I promised myself that this year I wouldn’t write any overwrought paeans to my favorite month, but goddamn. The weather the past couple days has been brilliant—a little hot, but at least it’s not raining like it did nearly every day in September. Between the changing leaves and the season premieres of my favorite television shows, it’s almost enough to take a guy’s mind off the shortening days and the spectre of seasonal affective disorder. Almost.

I think it was best articulated by this email I received several years ago from a dear friend of mine who shall remain anonymous until such time as he decides to out himself in the comments.

Today I had some feelings that were suspiciously gay. Here they are.

GAY FEELINGS:

Today is amazing.

There is something about the autumn that makes me want to grow my hair long. The fall is, I think, the most stirring of the seasons. It always induces a strange feeling of joyous melancholia. The sky is clear, the temperature is mild, but the summer is fucking done. This is the first fall in 19 years that I have not gone back to academia, and I find that to be both irresistably invigorating and somewhat ominous. In the fall, restaurants and bars with wood paneling and candles magically become preferrable to the smooth glass and muted neon of the summer hipster hangouts. Fall clothes are better than summer clothes. Banana Republic is so relevant right now. There is a twang of pain that comes with the realization that the tank toppers are going to stop leaving the house without a sweater tucked away in a bag. This morning, for no particular reason, I was reminded about how wonderful the white album is. Herbs.

Wish you guys were here. I’m not gay.