Hot hot heat.

It is now officially autumn in NYC, and for the first time this year, even I have to admit that it's cold. For those of you who are blissfully unacquainted with NYC radiator policies, most buildings in the city have automatic heat adjustment. What is this, you ask? Why, it is the scourge of Satan.

In order for the heat in most buildings to kick on, it has to hit 42 degrees outside and stay that way for 72 consecutive hours. Not until hour 73 is the Heat God (a.k.a. fancy thermo-computer in the basement) satisfied that it is, in fact, winter. Once Heat God has ascertained the season, he proceeds to blast/melt you out of your apartment by turning your radiator against you and smothering you with 100 degree heat. Which then forces you to either open your windows (if it's not snowing/raining) or turn on your air conditioner (if it is) in order not to wake up transformed into a pool of human paraffin on the floor.

While I am praying for Hour 73 right now, I know that the moment my radiator comes to life, I will be wishing for this very moment - sitting freezing at my computer wearing five coats, staring lustfully at my radiator, with my tiny space heater blowing directly on my scuff-covered feet.

Sigh.