The Big One, are you ready?

Normally I like to start my posts with  a reference to a song but there didn't seem to be a single tune,  that I could think of,  relevant to the hazards of earthquakes or their aftermaths. Someone better tell Simon Cowell there's a gap in the pop market. In the nick of time, Carole King came to the rescue. Here's hoping that I never do, "feel the Earth, move, under my feet". Take it away Carole...

The Missus and I have just taken delivery of our disaster kit  from Amazon. Having moved to perhaps the most famous earthquake territory in The World, it was decided that a little bit of "justincasedness" would be prudent. I remember watching reports of the last big earthquake to hit San Francisco on "John Craven's Newsround" as a child and being in awe of what I saw.  The image that stuck in my mind then, and does to this day, is that of the collapsed upper deck of the Oakland Bay Bridge.

Unnerving public public service adverts appearing at bus stops near you now

 Known as the "1989 Loma Prieta Earthquake" or the "World Series Earthquake" because it happened during a game between the Oakland Athletics and the San Francisco Giants, it was the first major quake to be broadcast live on US telly. Whoo. Go team.  It measured 6.9 on the Richter Scale, sadly killed sixty three people and left thousands homeless. This was not "The Big One" that is supposedly due any day now. In fact, I believe it's overdue. Oh goody. 

Sadly not a reliable option

Prior to moving here my other mental images of earthquakes were from "Superman The Movie". In a mad dash to put everything right, Superman saves a school full of kids from toppling off the Golden Gate Bridge. This is good work, though sadly not something to be relied upon nor something that can be pre-bought from Amazon. The other image, also from Superman, is of Lois Lane in her car swerving to avoid falling telephone polls, then being swallowed up into the ground as a rift opens up. 

Superman wonders if the car's a write-off

Now, while Superman sadly cannot be relied up to help out in either situation, it is at least in some way reassuring to know that in an earthquake the ground does not open up and swallow anyone, or anything, whole. For those on the Golden Gate Bridge, take solace that it survived 1989 and suspension bridges are designed to move.

What the ground does and did do in 1989, is liquify. In essence the ground shakes so violently that it acts like a liquid. This does not sound good. Worse still, this happens most on loose soil, in say The Marina area of San Francisco, not far from where The Missus and I now live. Fortunately we do not live on loose soil, "The wise man built his house upon rock." As my preparation manual helpfully points out, The Marina area was devastated in 1989. The earthquake kit is becoming an increasingly wise purchase. 

A sizeable delivery

Box within a box, is this earthquake retrofitting?

Once hauled into the flat, it seemed wise to open the package, especially considering there could be an earthquake at any moment, and I'm glad we did. In the middle of disaster getting into Amazon's serious approach to packing could have meant the difference between life and death. Once inside, the swag kept on coming and coming.

The deluxe emergency kit

Now I feel the need to detail everything therein as it appeared on opening the box.

13 x sachets of purified drinking water (yet this kit is designed for two people)
2 x rock hard packs of emergency food rations each containing six bricks (of something allegedly edible)
1 x mini first aid kit (fair enough, what can't be fixed with a plaster?)
1 x emergency blanket (I suppose the thinking is that if you need two you're beyond the help of the kit)
1 x 5in1 survival whistle - compass, whistle, flint, signal mirror, waterproof match container (I think this one really is over selling itself)
1 x multi purpose knife (can't argue with that)
2 x face masks (for that SARS chic look)
Some rope
1 x pair of work gloves (though working/gardening would be far from my mind)
1 x rubber flashlight
2 x ponchos
1 x emergency camping tent (no poles so God knows how that stays up)
1 x AM/FM radio
2 x glow sticks (now we're talking)
1 x bottle of poppers (really water purification tablets but I'm going on first impressions here)
1 x rucksack for all the incredibly heavy swag.

Now does it not strike you, for it did me, that this list is not dissimilar to your basic festival needs? So in the event of an earthquake, I am at least looking forward to a good old singalong in our pre-decided emergency rendezvous point. I just hope everyone knows the words to Coldplay's "Yellow".  If only there were such a thing as wind-up internet, we could always download the words. I may have to pitch that idea to Steve Jobs.

Of course I am being facetious and preparation really is key to increasing our chances of survival. The kit is stowed in a safe yet easily accessible place. Where it's not too much effort the Seven Steps to Earthquake Safety have been adhered to. I've drawn the line at fixing pictures securely to walls, but chosen instead to precariously hang things where they won't fall on our heads. Seemed easier. The one thing left to do, and this does seem a little extreme bearing in mind we're in a flat, is secure a torch and spare pair of shoes in a bag, under the bed.  I do now wish I hadn't thrown away my Glastonbury wellies.

Wellie Graveyard Glastonbury 2011

Earthquakes really are no laughing matter but these things should be approached with a little sense of humour when making recovery plans. I had always wondered as  child what kind of a fool would live on a known major fault line, turns out, it's me. Having left the Motherland, where there's nothing that tries to bite you, or has massive claws capable of swiping off your head, nor is there anything that can inject lethal venom into your veins,  here I am in a place that not only has all that, but the very ground you stand on could go ape any minute. Well it all adds a bit of spice, doesn't it?

Back for the Fourth of July, I was back for the fourth of July.

Yet another massive gap since I've posted, it really is time to get down to some regular musings from Fog City, so here's my first impression on the  Fourth of July celebrations.

Firstly this is the one time when the Americans remember to use "of" when referring to a date. The day before is July third the day after is  July fifth yet for some unknown and ear soothing reason Independence Day is properly honoured with the sonorous Fourth "OF" July. For that reason alone it was almost worth missing out on Prince's seemingly legendary set at the Hop Farm in Kent, England.  Not since Madonna played Mote Park in Maidstone has such an international music icon appeared near where I grew up and, by all accounts, Prince was actually good. Note to all festival performers, and I have said this many times, festivals are not the time to experiment with new tracks but to wheel out the hits.

But I digress, missing Prince didn't matter too much, The Missus and I really were keen to experience Independence Day, one of America's biggest holidays, so we headed back from the UK to see just what pomp and circumstance is like Stateside.

All American margaritas

Now, for those of you who are not up on US history, by this I mean me and Sarah Palin, the day commemorates that fateful time when Will Smith, helped by a much maligned scientist Jeff Goldblum finally managed to infiltrate the alien mothership, bringing down the extra terrestrial computer network thus allowing President Bill Pullman and his much depleted armies to attack those pesky spaceships hovering over LA and all America's other major cities. Not only that, but they passed on the information globally, including radioing Giles and Charles, two RAF pilots (I kid you not) so that the aliens could finally be defeated and the Earth freed. The ultimate goal shouted President Bill Pullman, 

"The Fourth of July will no longer be known as an American holiday, but as the day the world declared in one voice: "We will not go quietly into the night!" We will not vanish without a fight! We're going to live on! We're going to survive! Today we celebrate our Independence Day!" 

Okay then, Independence Day celebrates the adoption of the Declaration of Independence, the signing of the charter by notable historical figures such as George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin, John Adams and other people who's names can all be found on Wikipedia. The charter declared the thirteen states or as they were then called colonies, independent from Great Britain.

Well now, there's a situation to find yourself in. A staunchly proud Brit leaving The Green and Pleasant Land so as to join ex-colonials in celebrating their independence from said G&P land. In the spirit of good humour  and light hearted teasing, I was so very tempted to re-decorate the flat here in SF as it was for the wedding of Prince William and Princess Catherine. However, seeing as I have not yet gotten to grips with just how strong patriotism runs in the US, and I certainly wouldn't want my joke to be misunderstood, I agreed with The Missus that we should simply approach the day as a good old knees-up, albeit an American one. I've been brought up well enough to know never to insult my hosts and I certainly wouldn't want to be doorstepped by members of the US Black Squadron shouting the Taffin quote "Well may be you shouldn't be living here" now made infamous by Adam and Joe. Although that would almost have been worth it.

Willy and Katah look down on what could have been their kingdom

Perhaps a little inappropriate for the occasion

As the UK does not have an official national day, the closest are the saint days for each country of the Union, St George (England), St David (Wales) and St Andrew (Scotland). Guy Fawkes Night is the best comparison I can make with the Fourth "OF" July, and that is based mainly on the common denominator of fireworks.  I have deliberately omitted Northern Island from my list because St Patrick doesn't fit into my reasoning and, like many others, Northern Island for me, is an extremely confusing member of The Union, to say the least.

Fireworks seem to be the main focus of the celebrations though, as the day progressed I began to realise that it is also about getting together with friends and family, barbeques and beer. So our day was split in two, seeing as we were fresh off the plane, and though we did have an invite to a family BBQ, The Missus and I knew we'd be poor company. We opted instead to relax then head down to the dreaded tourist trap of Fisherman's Wharf to experience outdoor entertainment, go home, eat food then return to watch the fireworks in The Bay.

People start to claim their spots, six hours ahead of time

I had high hopes for the day's events. I really wanted seas of Stars and Stripes flapping from most houses as we walked down to Wharf, followed by lots of people, ideally dressed head to toe in material made out of that Star Spangled Banner yet wave. Disappointingly I counted only three flags on the walk down, in fact I saw more on Memorial Day than on the US' National Day.

Down by The Bay, where people had started to gather, there were already some tents erected, like a miniature Glastonbury, even a gazebo or two, but again, no flags. The odd person sported red, white and blue deely boppers, but the lack of patriotism surprised and actually disappointed me. This was compensated though by the amazingly cool, super cute kid drummer who played what seemed like all day. Aren't there laws against that kind of thing? No matter, he won over everyone that passed from tourist to local to hobo. All were transfixed and I wished I was as cool. 

I had expected a party reminiscent of a free ticketed, Daily Mail Last Night of the Proms extravaganza, but instead found a more gentle picnic in the park. This was disappointing not least because one thing an Englishman loves is to pour scorn on US patriotism from atop an inappropriately high Mount Smug.

The afternoon rather selfishly denied all opportunity of mickey taking. In fact, it was impossible to even raise a sneer. I began to worry for my sanity and very Englishness, of which I am so proud. For what is the point of being English if you cannot tut and mutter about the uncouthness of the colonials? So, after a wander and a very poor cocktail, Fisherman's Wharf really is tourist trap that no SF local would consider frequenting apart from on the Fourth of July, The Missus and I headed home to rest  and to prep up our illicit booze for the evening.

Ain't notin' in that brown bag but OJ, officer

The evening lived closer to expectations. Having picked ourselves a good spot in Aquatic Park, again our recent Glastonbury skills stood us in good stead, we awaited fireworks, beer ingeniously concealed in a brown paper bag.  Considering the current state of both the local and global economy, it's odd that both in the UK and in the US, authorities are still keen to quite literally burn money and let the tax payer watch their own hard earned cash go up in smoke. This is by no means a bad thing, who needs  a few extra nurses when short lived, pretty explosions are on offer? 

Finally my much needed fix of Americana and patriotism was satiated quite brilliantly with some impressive fireworks, but it was the chosen soundtrack that really hit the mark. Bruce Springsteen's "Born In The USA" was an obvious yet inappropriate choice. When will people realise it was never intended to be a nationalistic anthem? Totally unexpected though was as a song that, judging by the many voices in the crowd who joined in, really struck a chord. Take a moment, if you will, to enjoy the pure Americaness of this masterpiece. 

Desperate need for some in your face American patriotism fulfilled in three wonderfully cringeworthy minutes. Not surprisingly, this track never made it big back in the Mother Country.

The fireworks themselves were largely impressive, though I am sorry to say it San Francisco, Clapham Common's last year for Guy Fawkes were better and, perhaps this is overly critical, if you are going to make smiley faces out of your explosions, make them explode the right way up.  

Though I was left yearning for a party more reminiscent of a Bush Family wedding high on popping candy, I should thank the good people of San Francisco for an entertaining evening and more importantly for not being overtly patriotic, after all this is San Francisco, not the US heartland. Locals here are far too cool for all that flag waving. There's no Daily Mail in this town.