A Note From the Frozen North

The mercury has dipped down only to 59, but I'm sitting in my office blasting my space heater and drinking hot tea. Down the hall, my office manager doesn't have a space heater, so he's wearing a stocking cap and coat as he types away. What gives? Welcome to New York on the cusp.

Not so bad inside

Most buildings in my fair city are pretty old. Unlike other places I've lived, this means they were built before central climate control existed. There's no space in ceilings and walls to accommodate the ducts that channel heated or cooled air through vents into rooms, and so we resort to other measures. In the summer, nearly everyone has "window units." These noisy machines perch in windows, and this is a testament to how hot it can get in New York; no one would sacrifice one of their scarce, precious windows without good reason. Inside the room, they are flush with the wall, but outside they stick out of the side of the building and have to be propped up on little platforms. They blast cool air into the room and drip water that collects on the cooling mechanisms onto the sidewalks below. Surprised tourists will often look for rain clouds when they are hit with the drops. Experienced city walkers don't hug the sides of buildings too closely in summer. Even though it's just condensed water, something about drops emanating from machines on the side of buildings feels inexplicably gross.

Air conditioning units in every window

In winter, our heat comes from radiators that sit against walls of our rooms. Again, this is a testament to how cold it gets here; giving up even a few inches of limited floor space is a major concession. When cheap apartments, like the one I lived in a few years ago, are repainted between residents, the radiators are always painted, too. No one bothers to strip the old stuff away first, and the result is radiators with contours softened by layers and layers and layers of paint. I learned the hard way that a radiator does not make a good shelf; my modem was virtually melted a few years ago when mine kicked on unexpectedly. (It was awesome for keeping a cup of tea warm, though.) Ever get dry skin from the hot air blasting through your heating vents? Not a problem for New Yorkers. The radiators keep things pretty steamy; the windows in my old apartment actually used to fog up. They tick and bang, but you start to associate those sounds with coziness after a while. The problem with radiators is that they can't really be controlled. Sure, you can turn yours off or open a window if it gets too hot. But since you never know when the boiler in the basement will fire up again, it's always a bit scary because you could be sitting in a pretty chilly apartment for hours before it starts to heat up again. Another problem is that building managers don't tend to fire boilers up for the first time until it's pretty cold out. So there is this weird period of limbo during which temperatures outside and inside have dropped but there's nothing you can do about it except bundle up and wait.

Currently, my office is in the midst of this limbo. I haven't noticed it as much at home, probably because we don't have nearly as many windows as there are at work. But I'm fairly confident we'll get there before the boiler makes its annual debut. And when it happens, Todd will rejoice. This is just about the only time of year I enjoy having the cats around. There is nothing like cuddling with the equivalent of a furry hot water bottle when you're waiting for the radiator to start ticking.

In summer, he is less appreciated.