The advent of fall means the advent of seasonal fruits, and—save decorative gourds, which I still consider a vegetable—no fruit is more autumnal than the humble apple. It should thus come as no surprise that apples have taken over Yale, colonizing our campus in a way that would vaguely indicate the presence of Johnny Appleseed were he not an unremarkable historical figure (and also were he not dead). Old John Chapman was right, though: apples are versatile little fuckers. I, for one, have spotted apples in a variety of exciting locations—crisps, cobblers, tarts, ciders, pies, sauces, and juices. I’d also like to commend apples for their successful digital strategy. Seriously—if I see another Instagrammed photo of smiling suitemates, clad in Fair Isle zip-ups and jaunty autumn accessories, gazing at apples in some sort of orchard and/or field, I will fade to black. My residential college is too poor to go apple picking, and I also forgot to register online, so I will have to settle for chaider instead. Sorry, pumpkin. You’re still a vegetable to me.
OUTGOING: Shitty media coverage
Though the saga of the poopetrator seemed prime to never end, it seems as though this feel-good story of the month has finally jumped the proverbial shark. Did you see New York Magazine? Gawker? Time? Now that our dirty laundry has been publically aired, it’s time to simmer down. Coco Chanel once said something about women and accessories and discretion, and I wonder, in that vein, if we have more important things to discuss on this campus than feces—if, perhaps, a fixation on defecation leads to the obfuscation of discourse. I concede that perhaps I’m speaking too soon, but a look around campus suggests I’m not the only one who’s just done with this shit.