Tag: Leica Q2

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Palm Canyon Misadventure

My wife and I drove over to Balboa Park, today, to explore Palm Canyon Trail, only to find much of the path blocked by chain-link and sign. We covered greater distance walking from the parking lot to the path’s entrance. Well, welcome to the wiles of San Diego’s hidden natural wonders.

Still, I relished having dirt, rather than cement, beneath my shoes—and the outside-the-city feeling of being inside the canyon, beneath the cover of various tree species, with bird call above and the only other sound being the intrusive roar of jets flying overhead to land at the airport (yeah, flightpath).

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Perspective Highway

During the SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 lockdowns, I got into the bad habit of photographing alleys, buildings, and streets—yeah cats, too—but have yet to get back to people. They have come out of their dwellings, so I have no excuse.

That as preface, I present a pair of photos where humans are present but unseen. Hey, these aren’t self-driving cars. The view looks out from the University Avenue bridge in Hillcrest onto slow-moving traffic along California State Highway 163.

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This is Progress?

I am not obsessed with the construction site at El Cajon Blvd and Louisiana Street, despite the number of recent photos and commentaries about it: Cave’s Grave; Wonder Wall; Shattered Serenity; Postal Convenience Center. My interest is what the project represents to San Diego neighborhoods Hillcrest, North Park, and University Heights, where relaxation of zoning rules is bringing down charming businesses and homes and replacing them with high-rises that are way out of character with the area.

The Featured Image, taken on May 7, 2022 using Leica Q2, captures before, during, and after multi-unit construction. Foreground looks across the aforementioned recent demolition to a four-story residential complex at Mississippi, overlooking the recently relocated Red Fox Steak House.

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To Become an Amateur Radio Operator

Nine years after receiving a FRN (FCC Registration Number), I finally sat down for official examination to quality for a Ham Radio Technician Class license. The Featured Image shows one of the study materials used to prepare; alongside is the transceiver that will start my broadcasting journey. But nothing happens until the Federal Communications Commission issues a call sign, which with my name must appear in the agency’s online licensee database.

Before SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 mandates, I would have spent a day in a class, followed by the 35-question test. Scoring 74 percent answers correct is the minimum to pass. Locally, classes are as often as monthly—none during the pandemic lockdowns—and move about San Diego County.

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Decorating the Cave’s Grave

The demolition site at El Cajon Blvd and Louisiana Street in University Heights returns five days later, because of alterations. Remnants remain of the Cave of Wonders building, but somebody has graffitied over some of the doodle drawings of the still-standing inner wall.

In reviewing the Featured Image, I see another change: The livable-looking property that was to the right behind in my previous shots is gone. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/8, ISO 100, 1/160 sec, 28mm; 4:48 p.m. PDT; Leica Q2.

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We All Need a Smiley Break

Flashback two years, to May 2, 2020: SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 lockdowns compelled Californians to avoid anyone and to otherwise practice so-called safe social distancing. The seeming hardship would pale compared to racial riots that would erupt weeks later.

One of my neighbors literally put on a happy face—among several encouraging, or funny, street decorations to adorn this University Heights property and/or the sidewalk straddling Meade Avenue. Seems like every time I walked by something different greeted. Thank you.

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The Better Barrier

Across my San Diego neighborhood of University Heights, increasing trend: homeowners surround their front yards with obnoxious fences that while providing privacy create fortress-feeling and block residents’ view of surroundings—and beneficial sunlight. If you want to live in a dungeon, please sell your property to someone who will appreciate the local climate and move elsewhere. Perhaps Chicago, where you can add bars to all the windows, too.

Contrast that to the Featured Image, taken today using Leica Q2. While walking past this hedge, and not for the first time, I stopped to really look at its lovely practicality. The residents have privacy, which includes keeping dogs from peeing or poohing on the lawn, while providing a natural, beautiful barrier for their enjoyment and for other people.

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The Cats of University Heights: Coy

The backlog of unpublished kitties trails by more than four months. The oldest aren’t so much in a queue of many as one of waiting—as I hope to meet owners and obtain real names. Time comes to move along the stragglers, starting with this tabby who is most frustrating; I know his (or her) housemate, Shy, and really wanted correct identification. I see both beasties sunning in the same spot, but never together.

Shy joined the series in February 2019, and, yes, still lives in the apartment. Maybe the roomie is a pandemic putty; lots of adoptions occurred during the SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 lockdowns. Nearby, Honey Bunny may still be resident in the same complex. But, in January 2021, Veruca and her family moved from the house next door.

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The Cave of Wonders Wall

New construction is everywhere among several San Diego neighborhoods, following zoning changes meant to encourage multi-unit dwellings. ADUs—so-called accessory dwelling units—add large structures in spaces once considered to be back yards. The spin doctors who sprinkle marketing sugar onto urban renewal medicinals call these buildings Granny Flats. Oh yeah? So why does gran need four to seven residences?

The project at El Cajon Blvd and Louisiana Street is much bigger—and I see similar high-rises, or larger, going up around University Heights, as well as bordering Hillcrest and North Park.

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A Sign is 25

I can’t imagine how our family still resides in the village of University Heights, which is where we settled upon arriving in San Diego nearly 15 years ago. But here we remain, even as rising rental fees and soaring property values make the area unbearably costly. Exit strategy has been my priority for some time, at least since our decision not to buy the Schoolhouse five years ago. As homeowners, we would have been more natural members of the community.

Still, my wife and I briefly joined today’s block party—along Park Blvd between Adams and Madison—celebrating 25 years of the neighborhood’s iconic sign, which you can see in the Featured Image, taken using Leica Q2. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/8, ISO 100, 1/80 sec, 28mm; 4:41 p.m. PDT. The event officially started at Five.

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The Cats of University Heights: Dagger Tooth

Nearly eight-year-old Dagger Tooth—the eighty-eighth putty-tat to appear in the series from Alabama Street, between boundaries Adams and Lincoln—is housemate to Dragon Claws, who was profiled nearly three months ago. She lost one eye to melanoma, but her owner says she manages well, which I can confirm from watching her romp about today.

Dagger Tooth jumps to the front of the backlog queue, which indulges her but how could I not when her brother so recently joined the series? She’s special: Local coffee shop Mystic Mocha recently named her cat of the month.

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Shattered Serenity

The difference 24 hours make. Yesterday, the abandoned houses still stood along Louisiana Street at El Cajon Blvd. Today, they—and the businesses around the block—are gone. The Featured Image captures something of the devastation. Vitals: f/8, ISO 100, 1/320 sec, 28mm; 1:26 p.m. PDT. This one and the others come from Leica Q2, aperture manually set for all.

My wife and I have known since summer last year what would happen along one of my favorite blocks in San Diego’s University Heights neighborhood. Two cottage complexes, a few modestly-rising apartment buildings, and bunches of single-story houses—with vast swaths of grass and greenery in an area otherwise converting to cement—create calming ambience. The street is, or was, surprisingly serene. Three residential properties on Louisiana and businesses half-way to Mississippi along The Boulevard are gone.