It's the sound of fall. Clang Clang Bang Bang. Like someone is playing musical pots directly over my head. While I'm trying to sleep. What is this sound of which I speak? The pipes in my apartment. But of course. I walk into 2E last night and hear the distinct noise and sigh to myself. It's that time again. The heat has been turned on and our ancient pipes apparently have to be broken-in to that fact after a long dormant summer of cool inactivity.
I walk into the living room where Kathy is watching her DVRed Desperate Housewives and she looks up and asks, "How long does this go on?" Only a few weeks. No big deal. It's the loudest at night. Well, maybe I only think that because it's the only time I really actually am sensitive to it. I could be biased. And it always seems to be right near where your head is on your pillow, so gently resting after a long day of work. Somehow the clangs find you there in your dreams and *BAM* you're awake at 3:37am. Or 5:23. Or both. And you just want to make it stop. Would even go without heat and put an extra blanket on your bed. Just. Make. It. Stop.
But alas, these are the woes of living in an apartment that is older than, well, me for instance.
Fall is officially arrived in the Big Apple, complete with its puke-yellow leaves (mmmm city living), pumpkin-flavored everything (and anything flavored pumpkin is A-Ok by me) and jackets. Not coats, jackets. Crunchy leaves underfoot and that fresh crisp feeling in the air that can only mean fall. And oh how I love it, clanking pipes and all.