Fall is probably my favorite season. It's also probably my favorite thing to do when I'm climbing a tree and the branch I'm on breaks. I have fond memories of fall when I was younger. There was that one time when my girlfriend and I were driving around in my VW bus and she got thirsty and, before I could stop her, took a deep pull from the Big Gulp cup in the passenger seat cup holder. Except it didn't have a sublime 7-11 beverage in it. It had melted ice mixed with remnants of Dr. Pepper I'd finished two weeks before, with an added twist of sunflower seed shells I'd sucked all the salt off, extracted the seed from, and spit into the watery cola residue at the cup's bottom and let brew for 7-10 days in the warm days and cold nights. Oh, how I smilingly remember her eyes bugging as she unsuspectingly swished the foul potion across her tongue and realized it was not yummy. Oh, how I warmly recall her spitting the vile concoction all over the inside of my windshield and being mad at me for three days because I'd laughed.I guess that didn't have very much to do with fall. Come to think of it, I don't care for fall very much. It's kind of a schizophrenic season, unsure whether to whiz sleet all over your parade or make your armpits sweat inside your Halloween costume. I remember the year I was a mummy for Halloween. All-time stupidest costume ever. By the third house I'd unraveled and all I was was an ugly 4th-grader with a crooked hair part, thick glasses, and toilet paper trailing behind me like I'd just crapped my pants but wanted candy so badly that I'd got distracted in mid-wipe, grabbed a plastic Dan's Foods bag, pulled up my pants, and started knocking doors. So I went home and watched Moonlighting with my mom. Wow, now that I'm thinking about it, my life has really improved since 1988.