Everyone who is everyone is talking about the weather. Bloggers I regularly read are talking about snow days in the most unlikely places. When the tweets aren't about what was for breakfast, they're about how cold it is in Florida or Nashville or Michigan. To be sure, the folks in the Northeast must be chortling at how whiny some of the central and southern Florida residents are. Even Sunday Scribblings offers up a prompt this week based on the extreme weather in the U.K. [Pete, of course, tracks all that and showed me a totally cool -- cold -- satellite picture of the U.K. covered in the white stuff with ice forming on the seashore.]
I'm going to talk about another weather phenomenon: earthquake weather. Now, most of us around these here parts believe that earthquake weather is most defined by an unseasonably warm day with no sign of fog coming or going and a sense of "heavy breathing" air. There's no wind. Everything is calm.
SHAKE. JOLT. CRASH.
Out of nowhere, the earthquake comes. And life doesn't seem normal again for a set period of time. That period of time corresponds directly to the severity of the quake.
A 3.2? Chump change. I'm not even vaguely bothered. I'm amused, really.
A 4.8? Okay, that's got my attention. But even the local news stations only run the clips of it through the next day's morning news programs. And the clips all emanate from a local liquor store with a dozen broken bottles on the ground. [And the most suspicious of us think the owner probably broke the bottles himself as a scam.]
A 5.7? Oh. My. God. Did you feel it? Where were you? We lost some of the kids' homemade ceramics off a shelf and we had to wait four hours for PG&E to turn the natural gas back on. How about you? Aftershock! Hold on, kids!
Wait! Oh, never mind. It was just a truck passing by.