The text message appeared at 6:29 p.m. PDT: “Crash at Florida and Monroe! Don’t know the scoop!” I responded to my good friend and neighbor: “I better go look!!” She owns kitties Guido and Little, who have appeared in my “Cats of University Heights” series.
Approaching the scene, I expected to see a couple of shattered and smashed cars in the intersection. As you can see from the Featured Image and companions, I came upon something more somber, and unsettling.
One-eyed Warrior and this blackie playfully chased one another on May 22, 2026. I have seen neither since. Both stopped and rested under the same car. They could easily be a bonded pair, for there was no territorial tension between them,
I used Nikon Zf and NIKKOR Z 28-400mm f/4-8 VR lens to capture the Featured Image. Vitals: f/8, ISO 100, 1/500 sec, 400mm; 9:58 a.m. PDT. Nickname: Pango, which is Māori for black.
If you are an iPhone and/or iPad owner who has pined for a somewhat affordable Mac, if you aren’t rushed and don’t mind waiting, and if you are bestowed with Herculean patience, then Apple MacBook Neo is for you. If you don’t mind paying $100 more than you would have five days ago, by all means partake the forbidden fruit.
For the record, other than anyone fitting the above criteria—or perhaps someone wanting to be one of the cool kids—I don’t recommend MacBook Neo for almost anyone who does more than surf the web or check email. Lag is the best term to describes how the Neo feels in real world usage. Performance reminds me of early Chromebooks, other than Google’s own Pixel series, and also Netbooks. Remember those?
Happy Caturday! I held back this kitty, thinking that the Featured Image was Donuts, because of fur markings, size, and location seen. But on closer inspection, they are different animals.
The portrait comes from Samsung Galaxy S26 Ultra, on April 1, 2026. Vitals: f/2.9, ISO 25, 1/135 sec; 7:44 a.m. PDT. Nickname: Jolie, which is French for Pretty.
My cousin Dan routinely sends family photos from the 1960’s and 70’s. Few of them are as surprising, and enchanting, as the Featured Image, from 1968. He says that’s a photo of a “bear cub taken in our backyard in Fort Kent”—one of the major Northern Maine towns on the Canadian border.
“Dad later gave it to the Houlton animal farm”, Dan explains. Oh, yeah? That wouldn’t be the first time. In November 2005 missive “Somewhere Between Dickey and Rivière-Bleue“, I tell the story of another bear cub—captured in the Maine North Woods and also sent to an animal farm in Houlton; 1966. So, it definitely wasn’t the same animal.
The mailman, whose last day delivering to my street is tomorrow, delivered not one but two golden tickets: Thursday and Sunday passes to San Diego Comic-Con 2026. The annual pulp media pilgrimage starts one month from today, July 23, and runs through the 26th. Additionally, the lucky—or the chosen—can attend Preview Night on the 22nd.
Thursday is official first day. Friday tends to be busier. Saturday often is busiest because of the masquerade ball that evening. You will see more cosplayers strutting about than on any other day. I call Sunday “family day”; locals predominantly fill the convention center. Meanwhile, the majority of celebrities have gone. (Should I say good riddance?)
This afternoon, as I walked along Mississippi Street, about a block-and-a-half South of El Cajon Blvd, a gentleman coming towards me wished a hearty “Happy Father’s Day!” He passed, I turned around, and I called, “Are you a dad??” So that I could return the sentiment. He isn’t one yet.
So, I asked how old he is. Thirty-one. He hopes to be a father someday, but he’s still single, and he is but six months into the current relationship; I heard hope in the man’s voice regarding the woman.
For several months I knew the day would come when the inevitable could no longer be delayed: Part with the Exerpeutic Folding Magnetic Upright Bike with Pulse purchased from Amazon in April 2013; price before discounts was around $130. I still use the exercise bicycle—several times a week, at least, especially during the colder season.
Letting go was a process of reaching a moment of absolute need for additional space. Our daughter is staying with us, and I have been slowly moving out things stored in my now former home office, which has become her bedroom. The day arrived when the space occupied by the stationary bike was needed for other things.
Today, the portrait used to illustrate this 2021 post popped up in my photo memories from June 19, 2013. Well, where is one, what about another? Digging through an old external hard drive I found several and chose the Featured Image.
The photo is a reminder of what I liked and loathed about the Fujifilm FinePix X100, which I acquired in May 2011, soon after its launch availability. Vitals: f/2.8, ISO 1000, 1/60 sec, 23mm (35mm film equivalent); 7:13 a.m. PDT. Composed as shot; unedited.
We lose our mailman next week. My street will no longer be on his route as of Thursday (June 25, 2026). He was informed that as part of restructuring, the U.S. Postal Service would adjust routes.
He warned us then his territory could change—and neither he, nor his direct superiors, nor others in the organization had a say in the decision. The Postal Service outsourced the task, so to speak, to an Artificial Intelligence.
This morning my wife rang, unexpectedly. After a brisk morning of cooking, she had gone out for an unwinding walk. I stayed behind to clean up the kitchen and wash dishes. She called after coming upon a wayward rabbit. By fur color, this was a wild bunny. But another characteristic revealed a domesticated animal. Somebody’s pet.
When living in the Washington, DC area, our family owned two bunnies: Daisy and Mayflower. Both had floppy ears, which is not a trait exhibited in nature. As you can see from the Featured Image and companions, this rabbit has floppy ears, which are a product of domestication and selective breeding.
Say what you will about Donald Trump but the man knows how to throw a birthday party. His 80th brought the UFC Freedom 250 to the South Lawn of the White House. What a spectacle it was, last night.
For all the pomp, all the celebrity, and the testosterone, the White House itself emerged as a symbol of the Trump Presidency and secondary star of the fighting event. Americans don’t get to see inside the White House. It’s locked down so tight. But through the UFC event, Trump opened the building for everyone to see–unlike any president before him. His house is your house.