Fire on the Mountain

One of the weird things about Los Angeles is its proximity to all manner of natural phenonmena. Earthquakes come to mind immediately, but since I've been here, I've been disappointed in the lack of ground rumbling. I've mentally prepared myself to wake up in the middle of the night and run to brace myself in the doorway. Alas, to no avail.

However, twice in the past two months, I've gotten on the road from work and headed east to find huge plumes of dark gray smoke billowing from behind Century City. The first time I was shocked and flipped on NPR to get the lowdown. Earthquake, shmearthquake: this was a bomb. Alas, to no avail. It was a minor brushfire in the hills around Universal Studios. Yesterday, I saw the same thing, but this time I knew better. Bomb, shmomb.

I didn't anticipate that the fire would still be going when I got home. Nor did I think I'd be able to see it from my apartment.

It was wild. You could see the smoke making the streetlights thick, and the whole neighborhood smelled like a campfire. People from my apartment complex kept coming out and watching for a while and then going back in; if you stayed out too long, your eyes would start to water. When I got up this morning, I had to wipe the ash from my windshield.

Luckily, nobody died or was badly hurt. They evacuated some people, but no homes were lost. For me, it was a disaster that I could experience without leaving home. I didn't even have to stand in a doorway.