Perhaps you recall, from January 2021, the impromptu, Italiano, unshelled peanut diner nearby the home of Bruce, Guido, and Little—all of which appear in my “Cats of University Heights” series? Today, after seeing Halloween signage on the tree, I stopped with Leica Q2 for a quickie.
Coming up the sidewalk, beautifully blurred, a squirrel approaches. The rodent cares nothing about stinky feet but the treat that waits above the skeleton. Go for it, buddy.
Pop-up homeless shelters are increasingly common sights around San Diego, spurred by devastating rents (e.g., many people can’t afford them) and, on Sept. 30, 2022, the end of SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19-era eviction moratoriums. Many encampments are hidden away—or, when not, part of a larger grouping; the idea being safety in numbers protects against law enforcement or outraged, eh, housed residents.
So I was surprised, on October 15, to find this publicly placed standalone habitat at Georgia and Howard in University Heights. Climb the brick wall to the right and you will come out in the Sprouts market parking lot. Public library is on the same block.
Five days ago, while walking through San Diego district Hillcrest, I passed a gent reading a newspaper outside the bagel shop at shopping center The Hub. A few meters beyond him, I turned about and backtracked, thinking he could make a good moment. I shot two quickies from the hip, using Leica Q2 Monochrom.
The first is blurry; the second is the Featured Image. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/5.6, ISO 200, 1/125 sec, 28mm; 10:10 a.m. PDT. The candid capture is minimally recomposed and somewhat straightened. I seriously considered presenting a tight, 100-percent crop, which would make the headline—about a fired cop—clearer. Zooming in for a look is your job, should you want it.
This series started six years ago today, with Scruffy—a seemingly stray kitty seen once only. A few months earlier, I underwent cataracts surgery that replaced both my natural lenses, and, separately, a specialist treated Macular Edema in both my retinas. During the process of recovering my vision, I embarked into feline photography as visual therapy and to improve my skills with a camera.
In a neighborhood known for dogs, I expected to find maybe 30 cats—a month’s worth and then be done. Five-hundred-and-twelve profiles (including this one) later, I miscalculated. My shooting skills improved because of the project, and my eyes are healthier now; vision is better than normal in the left; that’s something to be grateful for. Hugely so.
I grit my teeth and put on my persevering personality, whenever need demands walking to neighboring Hillcrest. The atmosphere reeks of hedonism, narcissism, and self-obsession. Physically, the place is dirty, gritty, and seedy—particularly along the main University Avenue corridor and somewhat less Washington Street. The community is considered to be San Diego’s gay district, which couplings confirm and the plethora of rainbow flags or others for various gender identities; fire hydrants, too.
Here’s where someone will accuse me of being homophobic, when I am not: Well-to-do residents who whoop up happy hour and late-night fling fests grimly juxtapose a sizable homeless population. For a community of residents obsessed with all-rights for all genders, the lack of regard—or even sympathy—for people lacking more fundamental rights (life and well-being) is inhumane and, disappointingly, jives with my atmospheric assessment in the previous paragraph. What? Is it liberal values for me but not for thee?
Fifteen years ago today, the Wilcox family moved to San Diego. Apart from an 18-month hiatus, my wife lived in the Washington, DC area for about a quarter century, which was most of her adult life in October 2007. I can claim about a decade less residence in and around the Beltway but still a little more time than California—but not much longer, if we don’t vamoose sometime soon.
The city seemed sleepily comfortable for our first 10 or so years here. But since 2016-17, dramatic changes started to accelerate, reaching shocking crescendo during the SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 lockdowns—when, if nothing else, cost of housing (buying or renting) exploded upwards.
Whenever walking through Hillcrest, I typically carry Leica Q2 Monochrom, because black and white fits the grim character. Sidewalks are dirty and smell of urine; there are more homeless than litter—and the latter is no small amount. The San Diego neighborhood juxtaposes those residents of means (rents and cost of everything is high) and those without anything more than what they cart around.
The Featured Image is example enough. I believe that’s a gent hunched over looking at something—if not sleep standing, or attempting to be. Bags of belongings hang from what could be two shopping carts, but who can tell with bedding draped over?
In late-May 2022, we cut the cord for good—and for real—this time. Our first attempt was during June 2013, and we reconnected not long later. Streaming services couldn’t compare for video quality or, when aggregated, price compared to AT&T U-Verse. Each subsequent effort to cord-cut ended with the Wilcox household returning to IPTV or cable connection.
But recent launches of AMC+, Apple TV, Disney+, HBO Max, Peacock, and Paramount+, to name a few, along with content improvements from standard-bearers like Amazon Prime, Hulu, and Netflix, make streaming not only appealing but overwhelming. There is too much content. We had opportunity to switch to a local, 5G wireless Internet provider—and ditched U-Verse at the same time. Now we’re cord-cutters in the purest sense since we no longer have wired Internet.
As autumn colors lavish landscapes across the Northeastern United States, but eternal summer simmers in Southern California, I must go back to the past to find something appropriate to share—from our family’s time living a few miles outside the Washington, DC Beltway. On Nov. 2, 2005, I lugged outside Canon EOS 20D, mounted with the EF 70-200mm f/4L USM lens obtained a few days earlier.
The Featured Image and companion, both composed as captured, are picks from a series for each. Looking over the set reveals similar shots at different apertures. Interestingly, for the first, I prefer the renders where the house is less blurred. Vitals: f/18, ISO 800, 1/125 sec, 200mm; 12:51 p.m. EST.
What do they say about coincidence? On Oct. 7, 2022, my wife and I watched a live-streamed presentation from the “Save the Nation Conference“, where Leah Hoopes and Gregory Stenstrom detail their investigation into election fraud in Delaware County, Pa. during the 2020 election. What sets their effort apart from others built upon innuendo and supposition: Successful collection of actual evidence.
This afternoon, when returning from a walk, I found a book wrapped in a note on our doorstep. One of my neighbors left a copy of The Parallel Election: A Blueprint for Deception by Hoopes and Stenstrom. Huh? I can’t say who was more surprised: Me, that she left the tome, or her, later learning that I was familiar with the content and authors.
Yesterday we returned to 2007 with a backyard portrait of bunny Daisy. A few months earlier, June 24, I shot bug and flowers on a mini-medium that separates Decatur and University avenues where Newport Mill Road intersects both, in Kensington, Md. According to Google Maps street view, from June 2022, the place remains—even fuller and lusher than I recall.
I used Canon EOS 20D and EF100mm f/2.8 Macro USM lens to shoot the Featured Image and companion. How strange is it that I clearly remember this outing when others aren’t recollected. I can’t guess why are the quirks of memory, being such an otherwise meaningless moment.
I feel sentimental about our bunnies on this solemn Sunday evening. We let them go to a new home on Sept. 30, 2007, marking many of the painful final preparations before relocating from the DC/Maryland-metro area to San Diego. The Featured Image finds Daisy enjoying one final romp around the backyard, about two-and-a-half hours before her new caretakers came for her and Mayflower. Vitals: f/4.5, ISO 100, 1/80 sec, 70mm; 5:25 p.m. EDT. Portrait is from Nikon D200, composed as shot.
We adopted the flop-ear rabbit in August 2003 from Animal Exchange in Rockville, Md. My daughter had seen bunnies at Montgomery County Fair and asked for one. We stopped at the pet store en route and ended up taking home Daisy, who was already about six months old. She ran loose in my basement office throughout the day, or around the backyard. She stayed in her cage overnight. Daisy was a joyous, constant companion while I worked.