My family was eating our Easter dinner when I felt the room gently rocking and said: Earthquake? Then it got stronger and soon the whole room was seriously swaying. It was a 6.9 in nearby Mexico. Not as bad as the Northridge quake, which I was also in. I was on’y three miles from the epicenter of that one. This was big, though.

No one was scared. The power didn’t go out. The family dogs didn’t even seem bothered.

I wonder if there will be aftershocks.

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  1. I never even felt it, but SF is pretty far north.
    I still remember the 7.0 of ’89 here, though. I was walking down Market Street and suddenly I was “surfing the sidewalk.” It’s a very weird sensation.
    I had to walk the 2 miles back home, down Mission Street (the hispanic neighborhood). I was delighted to see that local vendors had set up barbecues and gas stoves and were happily selling away. People are adaptable. I got two burritos to take home. At the local grocery, it was dark inside and they were only letting in four people at a time (reasonable). I picked up a few things and headed home.
    But here’s the best part–my landlady, who lived in the apartment above me, was a SF PC liberal par excellence. She had recently complained about the gun magazines I was getting in the mail (yes, she went through my mail!). “You better not have any guns in this house or I’ll evict you!” she said.
    About two hours after the sun went down she knocked on my door and timidly asked if I had a gun she could borrow. Turns out it had just dawned on her we were only two blocks from the Army Street housing projects and well, you know how them colored folks can get.
    Reality’s a bitch, ain’t it.

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