Tag: Leica Q

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The Cats of University Heights: Lilly

Where do they come from—all these putty-tats on Alabama? I have spent more time walking along Campus, Cleveland, or Maryland, for example, and they can’t, combined, match the number of beasties living on—like the Lynyrd Skynyrd song—”Sweet Home Alabama”. Meet the thirteenth cat from the street to appear in the series; there are four others that I have sighted but not presented, for poor photographs or none yet made. Surely, there are more.

The others (so far): Bella, Burglar, Cal, Goldie, Itchy Valentino, Laramie, LupeMr. Kitty, MonkeyAnthony, Smokey, and Willow. The newest member of the SHA Club earns nickname Tipsy, because the tip of her tail is bent as if it had been broken but healed crooked. She wore a striking pink collar but without ID tag (damn it). The shorthair and I visited yesterday morning, about midway between Mission and Madison. 

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Valentine’s Vendor

Park Blvd. and Mission is a spot where I hadn’t seen flower sellers until this overly pink and red holiday. (Cough, cough, can you believe Pizza Hut sells heart-shaped pies with chocolate-chip cookie or brownie bundle? Hey, baby, let’s make some love handles!) I passed by the gent, then backtracked and asked if I could snap a portrait. He agreed. Obviously.

I am not a flash fan but there are times when fill-flash would be helpful—like when the subject stands under a shady tarp, surrounded by blaring sunlight. Even with manual controls, my amateur inexperience couldn’t manually adjust aperture or exposure compensation enough. That’s where post-production editing of the RAW remedies. 

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You Dunno Where This Cat Lives

Another benefit using Leica Q, or any camera without GPS built-in: Location information isn’t captured with photos, and, as such, cannot easily be made available across the Wild Wild Web (yes, that’s what the WWW really represents). I know, from memory, that the Featured Image was shot somewhere along Adams Ave. in San Diego’s Normal Heights neighborhood. But I can’t exactly recall where.

Perhaps because kitties are so popular on the Internet, nearly four-year-old website “I Know Where Your Cat Lives” uses them to make a privacy point, by showing how pics shared online reveal location. Ah, like your residence! “Hey, Look. That’s Jack’s living room, and there’s Frisky”. 

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The Coins I Left Behind

While walking along Kansas from 30th Street in North Park towards the University Heights boundary at Texas, I spotted 21-cents change on the sidewalk. I moved about 10 steps before turning back—not to grab the coins but to capture the moment with Leica Q. Why leave dime, nickels, and penny? Doing so is a more interesting story than taking them.

I wondered why the change remained. Had no little kids, or perhaps someone homeless, come by? Surely 21 cents would mean something to someone. Were the coins maybe embedded in the cement (I didn’t check)? Who had left them there? Were they an accidental loss that kept little Johnny from buying ice cream at the corner store? Maybe they were dropped by someone so wealthy picking them up wasn’t worth the time? Oh the questions the forlorn change raised from its fallen, forgotten state. 

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The Cats of University Heights: Bramble

There are days I long for a reliable, interchangeable-lens mirrorless digital camera, like the Fujifilm X-T2, from which a good telephoto could close the distance to a subject. Then again, I doubt whether such a sophisticated instrument could capture such fine feline. The Summilux 28mm f/1.7 lens of the Leica Q may seem to shoot too wide, but precise manual focus let me cut through branches and full-frame sensor later made possible a moment from close-in crop.

I took the Featured Image and its companion yesterday afternoon, along Florida Street, soon after crossing Howard towards Polk. The kitty was a chance sighting and difficult capture. As I passed a cement wall, with overgrown hedge above, I spotted the cat through the branches, waiting outside a door to be let in.

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The Cats of University Heights: Carl

The East side of the neighborhood sure has an abundance of lovely smokey grey kitties, living close-by one another. Yesterday, I met Carl, his owner, and dog in a yard near where Mission and Mississippi meet. Down Mississippi, beyond Monroe, Ohana lives within sharp-eyeshot. At the end of the street turn onto Meade towards Alabama and somewhere you may meet Amanda. Along Alabama, there reside Laramie and Smokey, at houses diagonally across the street. I am no cat breed connoisseur and must ask: Are any of these Russian Blue?

Carl’s official nickname is Monkey because of his curled tail. Hehe, a block-and-a-half down and over on Alabama roams a tiger-tabby whose real name is Monkey; the old-timer and street’s dominant male turns 14 in March. Along Monroe, just down from Mississippi, lives Bruce, who goes on long walks with his owner and dog. Ha! Carl tags along, too, but only for short distances, because his master doesn’t like the cat crossing the street. 

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‘Don’t You (Forget About Me)’

For weeks, I wanted to capture this sign along Adams Ave., but each passby was in the car. Until today, when I walked to Pet Me Please for cat food. The Featured Image is from Leica Q. For comparison, the other is an iPhone X shot, using the second lens to 2X zoom.

Vitals for the first, aperture manually set for street shooting: f/8, ISO 100, 1/400 sec; 1:42 p.m. PST, today. The other: f/2.4, ISO 16, 1/1171 sec, 6mm; 1:43 p.m. Metadata indicates that the Q shot was 1:45, but that is incorrect as I used the X afterwards. Turns out the clock was running three minutes fast; it is now reset-corrected. 

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Burtech Blues Break

I stand corrected about the water pipeline work, which seemed to reach its mainstay on Jan. 12, 2018. Two days ago, Burtech contractor crews started to earnestly tear up our street, compelling closed apartment windows that keep out noise and dust and, disappointedly, pleasant weather.

My repast has been longer walks, to parts of the neighborhood where the natural sounds of birds, other wildlife, and breeze rustling palm fronds are soothing ambience. This afternoon, while walking down Meade Ave. towards Texas Street, I passed a lone rose rising defiantly behind cement wall, challenging the urban, human landscape’s listless, lifeless incursion. 

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The Cats of University Heights: Token

Early afternoon yesterday, my wife and I spotted a handsome Bengel-like furball whose portrait I shot with iPhone X in a yard off the alley coming from Cliff Street to Adams Ave. Disappointed with the results, I later returned with Leica Q but ended up at a nearby apartment courtyard capturing another kitty, a blackie.

He rolled in grass neaby the front gate, presenting outstanding opportunity for lovely candids. But as I slowly approached, the feline fled two-thirds-away across the lot. Just after I composed and shot several photos, one of the residents came up to the gate. She knew the shorthair, who belongs to a neighbor, and said the animal is called Token. I presume, thinking of the cat’s color, that his name comes from South Park character Token Black

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The Cats of University Heights: Seer

Meet the first of two additional window watchers, whose portraits were captured on the same day, Jan. 16, 2018, but in vastly different areas of the neighborhood. The other joins the series tomorrow. The shorthair earns nickname Seer for having an expansive view from the second floor.

Seer is the eleventh kitty positioned in a window looking out. The other 10: CharmCoolCurious, Glass, KitSeeker, StarStill, Twain, and Watcher. Another, Burglar, climbs into one. 

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The Cats of University Heights: Ohana

Some people are so rude—and I refer to myself. On Jan. 13, 2018, as my wife and I walked along Mississippi Street between Meade and Monroe, we spotted a pretty, grey kitty about half-way down the block. As we approached, the shorthair moved around a car in the street, later going back to the sidewalk, then passing through the door-fence bars into a yard. I took out Leica Q and started snapping portraits.

About three minutes after the photo shooting started, with a dog barking loudly inside the house, a man came out to see what caused the ruckus. I explained, although with camera in hand my purpose was obvious. He shouted—to get above the barking—that the beastie was “the neighbor’s cat”. Someone perhaps more polite would have stopped there, to give the gent relief from the yapper inside the house. But I pressed, asking for a name. “Hanna!” he yelled. I thanked him and moved along. Yes, but is that with an “h” at the end? If only I could have read the collar tag.