Does rain cause earthquakes? WE INVESTIGATE.

A while back, the National Weather Service - Bay Area posted this on Twitter:

It's basically a graph of historical rainfall in September in San Francisco.  What's the first thing you notice?  BOOM, 5.07" in September 1904.  Typically, there's not a ton of rainfall in any year in September, so 5.07" really stands out.  And of course, about 19 months later, in April 1906, there was a VERY EXCITING EVENT in San Francisco.

So this got me wondering.  DOES RAIN CAUSE EARTHQUAKES.

Answer: YES.

In March of 1957, there was a 5.3 earthquake in San Francisco.  In December of 1955, SF got a ridiculous 11.47 inches of rain.  Remember all that rain last December?  That was 11.70 inches.  That's a lot of rain.  Point being, big rainfall in 1955 was followed by earthquake in 1957.  See the pattern?  PATTERNS ARE SCIENCE.

In December 1889, SF got a ridiculous 13.81" of rain.  This was followed in April of 1892 by not one but two earthquakes within a couple of days, a 6.4 in Vacaville and a 6.2 in Winters.  PATTERNS.

The wettest month in San Francisco history was January 1862, with a Mount Waialeale-like 24.36 inches.  Sidenote, can you imagine if we got 24 inches of rain today?  Local news would have to go to an all-rain format.  Anyway, the rainpocalypse of January '62 was followed in short order by a 6.3 in the Santa Cruz Mountains in October 1865.  December 1864 also had a healthy 8.91 inches of rain, so that probably didn't help.

SO WATCH THE FUCK OUT.  Last December, as I mentioned, we got a very healthy 11.70 inches.  This winter we may get more because of a looming El Nino.

If we get up to double digits in rainfall any month this winter, there will for sure be a bigass earthquake in the next 14 to 36 months.  There is no way this will not happen.  Make peace with your God and say goodbye to your loved ones.  We are all toast.

We are totally fucked

I used to have an existential dread of major, crippling earthquakes.  Like I would honestly just sit on my couch and worry about that.  But that got old and it never happened anyway so I have now focused all my existential dread on something real that really is happening:

The Drought.

We are so fucked by this drought that we can't even begin to comprehend how fucked we are.  The LA Times is here to scare the shit out of us:

Right now the state has only about one year of water supply left in its reservoirs, and our strategic backup supply, groundwater, is rapidly disappearing. California has no contingency plan for a persistent drought like this one (let alone a 20-plus-year mega-drought), except, apparently, staying in emergency mode and praying for rain.

The article goes on with some suggestions that are so stupid and painfully obvious it's insane we aren't doing them.  Like mandatory rationing.  NO FUCKING SHIT.

Picture from the same LA Times article. I have no idea what this is.  Perhaps this is our New God that we must worship to get delicious water.

Of course we should be fucking rationing.  My sister has been up in Tahoe since January and she reports that her neighbors wash their FIVE CARS regularly.  That's not cool!  You know what else?  One single almond takes a FUCKING GALLON of water to grow.  Almonds aren't even that great!  BAN ALMONDS.

EDIT/UPDATE: Almonds are bad, but you know what else?  Fucking WALNUTS take almost FIVE GALLONS of water apiece to grow.  For one stupid walnut!  Walnuts are fucking disgusting anyway.  We could lose walnuts today and be better as a society and a people.  If you think you like walnuts, you've been tricked.  Walnuts are a fucking scam.  If you really sat down and tasted one, you'd be like "Ugh, I can't believe I've been putting this garbage food into my mouth.  I feel like throwing up just thinking about the number of times I've eaten this tree jizz. Yuck. I would rather die than eat another walnut."  BAN WALNUTS.

UPDATE #2!!!!: Thanks to loyal reader Rusty Staples I have learned that "Trader Joe's is recalling walnut products due to the potential health risk from Salmonella"!!!!!  SEE I TOLD YOU!  Walnuts aren't just gross as fuck, they also give you salmonella.  FUCK WALNUTS.

Also, Palm Springs, this is your fucking fault.  From the same Mother Jones almond truther article linked above:

Holy shit, Palm Springs!  That's what you get when your economy is built on golf and swimming pools.  Both golf and swimming pools should be banned.  There should be one golf course, that's it.  If you want to play golf, get in line.  Or get a drier hobby, like sand painting.  Also, Tahoe City is apparently full of people washing their cars too much.  So here's the deal for you, Tahoe City: you can use whatever snow you can melt from your backyard to wash your cars.  THAT'S IT.

Everyone says we should just build desalination plants!  OH SURE NO BIG DEAL LET'S JUST BUILD SOME DESALINATION PLANTS.  We have to have a fucking ballot measure to build a 4-story building so, sure, I don't see any problems in building an industrial plant right on the ocean.  Maybe nuclear powered!

To sum up, we should all probably move.

(Incidentally, vis a vis earthquakes, yep, we're also fucked there too.)

Urban Etiquette: Motoring in the City

Since I live in San Francisco and work in San Francisco I obviously take Muni to work since there's nowhere to park at my job that doesn't cost $18 a day.  So I never used to drive that much.  Just on weekends, pretty much.  Like, literally I would not enter my car M-F unless it was street cleaning.

Now I take my offspring to day care in the mid-Sunset area, so I drive every day.  It's been an eye-opening experience.  Everyone is a terrible driver.

1. For the love of all that is holy, USE YOUR FUCKING TURN SIGNALS

Why are you stopped in the middle of the street?  Have you died in your car and now it just sits there, unattended, while your body rots into the seat?  No?  You're waiting to turn?  Your car is almost certainly not a pre-1939 Buick and thus is equipped with a mechanism designed to let others know your intentions vis-a-vis turning.  FUCKING USE IT.

2. How Stop Signs Work

It has become apparent to me that most drivers believe that Stop signs work like this: "I see a Stop sign.  I pause briefly, then continue on.  It matters not if there are other cars at the intersection, in the general area, or anywhere else on Planet Earth.  I have paused briefly and will now be on my way."

This is not how Stop signs work, you maroon.  Print this out and tape it to your dashboard:

We cool?

3. Green light means go

Why are you just sitting there?  Depress the accelerator pedal.  The odds of the North American Plate suddenly lurching to life and moving under you so as to propel you through the intersection without you operating your car are vanishingly small.

4. Double Parking: Is It For Me?

Double parking is mostly OK if you just have to run in for a second and it's a fairly wide street so the rest of us can get around you without too much trouble.

DO NOT DOUBLE PARK:

a. Anywhere near an intersection.
b. Anywhere, at any time, on Fell, Oak, Gough, Franklin, Turk between Van Ness and Divisadero, any of those little tiny streets in Bernal Heights or those alleys in the Mission, or anywhere else you're going to royally fuck up traffic.
c. When there's a perfectly good parking space right there! What the fuck are you thinking? Take the 30 seconds and park!  Christ!

5. There is no point in tailgating.  It almost never makes the person in front of you go faster and you just look like an asshole.

I'm sure I've forgotten some big ones.  Enlighten me in the comments if you wish.

TK's Earthquake Tips

Doesn't it seem like there are more earthquakes than usual these days? Maybe it just seems that way, but already in 2011 we've had 7.0 or higher quakes in Argentina, Chile, Pakistan, China, and 2 in Japan, counting the one today. And the one today was fucking HUGE.

Like any Normal Person, it makes me think we're due. With that in mind, let's go over a few things you'll need to know when the Next Big One hits here:

BEFORE THE QUAKE

- Make sure you have your earthquake supplies ready. That should include a long roll of gauze that you can wrap around your head to heighten the "badly wounded" effect. Also, a bottle of vodka is a good idea. You'll need a radio of some kind. Get a combination CD/radio player with Biggie's "Life After Death" pre-loaded because that will be good Post-Disaster music.

- If you don't have a pet, consider getting one. Besides being a fun companion, a pet is a self-contained food supply. Also, a long-haired cat's pelt can make an effective small blanket. Don't bother with gerbils or other small rodents. You can't make it work, calorie-wise.

- Prepare an Earthquake Plan. This should include a location where you'll meet up with your friends and family (DO NOT PICK THE 500 CLUB I ALREADY PICKED THAT AND WE ALL NEED TO HAVE OUR OWN PLACE) and one person designated to liveblog the whole thing.

DURING THE QUAKE

PANIC. Also, try and get some video on your phone. BONUS if it's of a shaking bookcase with shit falling out.

AFTER THE QUAKE

- The first thing you should do is try and figure out who your Leader will be in the Post-Apocalyptic Nightmare that you now inhabit. Try to gravitate towards people wearing animal skins and carrying guns. The Leader should be charismatic but also quietly assured and have a spiritual side that he doesn't reveal, except maybe in one scene with Mila Kunis.

- You will need to rebuild the shattered world, so be the first to loot a nearby hardware store.

- Try to stay out of the Rivers of Blood. God knows what weird diseases those people had.

- Now is a good time to slaughter and eat your dog. Save the haunches for yourself.

By following a few simple tips like these, you can greatly increase your chances of surviving and even enjoying the Monster Earthquake That Is Sure to Devastate Our Area.

Have a nice weekend!

50 Reasons to Love San Francisco

50. It was 81 degrees last Thursday. NOVEMBER 4.

49. It’s usually 60 degrees on July 4. TAKE THAT, REST OF AMERICA.

48. The view from Bernal Hill.

47. The view from Tank Hill.

46. The view from the 20th & Church corner of Dolores Park.

45. Ritual Roasters, Blue Bottle, Caffe Trieste, Philz, or any of the other hyperspecialized coffee purveyors you depend on.

44. Making fun of tourists. Giving tourists directions. Rolling your eyes anytime someone says “Fisherman’s Wharf.”

43. 6-hour brunches.

42. The Neptune Society Columbarium. (Seriously, go if you’ve never been. It’s amazing).

41. Fresh focaccia from Liguria Barkery on Stockton.

40. Irish coffee.

39. Walking/biking through Golden Gate Park on Sunday when the streets are all blocked off.

38. Bay to Breakers. In whatever incarnation it currently has.

37. Red’s Java House.

36. Going to the Attic for the first time in 10 years and finding out that the cute bartender looks exactly the same.

35. Finally breaking down and going to Alcatraz and finding out it’s actually pretty cool.

34. When you’re out of town and someone asks you where you’re from and you say “San Francisco.”

33. The endless amusement in bitching about Muni, even though it almost always gets you there. Eventually.

32. The Ferry Building. $6 tomatoes.

31. The Heart of the City Farmer’s Market at U.N. Plaza. 6 tomatoes for $1.

30. Arguing about Critical Mass.

29. It’s-Its. Especially Mint It’s-Its, the obviously most superior It’s-It.

28. Frank Chu.

27. Sunny afternoons in Dolores Park. Cold beer, cold water.

26. The roast chicken at Nopa. The shaking beef at Slanted Door. The salt & pepper crab at R&G Lounge. The cioppino at Caesar’s. The sand dabs at Tadich Grill. A burrito from El Farolito.

25. Burritos in general.

24. Anchor Steam. Speakeasy. Toronado. 21st Amendment. The incredible beer culture and obsessive devotion to, and interest in, beer.

23. Earthquakes. Earthquake stories. Knowing with absolute certainty there is going to be a massive, devastating earthquake and not doing anything to get ready for it. Except putting a battery-operated radio and a pint of vodka in a shoebox and calling that your “earthquake kit.”

22. Taking the ferry to Tiburon and having brunch at Sam’s.

21. Herb Caen. (R.I.P, and kidz, if you don’t know, go read his stuff.)

20. Walking across the Golden Gate Bridge (BONUS: It’s 58 degrees, the wind is 40 mph, and it’s so foggy you can’t see the water).

19. Beach Blanket Babylon, The Marsh, and one-person shows with 6 people in the audience.

18. As bad as they are now, the San Francisco 49ers. Remember 1994? How about ’81, ’84, ’88, and ’89?

17. The Embarcadero Center lights at Christmas. Union Square at Christmas. The fucking puppies and kittens in the windows of Macy's at Christmas.

16. Happy hour at Zeitgeist, the 540 Club, the Royal Exchange, the Hi-Dive, the Ha-Ra, or wherever you happen to be at 5:00. Or 4:00. Or 3:00. Or, fuck it, 2:30.

15. Seeing live music in the basement of Li Po, at Stern Grove, Symphony Hall, the Fillmore, the Independent, or any of the other hundreds of places you can see live music any night.

14. Watching the fog roll in and slowly take over. Fog in general.

13. Santarchy. (I know they have it in other cities, but it started here, so there.)

12. Street food, from the bacon-wrapped hot dog guys on Mission to the Crème Brulee cart to the Korean BBQ truck and on and on and on.

11. Corner stores. Your corner store might have a better wine selection than most American cities. You could walk out with a Watermelon 4 Loko, a wedge of camembert, a Philips head screwdriver, and a jar of olive tapenade.

10. Amoeba Records (and Aquarius too, for that matter).

9. The Pride Parade. The Dyke March. Pride Weekend in general.

8. Your urban family.

7. Street art.

6. Dogs. Dogs everywhere. Fort Funston. Crissy Field. Duboce Park. Dogs in bars. Dogs on barstools next to you. Dogs in cabs. Knowing more dogs personally than children.

5. The neighborhoods. The Lower Haight is less than 2 miles from Cow Hollow, but you could live your whole life in one and never visit the other.

4. YOUR SAN FRANCISCO GIANTS.

3. SF MOMA, the DeYoung, the observation tower in the DeYoung, the Palace of the Legion of Honor, the Cartoon Art Museum, and Specs 12 Adler. All important cultural institutions.

2. Never having to grow up if you don’t want to. (Don’t I know it.)

1. You know what? Be as weird as you want. Work on your rock opera about the Boxer Rebellion. Be a barista/dominatrix. Talk almost exclusively about your conspiracy theory linking albinos and aliens. That’s cool. Let’s grab a drink and you can tell me all about it.



(In response to "50 Reasons to Be Pretty Damn Euphoric You Live in New York City," which appeared on the Village Voice's blog last week.)

It was 20 years ago today

Well, yesterday, actually, but that doesn't sound as good. Anyway, 20 years ago, October 14, 1990, I moved to San Francisco. Tempus fugit! Here's my Personal Creation Myth:

I drove across the country with the chick I was with at the time. The night before we stayed in Reno and we got SCHWASTED at some casino and then I drove back to our hotel. Stupid, I know. So I was hungover like a motherfucker for that Reno-SF drive. But you know how you get that glimpse of the city by Berkeley on I-80 on your way to the Bay Bridge? I was fucking psyched.

Cross the bridge and we're approaching SF and the directions break down because I got them from the woman who runs the building where we're going to be living and she never left North Beach and didn't know that the exit she'd given us had been destroyed in the Loma Prieta earthquake the year before. So we just take the first available exit and pull into a parking lot on Fremont and try to figure out where to go. Thank God it was a Sunday and there was no traffic downtown. I was looking at a map because there are no cell phones or anything. IMAGINE a world without cell phones, kids. Then I speared a mastodon and cooked it over an open flame so we could eat. Not really. I figured out how to get to the building. Here it is:

350 Union Street. Furnished studio, $685 a month. That seemed like a lot.

I don't remember much else except going across the street to the truly awesome (and now, sadly, gone) Speedy's New Union Grocery and buying beer and a Chronicle. I was kind of in a daze and still a little hungover and also fucking on top of the world.

That night we went to Gino and Carlo and also Columbus Cafe, I think. Both of those establishments would go on to receive a large portion of my income over the next few years. Along with the North End Caffe (which is now Church Key), the Lost and Found (which is now Maggie something or other's), Grant & Green (which is still, amazingly, Grant & Green), the hotel-bar-named-but-not-a-hotel-bar Silhouettes (which was, for a while, an Irish bar called The Field and which you can now rent if you're so inclined.)

(Shit, we should totally rent that space! $7850 a month! Let's start a bar! This is the kind of thing I think about on Fridays!)

(I could do a whole post on Bars I Used To Go To That No Longer Exist. Maybe someday, kids!)

(Apropos of nothing, I came across this whilst searching to see if The Field was remembered on the Internet anywhere: "Cultural Factors Related to Smoking in San Francisco's Irish Bars." Fascinating.)

OK, I've gotten pretty far afield of where I started here. Have a good weekend! VAMANOS LOS GIGANTES!

Here's an action-packed semi-interesting review of my weekend.

No, I didn't feel it. At 7:47 a.m. I was either walking down the steps into the 24th & Mission BART station or was somewhere nearby. Got down to the platform and the guy comes on the intercom and says there's been a quake and trains will be delayed. NOW, what's your first thought? Oh, I might be late to work or Wow, earthquake! or Listen to this jackass calling someone to say there's been an earthquake? Well, my first thought was to look around at my fellow passengers and think Are these the people I want to be trapped with if there's a bigger one coming up? Because if it looks like they're going to be no help, I'm going back up to the street and taking the bus.

ANYWAY. What a weekend! Pavement Friday night. Here's an outstanding review from the delightfully named Ian S. Port. I've been talking about this show pretty much nonstop since Friday night, and now I don't really feel like going on any more about it, but here are three observations:

1. Lots of aging hipsters have adopted the Adam Savage look: big, chunky glasses and unruly hair.

2. Gary Young probably shouldn't be allowed anywhere near a drum kit.

3. It was probably better than I expected.

Saturday was the Dyke March. It's exactly what it sounds like.

Picture may include non-dykes.

Yesterday I went to the Giants-Red Sox game. It was awful. Look, I get that the Sox have incredibly loyal fans and everywhere they go their people show up in force and blah de blah, but there is something uniquely and supremely annoying about being in your own ballpark and having people around you cheering at your team's failures. And believe me, the Giants failed extremely well yesterday.

Hi, Red Sox!

Also, it was about a million fucking degrees out and I drank too much. Betcha didn't see that coming!