6/29/2004 12:29:00 PM by Rob

This can't be happening...

I'm here, I guess I have been in shock from the trauma of knowing that 1) Not only is Illinois prone to tornados, but we also have faultlines; 2) One of them runs right by my domicile; and 3) It decided to get up for a potty break the other night.

WTF? I always thought earthquakes were God's price for the beautiful scenery and outstanding weather Californians enjoy. I figured that having solid terra firma under my feet was my privilege for having to live in tornado alley, on land so flat that you can see the rooftops of the next town 7 miles away. No Venice Beach here, mister man. No majestic redwoods; no Sierra Madre's; no American Riviera here. Just cold winters, broiling summers, and...the Sandwich Faultline, which I never knew existed before last night at 1:10 AM.

This was when my 15 year old son starts banging on my bedroom door, yelling about a loud fricking noise that sounded like a fricking car hitting the side of our fricking house and shaking him out of his fricking bed. I accused him of taking drugs with his friends, and sent him back to bed. I didn't feel a thing, neither did my wife, and I fell back asleep in less time than it took Derek Fisher to get off that shot that beat the Spurs last month.

Imagine my surprise the next morning around the coffeepot at the gas station, when the geezers were whining about how their houses were shaking, and how probably their foundations are cracked, etc. etc. I said "Wait!! There was something last night?"

Oh yeah, it was a 4.5 richter scale earthquake, with an epicenter 5 miles from my house.

Surely, Stew is sitting in his untidy little hovel in Berkeley, chuckling to himself about the wee little jostle we took. But Stew doesn't have to shovel his fucking walk, either. Stew don't have to worry about seeking cover in the basement every time the sky gets a little dark. And Stew doesn't have to sweat out six gallons of liquid in August to cross the street.

He does, out of sympathy. But that's HIS choice.

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