As explained three days ago, apartment landlords are taking away tenant garages and converting them into residential rentals. The practice is rampant across San Diego County, including my neighborhood of University Heights.
Unsurprisingly, the alleys separating streets fill with parked cars, particularly late day into the evening hours. You lost your garage and can’t find a legal space, so you make do and hope to move before the parking police blast by writing tickets.
Some moments are humbling. Today, my wife and I walked across the Spruce Street Suspension Bridge—and not since Spring 2021. I have always been sure-footed, even as the thing wildly swayed. But not today. I was clumsy, dizzy, off-balance, uncertain. I wasn’t prepared for the dramatic, and wildly changed, reaction.
Gasp. We don’t necessarily see the effects of aging, because the diminishing capacity isn’t sudden but result of a long process. I joked with Annie about a what-if: joining a volleyball game and waking in the hospital, following a dig to save the ball. Muscle memory may be there, but not the physical agility or stamina. “Well, Mr. Wilcox, you have a broken arm, three cracked ribs, and a fractured collar bone”.
Finally, we start to seriously address the backlog, and this fine feline is by no means farthest back in the queue. Meet Oliver—and, yes, that’s his real name, which is surprisingly popular; three other Olivers precede him. Another distinction: He is the one-hundred-fourth kitty seen along Alabama Street, somewhere between boundaries Adams and Lincoln, since the series‘ start in October 2016; that’s out of 592 profiles, including this one.
I used Samsung Galaxy S24 Ultra to capture the Featured Image, on April 11, 2024. Vitals: f/3.4, ISO 64, 1/60 sec, 115mm (film equivalent); 3:27 p.m. PDT.
The Summer’s hot days have finally arrived in San Diego. Official high yesterday, according to my phone: 34 Celsius (94 Fahrenheit)—although the thermometer in the apartment complex’s courtyard read 38 C (100 F). Well, all the cement makes quite the heat island, so that is unsurprising.
This morning, the mercury touched 33 C (91 F) before thin, high clouds provided some relief. Forecasted high for tomorrow is about the same and scorching like yesterday for Sunday. We don’t have air conditioning, by the way. Fans provide plenty of relief, as long as breeze outside blows indoors. Unfortunately, winds are light, and air is muggy.
This morning, as my wife and I waited to cross Mississippi at University Avenue in North Park, we heard arguing and shouting. We both turned back to see some kind of disagreement between a man and woman near the distant bus stop on the opposite side of the street.
The dude looked to be stealing, or trying to steal, the lady’s bicycle. Shirtless, he was clearly homeless; she was well-dressed. Taller than her, he was racially white but so sunburned to be almost black; dirty, my guess, too. We weren’t sure what to do, being older folks, but we decided to walk down the block nevertheless. She needed help.
San Diego alleys can be treacherous for pedestrians and vehicles, particularly where they meet main streets. If the driver turns too quickly and sharply into or out of the alley, an accident could occur.
The young woman in the Featured Image gives good advice. Meade Ave. is busier than ever, with traffic circles placed every few blocks and the street being designated as the major bike thruway from North Park to Mid-City—about 5.6 km (3.5 miles)—and part of a larger 21-km (13-mile) route.
For the third time in three years, we present another sunflower seen in the same location on Mississippi in my San Diego neighborhood of University Heights (see previous posts from 2022 and 2023). I passed by the beauty today while talking on the phone with one of my sisters.
I pulled out Samsung Galaxy S24 Ultra, set to Portrait mode, and captured the Featured Image, which is composed as shot and not otherwise altered (e.g. no edits). Vitals: f/1.7, ISO 12, 1/800 sec, 23mm (film equivalent); 3:42 p.m. PDT.
The Democrats’ convention ends today (finally). Like last month’s Republican event, I bothered not to watch the speeches. My disinterest is all the greater for this week’s political powwow in Chicago—if for no other reason than Joseph Biden’s virtual assassination. As previously stated, it was clear to me weeks before his disastrous debate performance on June 27, 2024 that he was being set up.
I still can’t reckon why Biden and his team chose to take on Trump before the convention, or delegates’ virtual role call beforehand. Debates are always held in September and October, after candidates are formally chosen. Who voted for Kamala Harris? Nobody. Biden’s ouster removed the democratically chosen candidate during the primary voting process. Stated differently, at least for this election cycle, Democrats have proven to be undemocratic.
San Diego’s sunny climate enables residents to put out items they don’t want that someone else might hanker for. If we didn’t already own a world map, I would have grabbed the one my wife and I passed along Georgia Street—a block or so south of Sprout’s Market—just inside University Heights.
Flags and wooden frame made the discard much better than my map, but we simply didn’t have space, or justifiable need, for another. So we left the thing—after I captured the Featured Image and companion using Leica Q2. Vitals: f/5.6, ISO 100, 1/400 sec, 28mm; 10:15 a.m. PDT, Aug. 17, 2024. The close-crop is same but one-minute earlier.
Some squirrels are quite frisky-friendly, suggesting that somebody feeds them. That’s what I wondered about this rascal approaching me from a tree on July 30, 2024. My wife and I came upon the rodent when walking along Louisiana Street in our San Diego neighborhood of University Heights.
There are community cats; why not squirrels? Hand feed them peanuts in a shell, for example, and you have a friend for life, which sadly might not be long. Cars and predators are top killers; then there are falls from utility lines. Cats will be blamed for hunting and catching the rodents, but coyotes, hawks, or owls are greater threats.
I hope my neighbor doesn’t see this post; no offense is intended, but she surely will be offended. The sentiment expressed in her lawn sign responds to Republican Vice-Presidential candidate JD Vance and comments that he made during a 2021 interview about Democrat “childless cat ladies“. Looking around my neighborhood, dogs would be even more applicable.
San Diego, like most of California, is largely liberal and relatively young. Median age is 35.8 years. I see plenty of couples going about, but rather than push baby carriages or walk with youngsters, the majority pull leashed dogs—often two or three. I loathe the commonly used euphemism “pet parents”, but it punctuates the point Vance tried to make in that interview.
We interrupt the backlog to present an orange and white spotted two blocks beyond the neighborhood boundary. Hence, the honorary designation. Cat character manifests in so many charming ways—here posture through the blinds. By the way, this charmer is the one-hundred-thirty-third furball found behind door or window. (You got the nickname, right?)
This fine feline is also the thirty-third member of the esteemed group of honorarians, joining: AI, Boo, Buddies, Chill, Coal, Comber, Cotton, Envy, Esther, Fancy, Floofy, Guapo, Liberty, Lonesome, Jade, Mona, Moophie, Mousy, Ninja, Oliver, Too, Promise, Queenie, Pussyfoot, Rascal, Raven, Sammy, Shakey, Tag and Tig, Timber, Tom and Jerry, and Tula.