The Big Chill

Weather is a funny thing in New York. The meteorologists really take pride in their craft, creating seven-day forecasts with such zany taglines for the days as, "Looks Good," "Still Happy," and "Super!" These positive words don't even fit into the New York ethos, so the weather report seems like a great exercise in irony.

Well this week, lo and behold, there was a cold front moving in. This cold front would take temperatures from the high 70s to the low 70s or even [gasp] high 60s! Now, I'm thinking this is hardly anything to blink about. After all, the first day of fall comes Monday, and we're in a city where snow can fall as early as November. I shrug it off and don't panic.

Fast forward to this morning. I wake up in a hot sweat, kicking the blanket off the bed and muffling a heat-induced cough. I sit up and look around, half-wondering if our apartment is on fire. Then I realize that one half of my body - the half closest to the radiator - is significantly hotter than the other. I lean forward and touch the radiator, then jerk my hand back as it nearly scalds me. I lean back in and hear water bubbling through the pipes. Holy shit, is the HEAT on? I start fumbling around for knobs to turn this death-box off, but nothing. I'm desperate, gasping for air. (Strangely, during all of this, Brad is sound asleep - as is Moby.)

I get up and send an email to our landlords, explaining that there must be something wrong, because it's hotter than a drunk Jamaican in our apartment. Thankfully, I'm heading out anyway - and it doesn't look like Brad and Moby will perish - so I just hope they get back to me soon.

When I step outside, I see that people are dressed like a storm is a-comin'. Sweaters, hats, boots, scarves...one woman even donned gloves. It is maybe 64 degrees out, with a crystal clear blue sky boasting a bright, beautiful sun. I'm wearing a long but lightweight cardigan over a tank top, with jeans. By the time I make it three blocks to the bus, I'm already hot.

When I arrive at my destination (the hair salon), the cold weather is all the talk. The receptionist is wearing a sweater, scarf, leggings and tall boots. My hair-washer lamented that it was "freezing" this morning, and she needs to get a new jacket. Really? Really, you need a new jacket to shield yourself from the frosty 64-degree air? She goes on to say that in this "transitional weather," she gets sick very easily. Transitional? In San Francisco, we call this a perfect day. But apparently, in New York, this is hell. Coincidentally, my stylist complains that in the cold, New Yorkers get “really mean.” Because, you know, otherwise – they’re just so peachy!

Meanwhile, the landlords have emailed me back to explain that they are not surprised to hear the heat came on. See, these are very old buildings - and there's only one furnace from which all of the building's heat is operated. When the temperature drops below a certain point in that furnace room (which no doubt is a dark, cement-floored basement that gets A LOT colder than an actual apartment), it triggers radiator heat for every apartment. But because it's very common for apartment dwellers to get way too hot with this [antiquated] system, it is not uncommon to see windows wide open in the dead of winter.

Al Gore would be so proud.

Back on the bus ride home, I see more signs of the big chill. A woman across from me is not only wearing a scarf, but knitting a new one (and in a bit of a panic, I might add - like it's urgent she increase her supply of winter wearables). And I suspect the next time I go into Central Park, the ice cream carts will have been turned into mitten vendors.

In the meantime, I'm opening the windows, pumping the air conditioner, and dressing for Spring.

Once again…dumbfounded.