We Love Fire. Even Though We Live in Wooden Houses

Reading: Gould's Book of Fish
Listening: VH1 Best Night Ever Podcast. I am all about pop culture and snarkyness.

[Note: For the definition of "snarkyness," HAHA, there is none.]

Yesterday was いっぱい with thrills. Around lunchtime, I was sitting on the crapper when the school fire alarm sounded off. An announcement over the P.A. asked that everyone walk out to the sports field. Albeit, I was confused, but in my eleven months in Japan, HEY, that's nothing new. My "go-between," the teacher supposedly responsible for clueing me in on things, has shirked her duties in the few months since her appointment and merely nodded me along behind the herd of students leaving their classrooms.

On the field, teachers circled the crowds, much like cowboys wrangling misbehaving cows. (You knew that simile would crop up after I wrote the word "herd," didn't you?) I stood awkwardly at the back, the lonely cowgirl. Or cow? Unsure of what to do, I simply stood, wishing I were inside sipping my Earl Grey, reading my book, and listening to angry rock music.

Twenty minutes of herding later, the livestock were lined up, and the school bowed in greeting to the two elderly representatives from the Miki Fire Department (no calendar-worthy guys here) who would be educating us on firefighting techniques. After speaking for ten minutes on the dangers of the hot summer months, the men demonstrated how to use a fire extinguisher. Maybe. Something something about pulling the nozzle and spraying. The firemen built a huge fire at the front of the crowd, which sent thick, black smoke billowing into the students, and the neat lines were forced to move backward. Three boys had been appointed ahead of time to demonstrate the extinguishment of a fire. Three boys. I made a face learning that no female students would be involved before realizing that hey, none of the girls would have wanted to do it anyway. The fire lesson ran like this: one boy stepped up, blasted the fire with pink stuff, the men started the flames again, and the next boy stepped up. I expected clapping or cheering, but all was silent. Of course! We're in Japan, where random fires in fields are a common sight. No biggie.

The drill was a yawnfest. My one joy came from witnessing a gym teacher grab a boy by the waistline, pulling his baggy pants above his waist--surely giving him a wedgie--and holding them in place for the entirety of the drill.

In the afternoon, I caught the bus to Akashi. I savored my first Starbucks latte in months(?) over half an hour of people watching (one of my favorite activities), during which time I laughed over a tiny, aloha shirt-clad old man feeding a cloud of greedy pigeons. Beautiful and disgusting all at once.

I headed to Zokka for my haircut at 6:30 pm, where I chatted with my favorite shampoo girl. My Japanese vocabulary is low, my Japanese haircut vocabulary even lower, and today, rather than attempt the linguistic miracle of actually articulating what I want, I simply purred to 店長さん, "Omakase, baby." in my most kitten-ish voice. I left feeling clean (from two shampoos plus conditioning treatment), energized (from my massage), and cute (from my new 'do, of course).

I joined the Akashi girls for a late dinner at Mio Passo, an Italian restaurant with reasonably yummy and cheap meals served in sets. For once, my pleasure was not the food, but the company; I hadn't seen the girls in months. Besides having our first Everyone's-Here-Ladies'-Night in a long while, we met Lena's mom, who is visiting from Portland!

My Friday was dull, despite that I updated my iTunes and took an hour long not-really-a-power-nap during lunch. Tonight events will switch into high gear as Chris, Dylan, Heather, and I kick it to Tokyo for a little m-flo concert.

Until next week, au revoir!
I'm so excited, I've forgotten what country I'm in.