On a quiet Tuesday evening, with the car in the shop and my finger healing (hopefully) from a second-degree grease-splatter burn, I share something simple and soothing.
I used Canon EOS 20D to capture the Featured Image, which is composed as shot and presented without alteration. This one is a JPG straight from the camera. Vitals, aperture and shutter speed manually set: f/7.1, ISO 400, 1/500 sec, 100mm; 3:19 p.m. EDT, June 24, 2007. Lens: Canon EF100mm f/2.8 Macro USM.
How rude is that? In the midst of a massive shortage, one of my neighbors flaunts that he has a source of eggs. Just kidding, of course. You could raise chickens, too. If someone can keep them in San Diego, where houses pack tightly together with limited outdoor space, you could do as much with a little ingenuity. Then when online and TV commentators rail about bird flu cracking the egg supply chain, you won’t be Humpty Dumpty all broken up because store shelves are empty.
Returning to the topic of my neighbor’s chickens, if they were mine, I would watch them carefully when pecking about the lawn. Because of the so-called egg apocalypse, some passerby might decide to pluck one of the birds. What’s worse than a porch pirate purloining your Amazon delivery? Someone stealing your birds. Don’t expect them to escape the chase or cluck for help. They are an emotional and financial investment that you don’t want to risk losing.
New Years, today by the Lunar Calendar, affords opportunity to make—or in this instance amend—my personal motto. On Jan. 1, 2023, I presented “Be Strong” as my declaration for the year ahead. Three weeks later, a tweak is necessary. On January 19, when encouraging you to not be slave to fear and hysteria, I quipped: “Master the moment”. Oh I like that.
To master the moment, you should be strong. To be strong often demands taking charge (e.g. mastering the moment). So the two can stand alone or be combined.
Two days ago, I smugly boasted about finding plenty of egg-dozens—and same price as the previous week—at my local Trader Joe’s. Happening by the store this afternoon, I passed the cooler where eggs are supposed to be and—as you can see from the Featured Image—there were none. Goodness me.
“Decrease in chicken population” is a great excuse that fits with all the bird flu hysteria. I don’t doubt that supplies are somewhat constrained right now. But I also recognize that fear of shortages drives people to panic purchase, leading to the predicted predicament. That TJ’s receives “deliveries every morning” means the supply chain flows fluidly enough that not only are eggs available but prices stay stable.
After an unexpected hiatus, we return to Alabama Street, from which has come the largest number of kitties to appear in the series since its start in October 2016. Our newcomer is ninety-fourth among the 529 total profiles.
On Dec. 30, 2022, my wife and I passed this cutie, who has the privilege of being the one-hundred-fifth feline found looking out window or door. I used Samsung Galaxy S22 Ultra‘s 10x optical zoom for the Featured Image. Vitals: f/4.9, ISO 40, 1/120 sec, 230mm; 10 am PST.
My wife and I set out for Costco Business Center to stock up foodstuffs, today. Our car is going into the shop for a short stint, and we wanted to grab grub from stores that are too far away to walk. But the entrance ramp onto HR-163 was inexplicitly closed, compelling us to abort. Trader Joe’s was nearby, eggs were on our list, and the grocery sells a dozen for the same price as the warehouse.
But would there be any in stock? For weeks, we’ve watched countless commentators warn about a shortage of eggs and skyrocketing prices (like seven bucks a dozen). Bird flu is blamed. If I learned nothing else from all the SARS-CoV-2(severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 insanity, fear is the virus—and, whoa, is it contagious. My advice to you: Don’t be afraid. Judge by what you see, not by what you hear someone say.
While walking to Pet Me Please in San Diego neighborhood Normal Heights, today, I passed a mural that demanded photographic attention. Unknown to me at the time: The building’s business is All County Fire, which sells protective equipment for preventing or combating unwanted, ah, flaming events.
The Featured Image is a single shot; my plan to take another was interrupted by a gentleman who asked if I had taken a photo of his car, which was parked on the street. He worried about an accident; perhaps he had experience, but I didn’t ask. After understanding the object of my interest, he praised the artist who painted the mural, explaining another adorned the other side of building. I later looked but didn’t find it.
Redevelopment of the half block where meet El Cajon Blvd and Louisiana Street currently is underway. When iconic Postal Convenience Center abruptly closed in July 2021 after 34 years of operation, I wrongly assumed that the business was another casualty of SARS-CoV-2(severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 shutdown mandates. Rather, the place lost its lease, as did Cave of Wonders further down The Boulevard.
In additional to commercial properties along El Cajon, on nearby Louisiana, a small collection of Craftsman homes and cottages were emptied of tenants. All the buildings were destroyed in late April 2022. Welcome to more San Diego urban renewal that could create even more unaffordable housing.
For reasons I won’t even guess, Mississippi isn’t a street where many felines are seen. The series‘ exceptions are notable, like Kittens, Kitty, or Sylvester. On Dec. 9, 2022, I saw one peeking (hence, the nickname) before blinds; single sighting.
Peeky is the one-hundred-fourth profiled putty looking out door or window. The Featured Image comes from Leica Q2. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/5.6, ISO 100, 1/640 sec, 28mm; 2:26 p.m. PST.
Surely you recall hearing or reading the title of this post somewhere. “He didn’t make it” is such an overly used movie or television trope (books, too). The statement also aptly describes the fate of the fallen Grinch who is subject of the Featured Image. He survived immediate decoration take-down following end of the Christmas holidays, but he was no match for the series of torrential rainstorms buffeting California.
Flooding. Mudslides. Power outages. Record snowfall in the mountains. Sinkholes. Hey, but no wildfires; too wet for that. But, don’t you fret; all that water will soon be forgotten. Sun will dry the place, pretty quickly, and the body politick will want to resume fear-mongering about drought conditions caused (presumably) by Climate Change.
Today, I did an In-N-Out drive-by while other cars were ridiculously stuck in the drive-thru. What’s up with all this vehicular laziness? Park. Go inside and order. Your food will come faster. Shall we time it so you can see, or is your butt so planted you would never consider the freedom and ease found at the counter?
But I digress. The Featured Image, quickly taken from inside my Honda using Samsung Galaxy S22 Ultra, is shared solely to illustrate this post—and opportunity to snark vomit all over the fast-foodery’s homeland. This week, In-N-Out announced plans to open its farthest east location(s). In Tennessee. Why the Volunteer State, you might ask. The company doesn’t really answer, but you don’t need more sense than the drive-thru nutters to rightly reason. That’s where the customers are—meaning California expats and refugees. And you thought they all flocked to Idaho and Texas (yes, where many did flee).
Yesterday, as I arrived for my haircut, the barber walked out of the adjacent grocery store with two lottery tickets in hands. Later, after finishing the masterpiece made with razor and scissors, he boasted about giving me a $1.3 billion cut—referring to the Mega Millions drawing later tonight. I would look dapper in a tux ready to collect the prize, he said.
Well, yeah, if I bought a ticket. But I only had cash enough to pay for the haircut, unless he gave up part of his tip. “That would be a great story”, he answered, telling it and agreeing that I should keep back two bucks to play. I walked next store and bought a ticket.