We stay on Alabama for the seventy-fourth feline featured from the street between boundaries Adams and Lincoln; also the seventy-fifth looking out door or window. This tired, sunning shorthair earns nickname Droopy.
I used Leica Q2 to capture the Featured Image on Aug. 4, 2021. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/5.6, ISO 100, 1/640 sec, 28mm; 10:15 a.m. PDT.
Late afternoon, my wife asked: “What is all that honking?” Annie was right. Car horns could be heard in the distance, occasionally and repeatedly tooting. We turned to one another flummoxed over the sudden roar of cheering that reminded of sporting events. What was going on nearby—and where? I left to find out, following the sounds that piqued our mutual curiosities.
Our University Heights apartment is located about .8-kilometer (one-half mile) walking distance from administrative offices for San Diego Unified School District, where a sizable crowd had gathered with picket signs. As I arrived, a woman’s voice bellowed over loudspeakers advocating against vaccine mandates and for parents’ rights to choose for their children—not the government nor SDUSD. What I didn’t understand: The school board scheduled a 5 p.m. PDT meeting to vote on a proposal requiring staff and some students to be vaccinated. How ironic: They cowered in isolation via Zoom, while parents protested in person.
I count more than 70 birds in the Featured Image, captured by Leica Q2 on Sept. 25, 2021. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/5.6, ISO 100, 1/640 sec, 28mm; 3:20 p.m. PDT. I came upon them while walking along Adams Ave. at Boundary Street on my way to Pet Me Please in Normal Heights. What you don’t see: There were even more of them across the way—the majority on a roof ledge and utility pole wires.
The previous afternoon, unseasonably torrential rains and thunderstorms roared through San Diego County. Flood warning alerts pinged my iPhone XS every few minutes. The official precipitation total here in University heights: 1.4 cm (.56 inches) at 5:15 p.m., after about an hour of heavy rainfall. The next morning, crows and pigeons pecked all about from fresh food washed into clumps and (presumably) fallen from trees (e.g., fruit, insects, and more).
Not so long ago, I swapped smartphones every few months. Various models and underlying platforms from different manufacturers demanded testing and review. But the pace of innovation has slowed, the overall market reached the “good enough” threshold, and I don’t write about tech on a daily basis. Hence, my wife and I have each carried iPhone XS since June 2019. That is until today, when we migrated to the 13 Pro.
The Featured Image is, appropriately, the last photo I will ever shoot with the XS. The 1TB Silver on the left is mine; the 512GB Sierra Blue on the right is Annie’s. Vitals: f/1.8, ISO 25, 1/122 sec, 26mm; 1:02 p.m. PDT.
My wife and I cannot find an escape destination from SoCal. The SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 pandemic proved to be massive interference—from “stay-at-home” shutdowns to insanely rising house prices as newfound work-from-homers fled the cities for more affordable areas that we also considered. Perhaps we were too compliant Californians and locked down when getting ahead of the escaping herd would have made more sense. But we still search, with hopes of vamoosing this year.
That raises question: Will I be around for San Diego Comic-Con Special Edition, which is scheduled for Thanksgiving Weekend? I ask because—oh my fraking luck—the SDCC overlords blessed me (“praise be“, as they say on Handmaid’s Tale) with opportunity to buy a pass during open registration today. How could I refuse?
Save the time! Tomorrow at 11 a.m. PDT, registration starts for Comic-Con Special Edition, which takes place Nov. 26-28, 2021 at the San Diego Convention Center. The homage to geek culture will be a smaller event than the typical July gathering, which was canceled this year and last because of SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 lockdowns and restrictions.
The latter still applies. Attendees, vendors, and any one else must “wear an approved face covering regardless of vaccination status”, according to the organizer. “Face coverings should completely cover the nose and mouth, fit snugly against the sides of the face, and not have any gaps”. Well, won’t that make a mess of costumes. In that spirit, I would love to see a group of vampires protesting the mandate—because they can’t suck blood while wearing masks. Or maybe someone should show up wearing Guy Fawkes mask.
I met the seventy-third Alabama Street kitty, Ozzie, with his sister Delilah, while they were leash-walked by their friendly owners, on Sept. 5, 2021. I used iPhone XS to capture the Featured Image. Vitals: f/1.8, ISO 25, 1/305 sec, 26mm; 9:25 a.m. PDT.
About a dozen other cats live on the same block—that I am aware. Some are yet to be photographed and, thus, are not profiled in the series.
Where do all these Alabama animals come from? Meet Delilah, the seventy-second kitty profiled from the street since the series started in October 2016. I happened upon a friendly couple leash-walking Delilah and her brother Ozzie on Sept. 5, 2021. Across the way lives Samba, who gets similarly supervised jaunts.
I used iPhone XS to capture the Featured Image. Vitals: f/2.4, ISO 16, 1/266 sec, 52mm; 9:24 a.m. PDT.
I made two meaningless discoveries along Alabama Street between Madison and Mission, today: The hanging kiddie swing is gone; a child’s ball remains, but the bouncy wasn’t there yesterday. Earlier this month, toys disappeared from the front yard of the house where once lived black kitty Petri and his owner; last week a “For Rent” sign hung from the fence. So I strongly suspected that the family had moved on. Confirmed.
The ball lay on the grassy knoll between sidewalk and street before the property where once resided Giotto and where I more recently photographed Sundown. All three animals are profiled in my “Cats of University Heights” series.
During the same walk that I photographed Crepe Myrtle blossoms, on Aug. 25, 2021, a seemingly patriotic-painted utility box caught my attention at 54th and El Cajon Blvd. While I used iPhone XS to make several shots, a gentlemen coming down the sidewalk asked about my interest in the thing—surprised and maybe a bit amused. Easy explanation: Walking home from the dentist, I saw something interesting.
As I separated from him at brisk pace, because my wife waited for me several blocks farther along, he politely yelled: “Welcome to my neighborhood!” I turned back and thanked him with wave and smile. If only more people in San Diego were so friendly.
Honestly, if not for the storytelling value, you would not be looking at the homage to narcissism that is the Featured Image. While walking in the San Diego neighborhood of University Heights on Sept. 6, 2021, my wife spotted something in the middle of the intersection at Georgia and Meade. She fetched what turned out to be a mounted print laying face down on the asphalt. Somewhat shocked by the strangeness of the find, she set the abandoned art against a utility poll, pulled out iPhone XS, and snapped a photo. Vitals: f/1.8, ISO 25, 1/530 sec, 26mm; 6:13 p.m. PDT.
I find the thing to be rather repulsive. Near as I can understand from standard web searching, the print is “Armed Forces” from the Hat Series by Chinese painter Yue Minjun. His works depict himself—so, yeah, he is each of the seven smiling weirdos that you see. There’s something oh-so unsettling and insanely appropriate about his style at a time when social media and smartphones propagate narcissists like mold in the damp walls of a leaky house.
I am sentimental abut the animals appearing in my “Cats of University Heights” series and feel fondness for their owners when privileged enough to meet them. Two days ago, after photographing the Alfa Romeo parked on Lincoln, I walked by a house where lives a handsome Tuxedo who was profiled in October 2019. Where’s Kitty? I asked myself, strangely not seeing him sunning on the sidewalk or sleeping on his couch on the porch. This afternoon, I ambled past and saw something startling where he might normally be: On a box a homemade sign stating that “Kitty is missing! Have you seen him?” Oh, how I wish.
His owner is a delightful woman in her Seventies who lives in the house her grandmother bought about a hundred years ago. Generational homes are an increasing rarity—as are people who grew up in the neighborhood. She used to play in the canyons and graduated from San Diego High School. The lady is a gem and kitty was her treasure. I will update this post after speaking with her sometime soon. She’s in my heart tonight.