Yes, I am making this post based partially on having thought up this witty title- actually it was my friend, but whatever, I poach jokes where needed. I imagine Lionel Shriver did the same thing when she dreamed up Double Fault to be the title of her tennis/marriage themed novel, and again when whoever directed Snakes on a Plane thought that one up. How could you not make that movie?
But as well, I believe the appropriate space of time has passed to start blogging about the serious natural disaster that recently took place. I have some stories, but of course there is much worse out there.
It's strange that last time there was an earthquake, I felt so much more panicked and scared. Lying under my table with my mother at 4am, my head till vaguely groggy from the night before's doses of Lindauer, and listening intently to the dull crackle of her Sony walkman, I struggled to grasp what had actually happened. An earthquake. Facts and figures began floating in: 7.1, centered at Darfield, lots of damage. The following morning my friend and I took a walk around our neighborhood and would gasp at each minor crack, confounded at how the earth could just split like that. Pfft, I was an earthquake noob back then.
I heard someone say that having already experienced a quake of reasonable magnitude, the city would have been much better prepared for the 6.3 on Tuesday- I certainly was not. Standing amongst some blocks of classes at school, clinging to the nearest pole for support, I really had no idea what would be happening outside of my little universe. We joked, mouthed things to vague acquaintances like "what the fuck?" and generally reveled in something different; being taken out of the monotony that is school's daily routine. Out on the field, standing uncomfortably in the light rain and cold, I remained more or less unfazed. Only the solemn seriousness of teachers gave any indication that what had happened might be no laughing matter in the grand scheme of things.
I tiptoed away, biked home, and stepped inside. I was promptly greeted by shocking mess, featuring a heap of broken glass and other items, thrown on the floor messily- in other words, exactly what I had not seen in last year's quake. Some sizable cracks lined the walls and ceiling, and in the study my router and external hard drive lay on the floor: oh no! Most worrying of all, though, was the complete absence of my mother, who I had believed to be inside during this time. I pretty much assumed the worst- she had simply fled. Dark thoughts began to swirl around in my young mind- who would make me magic up my quiches, arrange my freshly ironed clothes neatly in my bedroom, amuse my friend's parents on weekends? She soon popped in the door, though, giving a resounding scream of freight. Mine was of relief.
Later, we all sat outside- those aftershocks coupled with the cracks left the house as a last resort- sipping our respective poisons: champagne for me, gin and tonic for my brother and sister, white wine for my mother. We made earthquake themed small talk, and stared blankly at the mess around us. My point abut not being prepared is that I couldn't comprehend that an aftershock, of which the last few had been tiny and dissipating, could be that bad. Yet it was. Many dead, thousands of buildings condemned- including our own humble abode- and town practically ruined. Now where can I obtain that best Thai fried rice in the city?
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