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August 12, 2005
Pixel Fire III, and a footnote
As I continue to immerse myself in the pixel-delicious world of EverQuest and EQ Widows for a class project in Cambridge, an IEEE article's heroic portrayal of Sony Online Entertainment's Network Operations Center (NOC) suddenly hurled me back into the bizarre world of Southern California.
"Three people per shift work in the NOC, and there are three shifts per day. During each shift, NOC staff monitor game activity, responding to players in remote locations and working with a custom suite of software tools to fix problems along the way.
"The center has shut down for just three days of work—all in 2003, when wildfires were closing in on the neighborhood. (Because all the tools run remotely, the staff members kept EverQuest going from their homes. A backup generator kept pumping power to the servers even as the fire threatened to black out parts of the city.)" http://www.spectrum.ieee.org/WEBONLY/publicfeature/jul05/0705eq.html
IEEE's paranthetical note sent a shiver down my spine, and I should add a footnote to show why IEEE's paranthetical mention of the NOC staff, who make EverQuest possible for its loyal gamers, impressed me to the degree that it did.
My Footnote:
Back in October of 2003, I noticed something bizarre on the drive from my apartment in Marina Del Rey out to my family's home in Rancho Cucamonga. Oddly, there was no traffic, and the night was especially black. Even the moon was hidden.
After successfully battling the drive over the steep pass into Pomona, I squinted in disbelief through the dust-laden windshield into the darkness. In the distance, a great, bright, volcanic-orange mass blared strikingly against the stark, black backdrop of the Cucamonga Mountains. They were on fire.
Upon arriving, a thick layer of ash instantly covered my car. I walked inside my family's house, wiping my face to find black soot already sticking thick to my moist skin. My parents were stuck to the television. They had not yet been instructed to evacuate. Houses were going to burn, we just didn’t know which ones. And the Santa Ana winds were rising.
When our family first moved back to California, I was sixteen. I remember pressing my nose against the windowpane, having become accustomed to the coveted school closings for “snow days” in Colorado, and then contemplating the odd, Cucamonga equivalent: “Wind days”. Staring through the glass pane like a live television screen, I watched the invisible monster powerfully destroy electrical lines, uproot trees and smash them onto cars and homes, and steal trash cans, lawn chairs, potted flowers, loose animals, and anything that was not enclosed within four walls and a protective roof. My growing teenage breasts always hurt on those days, the days when the wind picked up like an absurd tornado that had been inverted.
Yet following my adolescent introduction to the Santa Ana’s, my parents and I now watched the televised battleground while it blazed in our backyard, fueling the gigantic Grand Prix Fire in a horrifically magnificent display, together, fire and wind, playing violent hooky from the ordained laws of man.
We watched the fire come right up to the field behind the Banyan Fire Station on the street above my parents’ house. But it did not destroy our home. Yet witnessing the ominous, 200-feet-high wall of fire moving toward me etched a deep impression into my mind.
Others were not so lucky. Ultimately, over 2500 homes were destroyed by ten fires throughout Southern California, killing 17 people and 45,000,000 acres of land. Shelters were set up throughout the sprawling cities, and the 15 million inhabitants of greater Los Angeles coughed in the ashes and wiped the black dust from their faces while the smoke trailed far out over the Pacific Ocean, eventually dispersing in defeat high into the atmosphere.
Meanwhile, as the citizens of Southern California were traipsing through the smoky air and blistering red sun, the MTA buses were on strike, as well as Ralphs, Vons, Albertons, and Save-On supermarkets. Many people could not go to work, and buying groceries was a more difficult endeavor, except for those who dared to break the picket line. California Governor Un-elect Gray Davis was vying with Governor Pre-elect Arnold Schwarzenegger for front-line coverage and requests for federal funding. On October 27, 2003, President Bush declared Ventura, Los Angeles, San Bernardino, and San Diego Counties in a state of emergency.
Thus, in the course of one week--between the fires, the buses and the supermarket strikes--the entire structural system of food, transportation, and shelter has been removed from the masses of Los Angeles in varying degrees. The dissonant impression of our broken city arises bright and vivid, like the 200-foot-high fire wall, for this maddening virtual chaos, this failing urban infrastructure, this unimaginable we constantly witness on our televised and digital screens has finally entered into our homes and touched our bodies in the flesh.
"All along the watchtower, princes kept the view
While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too.
Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl,
Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl." (Bob Dylan)
Posted by Jennifer at August 12, 2005 05:04 PM