As one of four California transplants in Moishe House DC, I really don't get what this fuss about global warming is all about. It's cold here and we're all suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder, which is a condition so new and so painful to me that I really don't care if that capitalization is presumptuous. I'd put the whole thing in caps if my fingers weren't too numb to stretch all the way to that damn caps lock button.
So I'm taking action. Sometimes I get into cabs and tell the drivers just to drive until I say stop. I leave the heater on even when nobody is home, which is an especially altruistic gesture considering the massive gas bill, but I read somewhere that natural gas is one of the less destructive environmental agents, so I guess it's just compensation, really. I know that bovine flatulence heats things up, and I assume that the human bowels can't be that much more evolutionarily advanced, so, well, let's just say that I've been spending lots of lunches out at the Mexican joint by our house. I should think of way to get all these selfless gestures onto my resume.
Tragically, Moishe House DC lacks adequate heating on the ground floor. The oil in our kitchen is coagulated, our pipes have been frozen in the past, and breath is commonly opaque. So I propose an addendum to the Moishe House mission statement: To populate the frigid spaces of Moishe House DC's ground floor with hot Jewish bodies, so the earth can be a greener and, unfortunately, a colder place. Also, it might smell a little better.
Adam in DC
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