Radiate. Or...

It's day three of radiator living, and as far as I can tell, the temperature outside has not significantly changed. My home's response to that temperature, on the other hand, is a whole different bucket of fish.

Yesterday was Thursday, which means that in the absence of pressing needs or impending insanity, I mostly stay home and do work. I did excellently with this endeavor and even managed to watch some internet TV in the meantime. But my apartment, she was cold. I bundled up, and she was cold. I got out the fleece blanket I've had since freshman year of college.* All this did was cocoon me in warmth, which led to an inordinately long nap with my face planted on the pages of "Primitive Marriage."¹

Now, when I am cold I am perpetually hungry.² This was thus a dual threat to my productivity. I decided to throw down my gage and enter the fray by baking the worlds most failed apple crisp. By this, I mean that I sliced up an apple, put in in a dish with some butter and some cinnamon, and sprinkled granola on the top. It turned out to be pretty delicious, and turning on the oven somehow reminded the radiator by the stove of its job.

It kicked on, and started whistling away. At first, though, I didn't know that's what was happening, as the whistling from the bedroom radiator was more of a hiss-and-sputter, and this sounded like maybe there was a litter of mice in the oven. I started to panic, because even though I've seen no evidence of mice since operation-peppermint-oil, I once read that they like to live in ovens.  I did not want baked mice babies in my life.

There were no mice in the oven, and the radiator promptly gave up its efforts, leaving me with my hot apple food and a cold apartment.


This morning (and again, I would like to note that the temperature seems not to have changed outside), both radiators were on when I got up, and the pipes that run in the corners of my living room and bathroom were both hot to the touch. My apartment is 79 degrees³ and balmy. And both radiators are still going (I can hear the comforting hiss).

Now, if my apartment is going to remain at this temperature all winter, I will be able to happily continue my day-to-day. I like a warm apartment. In fact, it could be said that I like a prohibitively hot apartment, if you ask the right person. Mostly, this is because I find sweaters uncomfortable, and I only like socks if they add to the interest of my ensemble.  However, if I'm going to be living in a polarized° environment, on the days when it's cold in here my landlords risk hobo-fires.ª

For now, I'm going to flee to work early, because the sweater I have on in order to deal with the outside world is too much for me here in the tropics of my home.




Notes:
* Because I'm the sort of person that remembers these things, I distinctly recall going to Bed Bath and Beyond with my parents to buy "essentials" during my first week in New York. At the time, it seemed very far away (it, after all, was 4 numbered blocks and half an avenue block away from the dorm). I still have most of the things I got that day; I still use that same fold-up hair dryer, for example. I gave away the towels long ago to the High School Sweetheart, because he really liked them (to be fair, they were amazing towels), but everything else I still have.
¹ Fortuitously, I did not drool on the printout.
² An interesting scenario, given that if I eat a hearty meal I always get cold right after.
³ This is not an estimate. I have an electric meat thermometer (which I also sometimes use to determine whether or not I have a fever, because I am classy like that) that always knows what temperature it is.
° Get it? Because the two temperatures are opposite, and one is reminiscent of the poles? No? Fine.
ª Hobo-fire: n. -- Fires built in found objects, such as Oil Barrels, Trash Cans, etc. Typically positioned under overpasses, with a collective of cheerful wanderers huddled around for warmth. Can be used to cook beans while still in their tins.