burning down the house

I came home last night to a stinky apartment. It smelled bad, real bad. I'd been out with a friend for dinner and a talk by Joel Cohen, lead writer for The Simpson's, and got in around 10. Mr. Cohen had many interesting things to say about the popular TV series, now the longest-running TV comedy in history. Currently, the show has just one female writer, which of course got me to thinking. They have the largest writing staff (15) of any show in history, and the writers are predominantly white, male, and Harvard graduates. Still, I'm sure I have a chance. Fun fact: Many elder male characters' voices are patterned after U.S. presidents. (Monty Burns=Ronald Reagan.) Fun!

But back to the smell. Where did such a terrible, smokey smell com from? Why, my charred comforter, of course. Yesterday afternoon, while I was at work in Berkeley, innocently editing catalog copy and ferretting out instructor bios from the trady and infirm, the temperature dropped. That triggered my thermostat, which is normally set to zero because I don't usually heat my apartment. But it had been a cold night and I forgot to turn it off. Oops!

All of this would have added up to nothing more than a warm apartment when I got home, except for one thing. I'd just rearranged my room, which when you live in a studio apartment, can have some exciting consequences. In my case, it put my bed, mit blakies, right next to the heater.

I don't really understand why it didn't catch fire. My duvet and comforter cover were both cotton, but only blackened at the corner, scorching about twelve square inches. And generating that terrible smell of burnt feathers. It was like a satanic cult had invaded my personal space and spent the aftenroon immolating chickens. In any case, it smelled bad.

Needless to say it shocked the hell out of me. It's not like I have a lot of stuff, or much that's valuable, but just trying to think about facing life without underwear threw me for a loop. So I bought renter's insurance. And wondered about my secret dark destructive urges.

It took about four days for the smell to air out. By then, I'd already bought a new comfroter (much warmer) and disposed of the evidence. Except the duvet cover, since it's Calvin Klein. It, I cut up into inch-wide strips, and am using it as "yarn" and knitting a rag bathmat. So far, so good. And Allstate just got a new customer for life.