I was going to write about the current labor dispute between SEIU Local 1 and ABM that resulted in a janitors' strike last week, but apparently some of the documents involved contain information that needs to be redacted, so we're just waitin' on that FOIA. In the meantime, life is a precious gift, and every day spent alive is a miracle. Fall is here people and it is gangsta. I know nobody picks up this righteous newspaper to hear my life story, but a few context-relevant details are necessary. For the past six years, I have spent my time in that seasonless simulacrum of a world known as California. I haven't experienced crisp autumn air, real apple cider, the sensation of walking over fallen leaves while wearing socks, tailgating in real football weather since I was in high school. As I contemplated my ignominious yet triumphant return to Ohio, fall was what I was looking forward to the most. And yet, when I came back, I was worried. Fall has always been that most ephemeral of seasons. At most you get like 3 weeks of maximum plumage before the vast expanse of gray snow and brown grass known as winter in Columbus, and that was before the country experienced the 12 hottest years on record in the past 15. By mid-October, it was still 75 degrees outside. And so, when I stepped outside of the hidden gem that is New Harvest Cafe last Saturday and a chill pierced through my hoodie, there was only one emotion: irrepressible joy, and only one destination: to Kroger's to buy some damn cider. One of the problems of living in a land without seasons is that you begin to forget your place in the world. I suspect this is why so many Californians fetishize the outdoors, and why so many others feel no qualms engaging in projects designed to subjugate humans under so-totally-benevolent machines (see: Silicon Valley and the cult of the singularity). In California, the only indicator that a thing called “fall” exists is the arrival of the pumpkin spice latte. On the drive to Kroger's, I was smiling uncontrollably for the first time in two years, and the first time without chemical assistance in I don't know how long. Dopamine was the brain chemical order of the day, with all its attendant qualities. Seriously, I was feeling rewarded. We did it!! Fall is here! The earth has continued to revolve around the sun and I am in a temperate climate. WE WON! Everything is right with the world because of fall. Fall you guys. The human brain is a strange thing, but the full gamut of the human condition cannot be explained away through the presence of various chemicals. The jubilation accordant to the onset of fall has been the subject of some of the greatest poetry the English language has ever known; there is an eternal reason for it that goes beyond the changing color of leaves and postseason baseball. Fall is like the world's year-end banquet. It is a signification of an end, but in that signification is a celebration, a celebration of all that has passed, of the bounty of our labor if in a more agrarian setting, and of how truly magical it is that it all gets to happen, with an understanding that we'll all be back next year to do it again with even more gusto. And yes, the trees put on their evening best for the occasion. The Midwest is not known for its enthusiasm. We are not into making things easy for ourselves. In California, they chase the idea that good times can last forever. This is a hubristic assessment, one based on the idea that humans can control everything, including nature. When every day is a mild variation on the same theme, you lose sight of the vast beautiful forces of nature that have preceded human existence and will continue to exist long after there is someone to Instagram them. The joy about fall is not just about that particular season, but also about seasons themselves. For all its proclamations about being so liberal, the culture of California is profoundly capitalist, one in which all of life's concerns can be remedied with the right products, the right app, the right guru. The Midwest has never been a hotbed for radical ideas, Rivera's Detroit murals or no, but it resists capitalism in a deeper sense. Fall provides a moment of reflection, a chance to slow down and experience life as it truly is, as it has been for thousands of years, and not how profit-seekers would like to manipulate the pleasure centers of our brains into thinking it can be. And through this ceremony, one lives with a greater joy, for life's pleasures and tribulations, a joy that brings uncontrollable smiling prompted by the chill of the air piercing through clothes. I bought the cider, went home, and drank a glass and it was so good I had to sit down. And that is resisting capitalism, because cider is old, cider is real, cider was given to us, and it only comes during fall, not because of a marketing campaign, but because of the damn seasons. If this were California, my only option would be a pumpkin spice latte. Address all hate mail to