Somebody is unhappy about all the talk that avian flu will lead to poultry shortages in the worst scenario and soaring selling prices in the better one. Look at those grim faces dominating the Featured Image captured on April 14, 2022 using Leica Q2. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/8, ISO 100, 1/80 sec, 28mm; 10:39 a.m. PDT.
You can panic, and be sure smug prognosticators of doom are correct, when Costco rotisserie chicken sells for more than the long stable $4.99—or simply is unavailable.
At 11:45 a.m. PDT today, iPhone 13 Pro chimed from a San Diego number that I did not recognize. Expecting a call from a local business, I answered rather than assume spam and send to voicemail. A young woman hysterically cried: “I had an accident. Dad, I had an accident”. My daughter doesn’t own a car, so her situation could be dire and ringing from someone else’s cell could be expected.
But hysteria and sobbing made identifying the voice difficult. I asked: “Who are you?” The response: “I had an accident. It’s me, dad”. I asked again, and her last answer sounded like “Diana”. She disconnected. The call lasted 41 seconds. For peace of mind, I immediately rang my daughter’s number and confirmed that she was in no trouble.
Today, while walking along Adams Avenue, my wife and I came across three vintage Volkswagens. I have seen some of these vehicles parked about, but this is the first time together, in a row—and there were others elsewhere. Possibly one of our neighbors is an auto-collector or repairer/refurbisher.
Finny, who was profiled in my “Cats of University Heights” series, lives in one of the houses before which were the VWs. Oh, and we saw him skulking about while we both took photos. The Featured Image and companion come from Leica Q2. Vitals, aperture manually set for both: f/5.6, ISO 100, 1/400 sec, 28mm; 1:50 p.m. PDT. The other is the same but 1/800 sec, one minute earlier.
Outside the home where lived Grace (before she passed away) and nearby where once crouched Champagne, chalked caution and watch out warnings seek to raise caterpillar awareness. Both putty-tats appeared in my “Cats of University Heights” series—in April 2018 and February 2021, respectively.
The husband and wife who own the property tend flowers and flora that attract butterflies and caterpillars. I often see Monarchs fluttering about. Spring—or in San Diego three-season parlance, early Summer—is breeding and feeding time. So, please, be mindful where you step.
The menacing palm dons the season’s appropriate attire. Perhaps you remember his “Be Mine” Valentine or “Uncle Sam” glam for Fourth of July? He is a grim Easter Bunny, stretching out arms in an embrace that I wouldn’t take. You?
Maybe rather than give out candy, he sees you as the cream-filled treat. So don’t be fooled by the cute ears. The teeth! Look at the teeth.
At the corner where University Heights ends and North Park begins, my wife and I waited to walk across El Cajon Blvd. I turned to see a car come up Texas Street to the intersection; a big `ol dog hung out the window. I pulled around Leica Q2 for a quick shot, not wanting to draw the attention of the driver and possibly to offend him.
The Featured Image is about a 95 percent crop, which deliberately includes price of gasoline—down from a high of $5.96 per gallon as recently as last week at this station and others around my San Diego neighborhood. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/8, ISO 100, 1/500 sec, 28mm; 11:38 a.m. PDT, today.
One of University Height’s fixtures is Mystic Mocha, which through change of ownership survived the SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 shutdowns mandated by California Governor Gavin Newsom and also San Diego County health authorities.
Today, as my wife and I walked by the place, we happened upon a sign at the corner of Alabama and Mission. I pulled around Leica Q2, knelt down low, and shot the Featured Image. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/8, ISO 100, 1/320 sec, 28mm; 11:39 a.m. PDT.
Nested among commercial cathedrals to alcohol and hedonism is the Hsi Fang Temple on Park Blvd in University Height’s main business district. The location is prime real estate that developers drool over, and it’s a spiritual stakeholder among one of the many San Diego communities where Christianity is in decline (see my missive “Is God Inclusive?” for perspective on that values topic).
I occasionally will see Buddhist monks, dressed in their more traditional garb, walking about UH. They are in some ways the biggest reminder of the temple’s presence, in part because the building, while massive, is unpretentious. Street-facing Buddha’s Light Bookstore might draw more attention if open more hours (website says Wednesday evenings and 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. on weekends).
The current housing bubble—and there absolutely is one—bears only modest resemblance to the previous catastrophe, which I warned about in a lengthy August 2005 analysis. Rising mortgage rates already are deflating the 2020’s-decade bubble, but the pop is unavoidable without fundamental changes in the actual market or the myths used to explain existing dynamics.
Since before anyone heard of SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19, which economic and societal disruption super-inflated the housing bubble, I had warned about a dangerous trend that ignores common sense observation of national demographics: Among the two largest segments, Baby Boomers are dying off and Millennials aren’t having many kids. As population growth stalls, there will be less demand for housing because there will be fewer people to buy. Meaning: All the babbling about not enough inventory has set into motion an overbuilding frenzy that is sure to deflate home values in the not-so-distant future. Before pandemic lockdowns, I had thought within 10 years. I now expect less than five—if we’re lucky.
Weather forecast of searing heat inspired me to take a long walk this morning before temperature rose—and it did, eventually reaching 35.5 degrees Celsius (96 F) in my San Diego neighborhood of University Heights. I mostly stayed in the alleys, where buildings’ shadows offered some relief. In the one separating Campus and Cleveland, I came upon a hapless plant, beret of pot.
What you don’t see in the Featured Image—and what I should have captured—is the back passenger tire of a Honda SUV. That precarious placement is what initially drew my attention to the neglected thing. Presumably, someone left out the item as a freebee. Perhaps languished from the second day’s unseasonable scorcher, or already ailing, the wilted plant appealed much less than its pot. Hence the presumed abandonment.
Yesterday, after photographing the bicycle traffic light, I continued along University Avenue in San Diego’s Hillcrest neighborhood before stopping to wonder at the mural that is the Featured Image and companion. The first hugs cross-street Sixth and the second is along the main throughway.
Is this who we are after two years of masking during the SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 crisis? Faceless? So stripped of humanity to be utterly featureless, without even eyes? Whatever the artist’s intent, I see an overt—not even hidden—message: You are nobody. In a society where even gender is disputed, maybe no identity is the only rendition to depict.
San Diego is embarked on the Herculean task of creating new bike lanes—and they’re seemingly everywhere in Hillcrest, North Park, and University Heights. Today, while standing at Fifth and University avenues, I saw something surprising that probably shouldn’t be: Traffic lights for riders. In a community culture where bikers barrel through intersections like they own the right of way, the city seeks to tame them to the same rules that everyone else abides by.
Hell, yeah. Hey, Two-Wheeler, someone saved your life. Thank them.