Too well I remember the Northridge earthquake. I thought the Landers quake in '92 was a bad enough introduction to California, being tossed off the couch in my living room; Northridge threw me out of my bed and knocked racks of CDs, my bicycle and pretty much everything standing down to the floor. How I managed to get out of my WeHo studio apartment on the ground floor (under 3 more stories and on top of the garage) without breaking a leg is beyond me. No power, the smell of gas and all I could think of was grabbing my (bag) cell phone, a jacket, and making sure the door would open; then "the car!!!" The elevator wasn't working and I couldn't get to the stairs to the garage. Went outside and, without power, I was able to push the gate to the garage open. Found my car, as did a couple of other residents, and we pushed our cars to the gate where the garage was open to the outside before we started our cars to get them up to the street, because remember - the smell of gas. Sitting outside on the trunk of my car, calling family east of the Rockies to let them know I was okay (the bag phone worked! + kept charged by the car!) watching the blue sparks of transformers blowing in different areas of L.A. county, one of the residents of the building came up to me and asked if he could bum a smoke from me, as he left his inside and didn't want to "chance it." Sure! He said "this is a strange way to have to meet your neighbors." Oh, that neighbor was Warren Zevon. Yes, a strange way to meet the neighbors.
https://youtu.be/0x6mCqcy0XU?si=rs9BXnBpVBfnbbh2
Too well I remember the Northridge earthquake. I thought the Landers quake in '92 was a bad enough introduction to California, being tossed off the couch in my living room; Northridge threw me out of my bed and knocked racks of CDs, my bicycle and pretty much everything standing down to the floor. How I managed to get out of my WeHo studio apartment on the ground floor (under 3 more stories and on top of the garage) without breaking a leg is beyond me. No power, the smell of gas and all I could think of was grabbing my (bag) cell phone, a jacket, and making sure the door would open; then "the car!!!" The elevator wasn't working and I couldn't get to the stairs to the garage. Went outside and, without power, I was able to push the gate to the garage open. Found my car, as did a couple of other residents, and we pushed our cars to the gate where the garage was open to the outside before we started our cars to get them up to the street, because remember - the smell of gas. Sitting outside on the trunk of my car, calling family east of the Rockies to let them know I was okay (the bag phone worked! + kept charged by the car!) watching the blue sparks of transformers blowing in different areas of L.A. county, one of the residents of the building came up to me and asked if he could bum a smoke from me, as he left his inside and didn't want to "chance it." Sure! He said "this is a strange way to have to meet your neighbors." Oh, that neighbor was Warren Zevon. Yes, a strange way to meet the neighbors.