As I was finishing up yesterday's post, I noticed my coffee table vibrating; "odd," I thought. Then the couch started shaking. Then the lamp started swaying and banging against the wall. None of this is a normal occurrence around here.
I called Fidel and asked if he felt the earthquake -- he asked if I was drunk. I called MD -- she said she hadn't, but she'd been in a car. Later on in the day, I asked people at a couple of parties -- no, nay, nyet.
So I'm relieved to note that I'm not insane, and there was an earthquake, felt as far away as Atlanta. Not a big thing, but hell, it's the first one I've ever felt.
* * *
After narrowly escaping death by earthquake, I reacquainted myself with the art of drinking tons of beer, eating tons of wings and watching football. Aside from the results, it was great fun -- I rarely get to sports bars any more and I'd forgotten how enjoyable the sensory overload is. My friend Nixy and her crew have been going there for something like 14 years, since college. 14 years is an unimaginable commitment. I think I've known one person outside my family for that long.