Can cataclysms get any bigger than they are now? The year was 1989. I was standing in my agency’s wobbly second story loft, just a few blocks from Stanford, where I once worked. My mind was riveted on a deadline. Co-workers were finishing last-minute conversations, trying to get the most out of an 8-hour work day. It was a few minutes past 5:00 pm. Suddenly, I felt the loft toss and rumble, a large truck navigating the garage below. I stared out the east-facing window as a sea of mountains bobbed up and down. Oh no, this is the big one.