Oven and Out

People who actually cook meals at home will find this amusing, but a couple weeks after realizing the gas was turned off in my apartment -- aka the stove -- I finally went to make something and was rudely reminded of the ovengate scandal over here in Chelsea. I promptly complained to my landlord who sent the mysterious "Jose" over, who once again asked me IF I wanted a new electric stove. My Spanish ain't great, but I finally got it out of him that my building and gas are never ever getting back together -- so I said "si." Yesterday morning he arrived at 8 a.m. sharp to begin the process of swapping them out, which apparently involved some wiring and drilling and putting holes everywhere. The place is a disaster area -- everything had to be shoved into the middle of the room for reasons that are not entirely clear to Larry or me -- but when the gas stove was finally extricated from my apartment, Jose and his assistant announced that the new stove hadn't arrived as planned, and that he'd "be back when it does." (Gee, thanks.) Although a gas stove is the preferred method for real cooks -- the only thing that gets "House Hunters" more worked up than an electric stove is popcorn ceilings! -- I think I will be better off in the end. After badly burning myself on my family's gas stove in my birth house on Tawas, I grew up the rest of the way always with electric. (The knobs are off, above, because Larry, like my 4-year-old self, liked to turn them on.) Seeing as I cook so little, I'll probably come out ahead financially. I'm paying about twenty bucks a month to ConEd just to have the gas on in the house -- which to their credit they send me a letter six times a year asking if I'm SURE I even want it on -- so now I will only be paying more when I use it. In the meantime, I can visit my old oven whenever I like: As you can see, it's camping out on the first floor of the building!