Today was chilly and windy.
My kind of weather.
Fall is without a doubt my favorite season. It is the season of change, the season when students bundle up, the season of midterms. It's also the season when the Yankees choke in the postseason more than Latrell Sprewell at a choking convention. It's not hot like the summer, when my incredibly pale complexion forces me to don a radiation suit coated in Coppertone SPF 604 whenever I walk in the sun. It's not really cold like the winter, when my poor circulation forces me to don that same radiation suit when I venture outdoors. I know, I know. My exposure to the elements is more sheltered than a lab weasel. It's a tough life.
But enough about me. Let's discuss the autumnal assault on my senses. First up is visual -- fall always manages to bring about glorious sights as the leaves turn their shades of yellow, brown and auburn. But the wondrous sights of nature don't hold a candle to the wondrous sights of girls in Ugg Boots and mini-skirts. Now, I'm not ordinarily offended by people who look like a tranny Genghis Khan, but something about that combo just rubs me the wrong way. The two items worn separately are fine. Who doesn't like miniskirts? Even Uggs are tolerable. That is, they're tolerable if you're a fur trader on the banks of the St. Lawrence River 300 years ago.
It's also the time when devoted flip-floppers are forced to make the decision to either brave the weather with their open-toed footwear or ditch the Rainbows for warmer apparel. On any 50-degree day, there are always a few hardcore people in their flip-flops pretending they aren't slowly succumbing to hypothermia. "Whatever," they say. Frostbite is fratty. You're just jealous.
Second up on the sensory assault is the smell -- namely, the incredible smell of burning wood in my house's awesome fireplace. My housemates and I knew that we'd make frequent use of the fireplace when we moved in, and we haven't disappointed yet. The only problem we've encountered with it is finding a consistent source of fuel. Now, you might not believe me, but just about anything burns if enough crumpled newspaper is put underneath it. Naturally, our entire months-old collection of cardboard boxes went up in smoke in about an hour. There is also a ton of old furniture in our basement. Well, there was a ton of old furniture down there.
We burned all of it.
We found a saw next to an old futon, and the rest was history. Flaming, charred history. Call it resourcefulness, call it boredom. Alls I know is that my feet are nice and toasty.
Next up are my taste buds. Dear Lord, does fall have the best food. Curiously, all the incredible fall foods are somehow related to pumpkins. This season sees my annual pilgrimage to Starbucks, since the only beverage worth shelling out money for is the pumpkin spice latte. Normally I'm morally opposed to buying anything with the word "latte" in it, since it is an affront to my manliness. This is the only exception. The PSL only comes around once a year, and it is freakishly delicious. Highly, highly recommended. The other obvious pumpkin dish comes in pie form, and I've been known to hork down more pie at Thanksgiving than Camryn Manheim. I'm glad that the dining halls here have taken note of my obsession with pumpkin pie. Perhaps it's from three-years worth of letters in the suggestion box that simply read, "I want pumpkin pie. I have a gun. Coincidence?" I've always said: If you want something, you gotta go out and get it. It helps to be packing heat, is all I'm saying.
So if fall is the season of change, why does everything great about it seem so routine? It's a little strange. Maybe it's because the best things in life are the things you can count on to always be there. Things like pumpkin pie, fires and the October tears of Yankee fans.
Enjoy the weather.
Brenden's column run biweekly Mondays. He can be reached at collins@cavalierdaily.com.
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