Practicalmadness

Our apartment is, to put it charitably, shabby.

To put it uncharitably, our apartment -- for which we pay an exorbitant sum, all things considered, for the privilege of living on the northern edge of Chicago's "ritzy ritz" Lincoln Park neighborhood -- is a stinking, frozen hellpit with crumbling walls, an unusable, tiny kitchen and a bathroom window that has been stuck open since July.

And until yesterday, little or no heat. But that all changed when I decided (while removing a ton of my garbage and personal effects from the corner of the room reserved for kitties Sophie and Bess and their litter box) to futz with the valve on our radiator. About fifteen minutes later, a creepy gurgling sound started to emit from the valve, and much to my surprise, the radiator was warm to the touch for the first time since we moved in.

My first thought, of course, was to remove the four or five cardboard boxes I had stacked on top of it.