I shot the Featured Image using Leica Q2, today, as my wife and I returned to University Heights from grocery shopping in Hillcrest. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/5.6, ISO 100, 1/250 sec, 28mm; 11:39 a.m. PDT.
Spiders hold a special place in my heart, and something about the giant fake one demanded photographic attention. I considered close-cropping but the entire holiday decoration display deserved showcasing. So here we are.
I don’t have much to say tonight. This evening, Eastern Daylight Time, there was a mass-casualty shooting at two separate locations in Lewiston, Maine. I lived in the state’s second-largest city during my latter teen years and graduated from the high school. While I haven’t been to Lewiston for decades, roots there and being Maine-native twist my gut thinking about this tragedy.
As I write, the city is under stay-at-home lockdown, and the shooter is on the loose. Police have released photos of the assault-rifle-carrying suspect and (escape) vehicle taken from surveillance video.
On Oct. 15, 2007, the Wilcox family arrived in San Diego from the Washington, D.C.-metro area. Within days, I began to understand the character of Communist California Culture and regret relocating. But we came to assist my aged father-in-law, so that he might maintain freedom to live in his apartment, which he did until passing away there at age 95 in January 2017.
My wife and I talked about returning to the East Coast almost immediately after her dad’s death. But our only child (an adult, by then) was attached to Southern California, and she wasn’t ready for us to leave her. We stayed—or shall I say overstayed—our time here. San Diego has changed all too much in terrible ways—almost all brought about by state and/or local mandates.
One week ago tomorrow, Hamas terrorists launched an assault into Israel that slaughtered entire families (yes, children included), grabbed hostages, and raped women. Need I say more? As Israel prepares to invade Gaza Strip, regional tensions rise—perhaps even exceeding the raw emotional reaction among Jews and many other human beings.
My concern: Atrocities were meant to evoke such anger that Israel acts out the script of a plan meant to give Hezbollah an excuse to join Hamas in a counteroffensive that would devastate the Jewish state and lead to global war—as nations like the United States take military action for its longstanding ally and Muslim countries like Iran directly or, by proxy, indirectly intervene for the terrorist groups.
This is different and, honestly, refreshing. In my San Diego neighborhood of University Heights, We Believe signs are almost always some variation of rainbow color text on black background professing sentiments like “love is love”; “black lives matter”; and “science is real”—among others.
Today, along Shirley Ann Place, my wife and I passed a placard seemingly meant as an antidote to the others. Given the community’s liberal leanings, and the plethora of the other signs, I must admit surprise seeing one so blatantly contrary. We live where views dissident to progressive feelings-based beliefs and values simply are not tolerated.
Why wait for Halloween to show off how San Diegans go nutso decorating all things ghoulish for October 31st? Our attention turns to seemingly innocuous street art (graffiti by any other name) scrawled on a utility box along El Cajon Blvd at 30th Street in North Park.
Perhaps, like me, “spoopy” is unfamiliar to you. Or perhaps you caught the 60-seconds of meme-fame a dozen years ago, when a single Flickr photo purloined and reposted on a Tumblr blog set off a frenzy of trick-or-treat wordplay.
About four minutes before observing the rocket launch last night, I passed by a neighbor’s seasonal hanging that beckoned to be photographed. I started to pull out Samsung Galaxy S23 Ultra then stopped, seeing the camera beside the screen security door. I moved along.
Then I thought: What the hell. Maybe the homeowner(s) won’t be offended and post my mug, with flaming caption, on Nextdoor. I backed up, shot the Featured Image, and quickly walked away. Who knows? Maybe the 10x zoom put me just far enough away from the door-cam.
On Sept. 10, 2023, as I pulled up to the pump at my local filling station, a looming, white pickup truck came in behind me. The other driver was quicker getting out of her vehicle (because I lumbered gathering together cash).
I stepped inside to pay and found her jabbering away with the clerk; she had a friendly mile-a-minute mouth. She spoke about how bad is the economy when the last person to fill up could only afford $3.75 of gas. Context: Price at the pump paid in cash or by debit card was $5.50. So that customer got less than one gallon’s worth.
In July 2017, when we were home shopping, I started to monitor—and occasionally write about—the local housing market. The next month, countywide, median price for a single-family residence reached $610,000, according to San Diego Association of Realtors. Fast-forward six years and $1,025,000 is median, according to SDAR, which released the data yesterday.
By my quick math, that’s a 68-percent increase, which makes homeownership an outstanding investment for anyone owning before SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 lockdowns in early 2020 or increased interest rates this year and last. For anyone else not fairly wealthy, the choices are rent, move, or live on the streets—something of an increasingly common lifestyle.
I can’t complain about the weather, because inland San Diego County scorched today. Here in University Heights, which is closer to the coast, temperature reached toasty 30.5 degrees Celsius (87 Fahrenheit). As I write, it’s cooler 25 C (77 F) and best reason for the evening walk recently completed.
For days, I meant to document gasoline prices on the rise, after something of a decline that nevertheless was ghastly high compared to other states. According to AAA, the national average, as of this very day, is $3.83 per gallon. What a break. My local station at El Cajon Blvd and Texas Street is only $1.77 higher. Average for all California is $5.41 per gallon, which, by the way, is highest price for any state—even Alaska and Hawaii.
It’s called popular culture for a reason. I don’t recall ever watching any of “The Love Bug” movies and yet have absorbed enough osmotically over the decades to know the basics: Animated Volkswagen Beetle—with personality, no less. Road race. Clueless adult protagonists. Oh, perhaps most revealing: I am familiar with the vehicle’s number and racing decals.
So unsurprisingly, I immediately recognized the Herbie detailing of the Toyota Scion parked on a street in my San Diego neighborhood of University Heights, today. If I were going to pick a modern, non-VW, that is close enough to the vintage vehicle, this coupe compact would be near top of the list.
Last night, while walking to Sprouts market for organic whole milk (yum), I came upon the strangest sight that took some seconds to comprehend. A chalked-like (paint, more likely) outline stretched out from the Stop sign at Florida and Meade into the street.
The graffiti mimics a crime scene, where the cops mark out where the body lays. Here, someone chose the long shadow cast by the traffic sign. I have to wonder if there is intent, meaning, and, ah, metaphor here.