Along the same apartment complex knoll where appears Bleu, I sometime see another feline—either alone or nearby. Since the nickname for one is translated from English to French, let’s do the same with the other; Noire, which is the feminine, for black.
I assume, and possibly wrongly, that Noire is not only female but mother to the Kittens discovered in the connecting property. Resemblance is unmistakable, which doesn’t make my presumption right.
Everywhere you look, there are reports about rising inflation, which is presented as increases in prices of goods. As a longtime journalist with a reputation for making complex concepts simple and straightforward to understand, I must correct the glaring mistake made by the majority of news reports: Inflation and rising prices are not the same, although there is an undeniable relationship between the two.
Inflation isn’t prices going up but the value of money going down. Spending power decreases. The classic case is late-1923 Germany, when, because of hyperinflation, “a loaf of bread cost 140 billion marks. Workers were paid twice a day, and given half-hour breaks to rush to the shops with their satchels, suitcases, or wheelbarrow, to buy something, anything, before their paper money halved in value yet again” (source: “Loads of Money“, Economist).
Today, while making a purchase at a used bookstore, I spotted a booklet containing the United States Constitution on the counter. I asked the price. “Free”, the owner answered, “from ACLU”. He emphasized the acronym for the American Civil Liberties Union like either I didn’t know what the organization was or that there was special significance by the group producing the handout—perhaps both. Whichever, or neither, he wanted to impart something.
Was either my surprise or interest at all the reason? His next statement, unprompted, perhaps explains: “It says nothing about assault rifles…[but] well-regulated militia. Most militias are illegal”. That was so left-field—politically, not just figuratively—I couldn’t rightly respond. He referred to the Second Amendment: “A well-regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed”.
Along the North Avenue alley, in San Diego’s University Heights neighborhood, someone put out a leather chair packing soon-to-be seasonal decorations. I came upon the giveaways late morning Feb. 4, 2022 while carrying Leica Q2. […]
Squinting may be necessary to make out this fine feline, which might be, uh-oh, a Russian Blue. Based on current social norms of conformance, businesses (or other entities) and individuals must boycott all things from Russia because of the country’s invasion into Ukraine. Being a devout nonconformist, I won’t penalize a cat for its breed.
Mock me if you like on the social media service of your choosing. I won’t see the post. What’s that quandary question: If a tree falls in the forest and no one hears does it make a sound? Similarly, if you post angrily about me and I don’t see does it matter? No. Go ahead, wriggle your grimy fingers on physical or screen keypad.
My work blog for JupiterResearch disappeared after Forrester’s acquisition during Summer 2008. I had long left the analyst firm and smartly brought a copy of all the content with me. On April 7, 2005, I griped about Congress’ plan to add two months to Daylight Saving Time, which, incidentally, commenced day before yesterday for 2022.
This afternoon, my newsfeeds flared with a report from Washington, D.C. that our, uhm, illustrious senators unanimously voted for the so-called Sunshine Protection Act, which would make DST permanent. Meaning: Year-round. I am almost impressed by their god-like gall—that they, and they alone, can protect the sun. Okay, they do need cooperation of the House of Representatives drafting like legislation and signature from the President. But aren’t they, as a collective group, one big ego? You don’t need answer.
Last month, I shared with you the pizza face mural on the side of a restaurant soon to open at El Cajon Blvd and Louisiana in San Diego’s University Heights neighborhood. Day before yesterday, when returning from checking gas prices at two Texas Street stations, I caught cheesy boy’s reflection in the Postal Convenience Center across the way.
The 34-year-old business suddenly closed on July 6, 2021 after losing its lease. That whole corner block, including several houses on Louisiana, are slated for demolition and redevelopment, presumably as another ugly apartment or condominium complex. Oh joy.
On Valentine’s Day, we rushed to be among the people signing up for “The Prepper’s Roadmap”. Initial enrollment ended on February 18, and we paid $197 for the privilege. The course seeks to educate enrollees about how to prepare for calamities, whether they be natural disasters (like earthquakes or wildfires here in San Diego) or crisis of human instigation (like cyberattack that takes down banking systems or power grids), among others. I would recommend the educational series, if the first-round of registrations hadn’t closed. You can’t sign up today; in the future, though.
My wife and I aren’t so-called preppers—and we never expect be. Meaning: If you’re looking for a horde of food or supplies during an apocalypse, we won’t have it. Our apartment is small and we aren’t of the mindset. That said, we do recognize the increasingly dangerous times in which we live, when looking at advancing economic crisis or Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, for example. Not being naturally paranoid about catastrophes and preparation for them, Annie and I liked the idea of getting some no-nonsense advice from someone who is sensible rather than the typically fanatical.
I last quit Nextdoor on July 28, 2020, protesting the ridiculously ambiguous tenets of the so-called “Good Neighbor Pledge”. My account is now reactivated. Testing the limits of that pledge is one of my goals in what may be a temporary return. Why bother? You ask the right question.
Burgeoning crude oil per-barrel costs, surging inflation, rising prices on seemingly everything, the Russian-Ukraine war, and potentially devastating consequences (globally) from the West’s sanctions against Russia are precursors to economic crisis of frightening magnitude. S-o-o-o, my neighbors and I may have reason to buy and sell or barter items some time in the not-so-distant future.
San Diego may be a costly place to live, but the year-round summer, where lush growth and tweeting birds are constant, is big benefit—or so say I, the Maine boy. The Featured Image, roses growing alongside a house in an alley, demonstrates. The nearly 100-percent crop contrasts the blurred hanging flower pot behind.
Vitals, aperture manually set: f/2, ISO 100, 1/5000 sec, 28mm; 1:51 p.m. PST. I used Leica Q2 to make the moment on Jan. 1, 2022.
Gasoline prices continue their relentless rise here in San Diego. Regular unleaded now is $1 or more per gallon than on Feb. 24, 2022—when started Russia’s Ukrainian invasion. The Featured Image and companion compare changes over one day. The Arco is located at El Cajon Blvd and Texas Street, where North Park and University Heights meet.
But 30 cents a gallon more than yesterday, or the day before, isn’t the bigger difference. I awoke this morning to news alerts that Joseph Biden banned importation of Russian oil. Price to pump fuel is least of the problems. This sanction, on top of the others, leads to one conclusion, and a single consequence: The United States and Russia are unofficially at war. All that remains is declaration by one side or the other.
Heavy rains stormed through San Diego on the evening of Feb. 15, 2022, when a friendly but apparently stray tabby invited himself into the house where he had visited over several weeks. The family chose to keep him inside that evening, because of the ferocious weather. Next morning, the husband pulled over his car when seeing me to ask about the cat, which meowed from inside a carrier. The gent knew that I photographed local animals and wondered if I knew anything about this kitty. Damn, no.
Because the cat limped, my neighbor chose to take the feline for a microchip scan and maybe medical treatment. He was reluctant to leave a possible pet at the animal shelter. As we chatted, he decided to first go to a local veterinarian, see whether the tabby was chipped, and if so get it to the owner. What transpired next surprised and inspires, but there’s a postscript drama not directly related but possibly impacting shelter policy.