2001-01-18 - Night
If I seemed a little wiggy yesterday, it�s because I was. Seven years ago yesterday I was living in Northridge. Yes, that Northridge.
Being at the epicenter of a major earthquake is like nothing you can imagine. You know how in the movies, earthquakes always start slowly, with this low rumble that sounds like a buffalo stampede coming right at you? Forget it. You don�t hear an earthquake starting--it just does. And if you�re right on top of where it starts, it�s like a bomb going off.
The post-traumatic-stressy moments are few and far between these days. Getting the fuck out of the San Fernando Valley helped loads in that regard. (It was good for a lot of other reasons, too, having nothing to do with earthquakes.) But every Jan. 17 I still get twitchy and wake up startled when the cat jumps on the bed.
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Question: Should I go to Tijuana this Saturday? V. and I were planning to go when she was here two weeks ago, but the logistics didn�t work out. Mostly I just want to do something on Saturday that will put the inauguration of His Fraudulency II as far out of my mind as possible, and I figure a trip to a country whose own recent election had a more uplifting--and clear-cut--outcome than our own might do the trick. Plus, I can get thoroughly shitfaced and pay next to nothing doing it.
The irony of going to Mexico to forget about stolen elections and machine politics requires no comment.
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