Heat

This morning at midnight, Megan and I officially made it through November without turning on our heat--due in some part to unseasonable warmth and in some part to a recognition that our tiny future-pod of an apartment somehow gets up to 75 degrees even when it's chilly outside.

There are a lot of people to thank. First, my loving family. And all the folks at CAA, my agent, my scheduler. The wonderful designers of this airtight people-holder, which surrounds the two of our 98.6 degree bodies with a low volume of cooler air and has no window-leakage (not an industry term).

Thanks to our 95-year old downstairs neighbor who undoubtedly ups her heat at the first sign of a fear-mongery local news weather report. My father, who instilled in me an aversion to Thermostat-cranking. The good folks at Twinnings tea, who've marketed a warm beverage so delicious that we're compelled to turn on our stove every couple hours. Jimmy Carter. And Russell Athletic, which keeps me in hoodies.

Now the question is, How stubborn will I be? This morning, it had gotten down to 62 in here. There was a frost outside that had crystalized some spiderwebs on our deck, leading me to comment on "the frozen spiderweb of my heart." (I promised Megan as she left for work that I would not write that poem today, but the webs were awesome).

The short of it is that, Appalachian Warming aside, it's about to get butt-cold around here.

But I don't want to give in easily. So I think I'll turn on the heat when it gets below 59. That'll be the equivalent temperature of my old Grosvenor Street House, which, though it would rub its feet together, just couldn't figure out how to get warm.

Syd was a good roommate, if a little noisy.

In the winters of '06-'07 and '07-'08 (not '32), though the "heat" was pumping and the radiator smelled chocolate-y, I customarily slept in my dockworker's coat and orange winter hat, lovingly crocheted by my sister.

These sleepytime necessities combined with my scraggly beard to make me feel like kind of a tough-guy, and I enjoyed that, but Megan can't grow a good beard and doesn't have an orange hat, so we'll have to make the switch soon.

Next challenge, a December without hot water! No? January without Internet? Probably not. February without Walnuts? March without music? April without chard? C'mon, guys, let's do it! No-sandwich May? Baseball-free June?

July without arbitrarily-imposed restrictions adopted for the sake of providing some whimsical, possibly-deranged structure to my life? Never!