window and drop in trash. The Featured Image shows what to expect. Don’t open the window or door. Oh, that smell!

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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. 

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Why?

To say that coastal San Diego is paradise understates the consistently mild climate and the shockingly fertile growing environment. Plant a seed, something will grow—even bearing flowers and/or fruit multiple times during 12 months. Food is aplenty and too often wasted, as the Featured Image indicates.

I came upon the fallen fruit, presumably a variety of apple, today along Louisiana Street in my neighborhood of University Heights. I wondered: Why? Why waste good food, given as a gift of the fantastic climate conditions? There are homeless folks and hungry families all around the area. If you don’t want the bounty, put it out for someone to take. Generosity isn’t any easier than something you have no need for that another person might desperately and gratefully accept.

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I Boycott the Paris Olympics

I am more than a little surprised to be writing this post. But here we unexpectedly are. I stand with those people criticizing the 2024 Olympic Games Opening Ceremony’s mock Last Supper as mocking Christianity—and the almighty God, for that matter. In what appeared to be a live reenactment of the famous painting by Leonardo DaVinci, the actors were either drag queens or some simply dressed as such.

The Summer games officially began in Paris on July 26. Today, spokesperson Anne Descamp apologized to anyone offended by the, ah, banquet scene. If BBC reporting is accurate, explanation is as offensive, if not more. From the story: “The ceremony’s artistic director, Thomas Jolly, said there was no intention to ‘mock or denigrate anyone’ and explained the scene in question was designed to reference pagan gods”.

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The Farm

Today would be my father’s eighty-third birthday, but he died on April 16, 2024. Rather than commemorate him, I celebrate what he took away. Secretly, sometime during his 40 dying days, he signed over title to a large portion of the family farm to the co-pastors of his church.

They say 75 percent. But other documentation indicates that he only had control over 7/12ths of the nearly 100 acres. Regardless, as I begin to grasp the extent of subterfuge and lies, presumably unprompted (but who knows) on his part, my feelings about him darken. My great-grandfather purchased the property in 1895.