THE CHILL IS NOT YOUR FRIEND, NO MATTER HOW NICELY IT DOES ITS HAIR

I’m not an avid bill payer. I have other things to amuse me. Like my perpetually distracted brain. Does me favors, like a distracted brain should. So who needs another hobby like bill paying? Water? Pish posh. Electricity? Who needs it. See, there’s a coffee shop around the corner that doesn’t exploit mermaids for its marketing purposes and which suffices for caffeinated hydration and the occasional sponge bath. And electricity is taken care of by the roughneck’s secret weapon: the swiss army iPhone. Not only does it come with flash-light, world wide wonderweb, and built-in typewriter, but the usb port can power select household appliances such as electric can opener, electric back scratcher, and electric distillery. But it won’t power my electric blanket. So I’m terrified about losing the good graces of the gas company.

I’ve treated them well. Probably better than I treat my dog, who doubles as a comforter on the cooler days. Natural gas flows at great cost through all the pipes it can find in my apartment. Unfortunately, I have a very modern mid-90s thermostat, and I can’t figure that bum out. Since we’ve officially given the fake summer the proverbial biannual boot, the October days have been rainy and chilly. My precious fingers are cold to the bone and even my shins resist the temptation to dance when Puttin’ On The Ritz gloomily jumps out of my speakers. What is an overgrown delinquent to do?

Note my attempts to manhandle the system. I’ve set the thermostat “schedule” to run the heat everyday at a whopping seventy-something degrees. I’ve wooed the tiny batteries and tickled the golden gray leads that extend outward in recalcitrant pose. I’ve tried various Native American indoor weather dances to elicit that fine gurgling sound into my radiators, but all to no avail. Thus, in true desperate fashion, I’ve taken to keeping my bones warm using a variety of not unpleasant techniques. Yes, techniques. For you see, keeping that chill from the bones is a strange science, ruled by engineers and freemasons, of which groups I do not belong though I’ve asked nicely and I totally told them that I believe (believe!) in some kind of Supreme Being. Doesn’t help, so I’ve had to improvise. You can do the same, but it won’t be improvising any longer.

First, brew four pots of coffee and then fill two kettles with the hot-hot contents. Insert feet and two things will happen: via dermal osmosis, caffeine is directed into the system, speeding up the heart-rate that has been behaving like a cold-blooded invertebrate; then the coffee will (and this is nice) give the bones down there a taste of that wonderful warmth. Second, ask the dog to join you in the chair, directly behind you. That takes care of the lower back and immediately improves the posture while seated---in any chair. Third, a quick jog around the spacious apartment (with dry feet of course) will warm up the torso and confuse the dog, though one must wear a hat or a turbaned fluffy towel to keep the breeze from your speedy legs from cooling off the head. Lastly, encasing the head entirely in wool will allow the warm (warm!) breath from the never-chilly lungs (lucky bastards) to transfer warmth to the skull and all its pieces (eyes, ears, lips, horns, etc). These simple things require only the minimum of resources and a couple minor investments (kettles from the thrift-store, dog from the no-kill shelter (imperative to ensure that the beast is at least moderately well-behaved), jogging shoes or lacking those a fine set of callouses, and lastly a towel of sufficient square-inch count to cover the head.

Once again, I have solved problems that many men would struggle with (this being the age of monkeys). And I have done it without the assistance of the apartment complex maintenance man, who is less creepy than he is psychopathic and who always sings “Hold that tiger, hold that tiger, where’s that tiger, here’s that tiger, where’s that tiger, here’s that tiger” whilst fiddling with tools that I do not recognize whilst casually browsing the shelves of the local hardware store.

Take that, Chill!