So...no one is panicking...?

It was a quiet sort of morning. Lazy, one might even say. The marine layer of fog was still clinging to the sky as we drank our coffee. With not even a hint of foreboding we headed out on our first mission of the day- bank. And donuts. Do not forget the donuts. We certainly didn't. In fact, we decided to go for the donuts first. Primo's Donuts is a small little shop, established in 1956, that still has a delightfully un-corporate feel. Its fresh raspberry jam donuts and regular customers are far removed from the mass production and transcontinental shipping of corporate America. But I digress.
We returned from the bank (and the donuts!) and began a quest for tickets to the Hollywood Bowl the following Saturday. I was seated on the floor, Timur in the chair at the computer. We were laughing about the antics of one Eric Idle when the floor began to shimmy. Quake, if you will.
"Um...Timur...?" I said from my spot on the floor.
"That's an earthquake," he replied and moved to stand in the door frame as the shaking continued. It wasn't a particularly severe sort of shaking, more like the movement of jello on a plate when you carry it from the fridge to the table. We heard the plates and glasses rattling in the cupboards and Timur informed me that, yes, I too should stand in a doorway (this, as I discovered later, being the most structurally sound part of the house).
It was all over in twenty seconds or so, and I laughed with incredulity. An earthquake! A real one! They happen! This is why tall bookshelves should be bolted to the walls!
We turned on the news and then the real drama began. Our fearless anchors quickly informed us that they'd been subjected to at least thirty seconds of severe shaking, with the hanging lights swinging wildly over their desks. We soon found out that the magnitude of the earthquake was 5.8 and that it's epicenter was 2 miles from Chino Hills. (For the purpose of comparison, the May earthquake in China's Sichuan province measured a 7.9 on the scale, and no, it's not a linear scale.) Following their journalistic noses, our stalwart anchors, who I shall name Fran and Stan, soon had a caller from Chino Hills on the line. He told them of the thirty seconds of shaking and the dishes falling from his shelves and breaking on the floor. Stan informed the intrepid caller that they'd had a similar experience at the studio, some 15 miles from the epicenter. The plot thickened as they laid out bait for their innocent caller- was he scared? was there damage? could he see damage in his neighborhood? No bite. On to the the police reports.
"Well, no damage has been reported so far, but I'm sure there will be reports of interior damage, breaking lamps and such, soon," reported Fran with a breathless urgency. I might be exaggerating just a bit, but the news coverage quickly turned into a search for the story. You know, tears, drama, intrigue. Somewhere, someone is upset. Cut to Disneyland!!
The high angle camera showed people evacuating from the rides, and...music playing...?
"So," Stan asked their on-scene reporter, "no one is panicking?"
No. There were no screaming children or irate parents. There were no stampedes or threatened lawsuits. So much for the "Disneyland becomes playground for terror!" angle.
The USGS website offered far more actual data and information on the quake. Timur and I were soon engaged in their excellent maps and muted Fran and Stan. These devoted journalists had nothing to say when deprived of drama. Without an emotional hook, they failed to provide their viewer with anything other than the most rudimentary of information. The television news rides on a rush of emotion and adrenaline- actual data seems to play a very limited role on broadcast networks. Ah well, I'm sure their next story about the new celebrity babies was much more fascinating, but I was too interested in maps of peak ground acceleration to pay them much mind.

Coming soon...Culture in Southern California! Moving to Koreatown! Maybe even a recipe for a fantastic Lemon Sour Cream Cake!

Shameless Plug

So Timur has also been writing small things at his other blog as well. If anyone is curious, there's another recent post reflecting a little on the process of moving people and cats. It ends with this:

And when we got home from that first afternoon looking at the apartment and started looking at the map, I began to realize how much was in all directions from this new apartment. One phrase to describe the process might be learning to live in all directions. Driving in this city, it's often difficult to do that, as driving is almost always an act with a destination in mind. There is a place to go, and everything else is peripheral. The process of putting down roots is much more a radial act, in the sense of radiating from a central point. There's so much more of the city within an easy distance now, and as we put down our own roots, to sound out our own space, it might hopefully be an act of living in many directions and not just one.

If you're curious, please check it out.

The Journey West

Cloudy skies through Virginia, but it was too early in the morning to really think clearly anyways.
Besides, the kittens had bigger things to worry about: Why am I here? What is this bouncing that won't stop? And why won't anyone pay attention to me?
Storms in Missouri.
This is, by now, the second leg of our journey. Having left Indianapolis that morning, Kirsten took over the driving somewhere just east of Kansas City. There aren't many photos of her because she wouldn't let them be taken, so this is her ninja photo: stealthy.
Kansas was green, until it got dark. Then it wasn't so much fun.

After having driven the 22 hours from Indiana to Colorado, Diego was quite understandably in no mood to move quickly.
Timur faceplants into a bunch of cinquefoil and skypilot.
Timur and Judy wondering if they were going to ever catch Mike.
Nope. Here Mike has realized that he can indeed walk all the way down to the Eisenhower Tunnel from Loveland Pass, but is talked out of the project when everybody else realizes that this will entail them walking all the way down the wrong side of the ridge. A couple of days later, Kirsten and Timur set an ambitious day for themselves: Drive to 12,000 feet, park, and walk two miles (if you were feeling generous).
Product placement.
It's partly the case that Timur is a camera-whore; partly the case that it's Kirsten's digital camera and she's reluctant to let him take photos of her. But mostly Timur mugging for the camera. Again.
For those of you counting at home, this is a Mountain Hardwear Skyledge 2.1. It has 22 square feet of vestibule space, and roughly the same amount of space inside. It's a lovely tent - just a shade over 4 lbs. all packed - but not the sort of thing you want to recommend to big burly folk. It is, as one might say, a bit narrow in the shoulder. But a lovely little thing, and the view wasn't too bad for less than an hour's hike. Saddest. Kitten. Ever. After 11 days of clattering about Kirsten's parents' house in Evergreen, the kittens were a bit nonplussed at the whole small cage in a moving vehicle experience happening again.
Luckily, there was a ninja to keep them company.
The ninja in Glenwood Springs, where we stopped to have lunch with Betsy.

Mister ninja taking a rest on Timur's shoulder. This is still early on in the drive, where Timur feels fairly good about things.

Utah doesn't have rest stops - it has viewing points. Here, Timur is beginning to remember why he took three days to drive the stretch from Colorado to California last year. The ninja is trying to convince him that it's a great idea to keep driving.
After all, a 16 foot moving truck is nimble, and once it gets enough momentum going downhill, it's remarkably fuel efficient.
And driving through Utah is a pretty scenic experience.
Kirsten took over driving in Salina, leaving Timur free to try to snap some shots of the evening sun. The nice thing about southwest Utah is that everything is quite literally downhill from there as you come off the Colorado Plateau. Problem is that that downhill doesn't actually mean the distance you have to drive is any less. Kirsten hauled the stretch from Salina to Vegas, and Timur drove the last short four and a half hours from Vegas to LA. Besides being stopped by the CHP at the agricultural inspection station and having our blueberries confiscated by an earnest officer at 2 in the morning, that last leg went as well as a leg can go when you've been driving for eighteen hours. And at least traffic was light at that time of night.

Coming soon: stories from Koreatown - we move in to our place on the 15th!