Last week I had the chance to experience a modest earthquake (4.2), which was something I’d been looking forward too since I moved out to California—looking forward to with a profound fear. For while earthquakes are often delightful opportunities to enjoy a fleeting earthly rumble, they can also be city-destroying leviathans. This volatile dichotomy would be analogous to if volcanoes on rare occasions spewed scorching hot lava, but usually they just erupted with chocolate milk.

Living in a geologic fault zone is like living inside a piñata. Sometimes you’re hit with a whack from some milquetoast four-eyes, but every once in a while an overgrown future left tackle comes along, and he’s secretly peeking out from his blindfold. A strike from this small child is what I fear more than anything else in the world.

The problem is that you never know which kind of earthquake you’re in for. Sometimes a bus will pass by my apartment, lightly shaking the floor, and I’ll immediately run outside in hysterics yelling, “This is the big one!” without even pausing to put on my clothing.

Here is a handy guide to enjoying/suffering the awesome/horrific thrill-ride/disaster known as the earthquake, based on the Richter magnitude scale:

2.0-2.9: Say, was that an earthquake, or did an infant just crawl passed the apartment?

3.0-3.9: Oh great, my neighbor is blasting Nas again. Oh wait, no, earthquake! Oh wait, but my neighbor is also blasting Nas.

4.0-4.9: Awesome! Earthquake! Rock and roll! Fuck yeah! Oh no, my fine china.

5.0-5.9: Ha ha … OK, that’s pretty impressive, earth. Ha ha, good one. You’re right, I should replace that window. Ha ha. Oh, thanks, I’ve been meaning to rearrange my display shelf. You fucking asshole.

6.0-6.9: Fuck this, man, this is not cool! That does it, I’m moving to Vermont.

7.0+: What a horrific tragedy. Have fun rebuilding your life, if you manage to survive this ungodly nightmare. The most terrifying aspect of powerful earthquakes is that they can directly trigger accomplice disasters such as landslides, tsunamis, volcanic eruptions, and fires. If I’m ever involved in something likes this I know it would be a long overdue punishment for how I tortured those poor citizens of SimCity 2000.

I get really put off when somebody says, “Well, speak of the devil!” I’m like, “You’ve just made our mutual friend materialize by speaking about him, and now you want to discuss the devil? Actually this might not be a bad time to not mention the devil under any circumstances whatsoever. Because I could really go without summoning the fucking devil right now.”

Motion-sensing porch lights were invented as a theft deterrent, but in reality all they’re good for is continuously startling the holy Christ out of me. Not only do these lights put me in a state of panic, they make me feel like a suspected burglar. I guess I deserve that for casually meandering down a public sidewalk anytime after dark. Meanwhile, if I should happen to inadvertently set off car alarm when I’m walking, I simply head on over to the police station to turn myself in.

Sometimes I like to pretend that these porch lights aren’t motion-sensitive after all. Sometimes I imagine a panicked family huddled up in the corner of their foyer, flicking on the light switch in an act of desperation as if you to say: “We know you’re there, burglar! And the Jenkins family won’t stand for it!” Then I bash in their window with my crowbar.