Our friends in California have been laughing at us from the get-go. That’s karma, I suppose, for us laughing at southerners drive badly in the snow. Anyway, I’ve learned to stop telling people my earthquake story. Nobody cares where anybody was when it happened anymore, and we all feel a little silly.
The first piece of evidence: this photo has been all over Facebook, sarcastically captioned as evidence of Virginia’s “devastation”:
The Web is nothing is not a breeding ground for snark. Soon after, the Photoshop posses rode in.
And then, this…
Maybe we’re just a little jaded. We’ve got the 9/11 memorials coming up, and I don’t think a lot of us are emotionally prepared for it. In New York it’s still a topic one brings up very cautiously. And there’s Hurricane Irene heading up the coast, and although dire hurricane warnings are usually found to be overblown, nobody likes dire hurricane warnings.We’ve also been told that there’s a big difference between the 5.8 quake we got, and a 5.9 quake. A BIG difference. And we’ve been told for years that New York City and the entire northeast is overdue for The Big One. So this feels like a warning shot across the bow.
This could be my cue to wax eloquent about our society, say something self-deprecating about our childish, puerile culture, and then make some sweeping generalizations that cast Yucatán in a flattering light.
But all I really want right now is to be hunkered down in the Centro, surrounded by my sturdy mampostería walls, far away from here.