I don’t know what to make of this decorative derelict—or seemingly so seen from the front (looks like the alley-facing portion of the property might be inhabited). I shot the Featured Image, using Leica Q2, […]
Tag: Leica Q2
Are You Coming, or Going?
New month, and I see lots of people moving in, around, and out of San Diego—and considerably larger numbers than any time during the SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 pandemic year. Perhaps partial reopening of California and imminent lifting of the eviction moratorium (in about 60 days) are factors.
Citizens certainly are fleeing the Golden State. Crime, governance, homelessness, high housing costs, single-party politics, and taxes are among the reasons. Slowest population growth since the Great Depression era means California will lose one Congressional seat. All that said, many movers are staying in the state, and San Diego is one of their more popular destinations.
The Cats of University Heights: Majestic
For about two months, I have watched for a feline to appear in a second-floor cat tree. Among the handful of sightings, glass glare from the morning sun made any meaningful portrait majorly difficult to capture. What luck! On April 27, 2021, the beastie materialized in a different window, which also was free from obstruction below. For fixed, rapt gaze, and proud posture, the orange tiger-stripe earns nickname Majestic.
I captured the Featured Image using Leica Q2. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/5.6, ISO 100, 1/640 sec, 28mm; 9:30 a.m. PDT. Majestic, who is the sixty-sixth kitty seen behind door or window, overlooks the alley separating Alabama and Mississippi between Meade and Monroe.
The Conqueror
The big digger seen at the corner of El Cajon and Mississippi on April 12, 2021 triumphs atop a mountain of dirt upon which once stood three buildings; in San Diego’s University Heights neighborhood. Someday soon, another cathedral of unaffordable housing will rise like the Tower of Babel.
My prediction: Cities all over the country are currently overbuilding to accommodate the massive Millennial population from which fewer babies are being born. Fast forward a decade, perhaps just five years, and rising Baby Boomer deaths coupled with falling birth rates will lead to a glut in housing—particularly multi-family properties. Is this construction site one of many future ghettos?
The Cats of University Heights: Annie
Aged Annie joins the series as the 400th profile since number one on Oct. 17, 2016. I first photographed her on Oct. 7, 2020, but the Featured Image is from Jan. 24, 2021—same day that I shot fallen fronds from the slightly-shaved Bearded Tree, which is now gone. I delayed posting her portrait, hoping to also add her housemate, who is let out (and brought inside) earlier in the morning than I typically meander by the property. The other cat also hides from me among the parked cars.
But considering this milestone post, and deciding which kitty to mark it, sweet, slow Annie had to be the one. Both beasts live on Alabama, making her the 64th featured from the street between boundaries Adams and Lincoln. She resides on the same block as Bella, Fuki, Mane, Mitsie, Mustachio, Peanut, Penny, Rocky, and Schroeder.
The Fence Line
Since shooting the Featured Image on Nov. 11, 2020, I have edited and cropped numerous times, trying to get the right look. Nothing suits me, and I cannot explain reasons for finally publishing other than perhaps good example of failed attempts.
I had hoped the decaying fence, set against shrubs and trees, would produce feeling of being back in another era. Eh, no. The woman’s presence is happenstance, and her contribution to the composition is timeless only because of context: SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 had pretty much everyone wearing masks—nuttily even outdoors. But not this lady, whose uncovered face prevents the moment from being dated.
The Swarm
This afternoon, while walking and talking to my sister who lives in Florida, I came across bees buzzing around a front yard along Mississippi between Mission and Monroe here in San Diego’s University Heights neighborhood. I excused myself briefly and shot a short video using iPhone XS.
Strange thing, when finished I observed the insects swarming about the next property. That kind of deflated my working presumption of a disturbed nearby hive. So I snagged another short video, followed by the Featured Image taken using Leica Q2.
Happy Earth Day 2021
Good luck finding the field of focus in the cluttered Featured Image, captured today using Leica Q2. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/2, ISO 100, 1/640 sec, 28mm; 3:01 p.m. PDT. Location is nearby the house where appeared Calm, who was profiled in my “Cats of University Heights” series in February 2019.
Think of the photo as my metaphorical commentary on so-called Climate Change theory, which truth isn’t so clear as political proponents of the science would have everyone believe. The hubris of humankind is to put ourselves at the center of everything—and that’s as much taking blame as claiming credit. Much is clear that the planet undergoes a warming trend. Focus on carbon emissions identifies sole cause and people to blame. But the picture is more complex, or so I say, like the one here presented for your viewing.
The Sweeper
Two days ago, outside the same pharmacy where on March 18, 2021 lay a man death-like, another seemingly street-living gent swept debris and refuse. If only I had context but do not. As my wife and I entered the building, he cleaned up nearby his presumed belongings partially visible in the foreground of the Featured Image. He used a fairly good-condition broom, and there was nearby one of those jumbo, yellow, industrial dustpans—similar to this Quickie model, if not the same one. The well-weathered gentleman moved slowly about his task but deliberately.
When exiting, we could see that the sweeper had moved closer to the street. As we passed, I snapped three quick hip shots, using Leica Q2. This wild portrait is best of the trio. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/5.6, ISO 100, 1/400 sec, 28mm; 2:32 p.m. PDT.
What’s Your Definition of Temporary?
I captured the Featured Image on March 18, 2021, presuming to never need to publish. How mistaken. As of today, more than 13 months after California Governor Gavin Newsom issued his first lockdown order and nearly a week after San Diego County moved into the (supposedly) less-restrictive Orange Tier, the Wells Fargo in Hillcrest is still closed.
You got to love that “branch temporarily closed” sign and wonder why it all seems so permanent. For anyone banking there or thinking that the state really is opening up, don’t be a fool: the SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 misery is far from over—and I don’t mean you ever becoming sick.
Her Heart Soars
As explained nearly three weeks ago, I tend towards thrifty shooting with a digital camera—in this instance Leica Q2. The Featured Image is only one of three captures—the other two at f/5.6 and f/8, with the latter greatly expanding the field of focus. But in the end, wisely or not, I chose the photo made wider open, because of how the painted bricks lead the eyes to the graphic. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/2.8, ISO 100, 1/2500 sec, 28mm; 10:28 a.m. PDT, April 12, 2021. In post-production, I used DxO Perspective Efex to tweak the geometry.
The evening before, I encountered two of my neighbors walking their dog. The husband said that I would want to stop by his house “and bring your camera”. You can see why. The couple live on Meade below Georgia, and they are long-time University Heights residents—about 22 years, if I recall rightly.
The Bearded Tree is Gone!
And that’s not the worst of the devastation. Nearly three months ago, I wondered about the fate of the mighty palm after high winds ripped fronds from the trunk. Then, unexpectedly, on the First Day of Spring, under the direction of cute cottages’ new owners, men with chainsaws started clearcutting a lush landscape of shrubs, succulents, and trees around the buildings. The bearded tree is the last to go.
Every nearby neighbor to whom I have spoken about the destruction of the urban jungle is shocked. No one can fathom why the massive deforestation. Late this afternoon, one homeowner, who has lived in University Heights for more than two decades, told me that water can’t be the reason. He and his wife maintain a lovely backyard of flowers, plants, and trees, without wasteful watering.