The menacing palm dons the season’s appropriate attire. Perhaps you remember his “Be Mine” Valentine or “Uncle Sam” glam for Fourth of July? He is a grim Easter Bunny, stretching out arms in an embrace that I wouldn’t take. You?
Maybe rather than give out candy, he sees you as the cream-filled treat. So don’t be fooled by the cute ears. The teeth! Look at the teeth.
At the corner where University Heights ends and North Park begins, my wife and I waited to walk across El Cajon Blvd. I turned to see a car come up Texas Street to the intersection; a big `ol dog hung out the window. I pulled around Leica Q2 for a quick shot, not wanting to draw the attention of the driver and possibly to offend him.
The Featured Image is about a 95 percent crop, which deliberately includes price of gasoline—down from a high of $5.96 per gallon as recently as last week at this station and others around my San Diego neighborhood. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/8, ISO 100, 1/500 sec, 28mm; 11:38 a.m. PDT, today.
One of University Height’s fixtures is Mystic Mocha, which through change of ownership survived the SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 shutdowns mandated by California Governor Gavin Newsom and also San Diego County health authorities.
Today, as my wife and I walked by the place, we happened upon a sign at the corner of Alabama and Mission. I pulled around Leica Q2, knelt down low, and shot the Featured Image. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/8, ISO 100, 1/320 sec, 28mm; 11:39 a.m. PDT.
Nested among commercial cathedrals to alcohol and hedonism is the Hsi Fang Temple on Park Blvd in University Height’s main business district. The location is prime real estate that developers drool over, and it’s a spiritual stakeholder among one of the many San Diego communities where Christianity is in decline (see my missive “Is God Inclusive?” for perspective on that values topic).
I occasionally will see Buddhist monks, dressed in their more traditional garb, walking about UH. They are in some ways the biggest reminder of the temple’s presence, in part because the building, while massive, is unpretentious. Street-facing Buddha’s Light Bookstore might draw more attention if open more hours (website says Wednesday evenings and 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. on weekends).
The current housing bubble—and there absolutely is one—bears only modest resemblance to the previous catastrophe, which I warned about in a lengthy August 2005 analysis. Rising mortgage rates already are deflating the 2020’s-decade bubble, but the pop is unavoidable without fundamental changes in the actual market or the myths used to explain existing dynamics.
Since before anyone heard of SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19, which economic and societal disruption super-inflated the housing bubble, I had warned about a dangerous trend that ignores common sense observation of national demographics: Among the two largest segments, Baby Boomers are dying off and Millennials aren’t having many kids. As population growth stalls, there will be less demand for housing because there will be fewer people to buy. Meaning: All the babbling about not enough inventory has set into motion an overbuilding frenzy that is sure to deflate home values in the not-so-distant future. Before pandemic lockdowns, I had thought within 10 years. I now expect less than five—if we’re lucky.
Weather forecast of searing heat inspired me to take a long walk this morning before temperature rose—and it did, eventually reaching 35.5 degrees Celsius (96 F) in my San Diego neighborhood of University Heights. I mostly stayed in the alleys, where buildings’ shadows offered some relief. In the one separating Campus and Cleveland, I came upon a hapless plant, beret of pot.
What you don’t see in the Featured Image—and what I should have captured—is the back passenger tire of a Honda SUV. That precarious placement is what initially drew my attention to the neglected thing. Presumably, someone left out the item as a freebee. Perhaps languished from the second day’s unseasonable scorcher, or already ailing, the wilted plant appealed much less than its pot. Hence the presumed abandonment.
Yesterday, after photographing the bicycle traffic light, I continued along University Avenue in San Diego’s Hillcrest neighborhood before stopping to wonder at the mural that is the Featured Image and companion. The first hugs cross-street Sixth and the second is along the main throughway.
Is this who we are after two years of masking during the SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 crisis? Faceless? So stripped of humanity to be utterly featureless, without even eyes? Whatever the artist’s intent, I see an overt—not even hidden—message: You are nobody. In a society where even gender is disputed, maybe no identity is the only rendition to depict.
San Diego is embarked on the Herculean task of creating new bike lanes—and they’re seemingly everywhere in Hillcrest, North Park, and University Heights. Today, while standing at Fifth and University avenues, I saw something surprising that probably shouldn’t be: Traffic lights for riders. In a community culture where bikers barrel through intersections like they own the right of way, the city seeks to tame them to the same rules that everyone else abides by.
Hell, yeah. Hey, Two-Wheeler, someone saved your life. Thank them.
On Nov. 6, 2010, in Ocean Beach, Calif., I came across some vintage Leica film cameras, cases, and lenses for sale at an antique mall. Back then, I had little understanding about the bigger brand or the real value of older gear, even though shooting the X1, which interested me more for being an excellent all-in-one, fixed-Prime lens shooter.
Nothing in the display case sold for more than $100, if I rightly recall. I considered buying something but passed, which is unfortunate. Collectors pursue classic Leica, and the Leitz Photographica Auction is one of the places they go to spend sometimes tens of thousands to millions of Euros. Now I doubt anything so valuable was available on that November day nearly 12 years ago. But there might have been something that I could use for film photography, even if that required some manufacturer restoration. But I saw nothing more than old cameras that happened to be the same brand as my own.
As my wife and I walked up Madison Avenue from the overlook, we passed a man gardening in a yard. “I’m Ready” came a voice behind us. We turned, and he motioned to my camera, which I pulled around. He posed, and I clicked the shutter for a single shot. We exchanged smiles, and I offered thanks. Sometime in the future, I must go back for his name.
The Featured Image comes from Leica Q2 Monochrom. I had planned to complete an errand in Hillcrest, where I usually shoot black and white rather than color. But the day was so pretty after several drizzling overcast and being with my wife was so lovely that I walked with Annie about University Heights instead.
The Featured Image is example of a failed photo. I used Leica Q2 to capture the moment on Oct. 15, 2021 and held back sharing because the composition doesn’t work, whether cropped or as shot. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/8, ISO 100, 1/80 sec, 28mm; 4:32 p.m. PDT.
When stopping to look at the crusty chair, abandoned in a University Heights alley, I thought it would nicely juxtapose with the classic car—both being vintage. My mistake.
On this day in 2012, my wife and I brought home the ginger that the County of San Diego Animal Services called Dermott. We renamed him Neko, which is Japanese for cat. The shelter took him in on February 15. We would have first seen him on either the 18th or 25th; I don’t recall which but am confident a Saturday. Because he was so handsome, we were surprised to see him on subsequent visits.
Our Maine Coon mix, Kuma, disappeared on January 15. After city workers recovered his collar in a nearby canyon, we had to assume that a coyote took him. But being ever hopeful not, I checked the shelter website most evenings and we walked through the facility every few days looking. All the while, Dermott remained unclaimed, and we soon learned why.