EARTHQUAKE

Several years ago an earthquake struck California that sent European newspapers into a panic. Apparently headlines in Dutch, German, Swedish, and almost certainly also Schwäbisch, screamed hysterically that it was the big one, uncountable numbers were dead, San Francisco was on fire, plagues were sweeping the suburbs, and the most important event in sports had been cancelled when the stadium collapsed.


Well, plagues do sweep the suburbs. But that's an all-year situation. Not just after earthquakes. California is currently in the top-two for either Syphilis or Gonorrhea, can't remember which.
Surely that's a suburban phenomenon.

At the time, many years ago, I was living in North Beach. When the quake struck I was in the middle of an argument with a visiting Israeli about existentialism and linguistics. The tremors were almost over before we realized what was happening, and also that most of the customers were clustered perilously close to the plate glass windows. So we finished our coffee and our discussion.

Later I went home and was the last man in the building to have a warm shower for four days.

I had coffee and snackipoos in Chinatown the next day. Milk-tea was not available in that era, or perhaps I didn't know about it yet. Many people wandered the streets, casually drinking coffee, smoking, and telling each other where else there was coffee. It was a festive and relaxed occasion.


GIVE OUR REGARDS TO NAPA

Yesterday morning's event has not affected me at all. San Francisco en masse rolled over and went back to sleep. There are no gas leaks in the city, nor fires, nor is mass hospitalization for injuries on the agenda.
We lament the thousands of gallons of wine that were spilled.
Which is a horrendous and heartbreaking loss.
We shall drink a bit more whiskey.
For a year or two.


Actually, I really am lamenting.

On Friday evening, my friend K-Chai e-mailed me from the Occidental, where he was enjoying a well-deserved cigar.


"There is a very nice woman smoking a pipe here. 
She is talking to your buddy 'Dr. Rum'. 
You should be here."


Dagnabbitall! I didn't see this message till I returned from Marin County nearly twenty-four hours later! The concept of a pipe-smoking female person who can conversationally hold her own is very appealing.
Yer darn' tootin I lament the non-encounter!
Flaming piles of fermenting crap!
I wish I had known!


I did actually espy a very nice woman this past weekend; it was while I was chop-sticking rice-stick noodles and grilled pork (with hot sauce) into my mouth on Saturday evening. Plus hot oil. And hot vinegar.
Nope, no clue whether she can hold her own conversationally.
Any more of that warm smile, and it wouldn't matter.
I'd probably be gibbering and mumbling.
Incapable of speech.
Myself.

Life would be much more interesting if I were thick-skinned and insensitive. It might even be surreal. Conversationally more dynamic, and often like a series of eruptive events or natural disasters.

I'm rather fond of grilled pork, and rice stick noodles in broth.
As well as hot sauce, hot vinegar, and hot oil.
Plus smiles.



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