Here we go. Firetrucks just pulled up to my apartment building. By the time I made it to the window, they had unrolled the firehoses, draped the hoses down the street, and no fewer than a dozen fully armed firefighters were running with axes into the basement of my building. Seriously, it was awesome.I was all ready to go outside and watch until I all-of-a-sudden realized that this was all happening to my building. My building that could soon be engulfed in flames. You can’t rubberneck in your own disaster, can you? So I paced; I thought of my escape route, and of the dozens of animals I would rescue on the way out in order to become the hero on tomorrow night’s news quoting from the Cub Scout Handbook.But, no fire alarms!!! Some dude on the first floor probably plugged too many Blackberry chargers into his surge protector before going to bed, and if I hadn’t been awake to see the trucks, I never would have known. I’m sure more than half of the other tenants slept right through this whole episode. How sad.Some of my — hell, everyone’s — best memories from college were from fire alarms in the middle of the night when we’d all stand outside in terrible weather waiting for the rest of the building to file out, looking for familiar faces to huddle with, pointing at the people who had clearly been asleep or hooking up, and trying to sniff out the actual culprit event. (For example, 80% of the alarms in Gifford during my semesters there were directly attributable to Sean Nelson trying to cook anything from instant mac to bratworst in a toaster oven.)Tonight’s fire definitely deserved a full-fledged fire alarm, even if it only required a fire extinguisher. Who was I supposed to commiserate with tonight? This stupid blog?! I would have much preferred to see my fellow building-mates in their pajamas and nightgowns for a few minutes of commiserating.