Tsunami adjacent

One trick to making the day a little better when you’re working at an agency is to work at one that follows the tried and true first rule of real estate: location, location, location.

I’ve worked at agencies located in industrial parks, in the corner of run down shopping malls and alongside an airport runway. As I’m sure you know by now, I’m not particularly picky as long as – say it with me - the checks clear. But it is infinitely more pleasant to be someplace with a spectacular view to distract me from having to come up with the next earth shakin’, product movin’, sales increasin’, consumer viewin’, client pleasin’, award winnin’ banner ad.

Which is why I quite like where I happen to be working right now.

It’s an agency in Huntington Beach. I don’t have to get on a freeway to get here – I just fly down PCH from my house for about twenty minutes, and enjoy the view of the naval ships refueling, and rearming, at the Seal Beach Naval Weapons station. I try to count the bumper-to-bumper cargo ships backed up in the ocean because of last week’s dockworkers strike at the port. And then, a little further down the road, I watch the surfers and wish I were one of them. I don’t surf, and I’d probably get smacked in the head with my own board, drown and die, but you know what I mean.

This agency is spread out over four buildings, and the picture above is the view from the one in front. The one with the café. And the happy hour on Thursdays. And free breakfasts on Fridays. I file it under things could be worse.

Of course, being me, while I sometimes appreciate the full impact of gazing out at the ocean in the middle of the workday, another thought does cross my mind no matter how hard I try to keep it out.

It looks like this:

Now, this isn't the first time I've posted about tsunamis. About three and half years ago I put up this post. But when I wrote that post, I was just passing through. Now, I spend at least eight hours a day tsunami adjacent, not counting my leisurely lunches I love so much.

I don't think it matters if I see it coming or not, because either way, once it hits, I'm going to be one big, fat, soggy piece of humanity floating down Main St. past Sushi On Fire and the Pizza Lounge.

I just light up a room don't I?

Anyway, I'll enjoy the view for now and try not to worry too much about tsunamis.

On the bright side, it's Huntington Beach. I can always get a pair of board shorts in a hurry if I need them.

Taking the high road

Here's something I don't tell a lot of people: occasionally - very occasionally - I watch the Weather Channel.

Fine. Use it against me. But I know more about tornadoes and typhoons than you ever will. And I'm sure that and the algebra I had to take four times will eventually come in very handy.

When I'm watching and see all the hurricane footage they show, I always think the same thing: I'll take our earthquakes over their hurricanes any day (although I'd like that day to be a Monday, because why ruin a perfectly good weekend).

With a hurricane, everything it touches is blown to smithereens. Houses become splinters. Cars become airborne as if they were the same size and weight as Hot Wheels. Everyone's life resets to zero and they have to start over.

I'm born and raised in L.A. I've been through a lot of earthquakes. And as a rule, about 98% of everything is still standing afterwards. Cosmetic damage, sure. But this is L.A. We have lots of people who know how to take something that's fallen apart on the outside and make it look better.

When it comes to earthquakes, the news is a cruel tease. Whether it's L.A. or Japan, the coverage would make you believe that entire cities or countries have been destroyed. Simply not true.

All of this brings me to Hermosa Beach.

I was down there walking around with my son last Tuesday, and we saw the sign you see above. Truthfully, tsunamis, or tidal waves, had never really been on my radar (that would be my Doppler radar). Unless the Weather Channel was doing a special on them. This sign immediately brought back images of the footage from Thailand in '04, and the tsunami in Japan after the most recent earthquake.

And as I looked at the sign, I just had one thought. Say goodbye to Hermosa Beach.

If you look just to the right of the sign, that's where the ocean is. Close isn't it?

And Hermosa is the quintessential sleepy beach town with all that implies: narrow streets, too little parking and too many cars, and a beachy little attitude that just screams, "Why the rush?"

They're goners.

So, as I sit in my house three miles inland on a small hill, I'd like to take a minute to say goodbye to Hermosa Beach, and let them know how sorry I am they spent good money on tsunami evacuation signs that aren't going to do jack when surf's up - way up.

I hope they at least made them waterproof.