3 BACKPAGE 12 Annual Mr. Autumn Pageant gets cozy L OCT
PAGE
2013
adies and Gentlemen, it is that time of year again, the time we’ve all been waiting for: fall. And with the arrival of this glorious season came the 12th annual Mr. Autumn Pageant. This year’s four contestants, Scott Flannelman, Adam Sweaterson, Jacob Thermalsocks and Samuel “Grizzly” Bootson, competed for the esteemed title of Mr. Autumn and the honor of claiming the renowned plaid trophy. This year’s contestants were rigorously tested in categories that included lumberjacking skills, warmbeverage knowledge and appreciation, beard growing, a Q&A about what it truly means to be a “perfect fall day” and every lady’s favorite part: the swoon-inducing sweater-wearing parade, where contestants sport their best sweaters and strut the stage to a soundtrack of the Avett Brothers.
This year’s competition was especially fierce. While Bootson and Thermalsocks started out strong in lumberjacking and beard-growing, Flannelman swept the warmbeverage quiz (winning by listing all of the spices needed to make the perfect pumpkin spice latte, in alphabetical order), knocking them firmly out of the competition, while Sweaterson took a surprise lead with his answer in the Q&A session. When questioned on what constitutes the perfect fall day, no one could argue with the answer Sweaterson gave. “A perfect fall day begins early with a hot cup of coffee and a stroll through the park’s magical mosaic of leaves. It is followed by a lovely brunch featuring pumpkin French toast and butternut squash soup. Then a visit to a pumpkin patch and a romantic hayride to be followed by a love-
ly dinner, a fire in the fireplace and a viewing of ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,’ while sipping on some hard cider and mulled wine. But the most important part of the perfect fall day is sharing it with someone you love,” said Sweaterson. It is reported that nearly 97 percent of the hearts in the audience melted upon hearing Sweaterson’s speech, securing him a spot in the top two. With Flannelman and Sweaterson neck and neck, Sweaterson assured his victory in the sweater competition, sporting a gorgeous grey wool cardigan hand knit by his grandmother. “It is a true honor, I have always lived with the belief that I was an autumn-man, despite having been born in May, but this trophy proves it. If you just love fall, you can truly accomplish anything,” said Sweaterson when asked about his new title as this year’s Mr. Autumn.
Mr. Autumn Pagent contestants Flannelman and Sweaterson muggin’ for the cameras. These autumnal gents prefer their beverages steamy and their tunes brisk like a fall breeze. Photos by Felt
Fall’s Worst
FUSION FOODS Pumpkin and Blue Cheese — Pumpkin added to good ole blue cheese brings polar opposites together in one scrumptious taste. Allspice Cheese Cake — Looking for something sweet? Well this isn’t for you. This dessert is the perfect combination of super spicy and no flavor. Eggnog with Acorns — Ever felt that eggnog is not textured enough? Well now it is with the addition of hearty acorns. Don’t choke! Squash Enchiladas — What could be better than filling a warm enchilada with soupy squash rather than melted cheese and meat? So vegan friendly. Pumpkin Seed Croissant — Forget chocolate chips, just add some raw pumpkin seeds to your already made croissants. Mm, so French. Turkey Salmon Salad — Land and sea combine in the best
way for this salad sandwich. Don’t go light on the mayonnaise! Sweet Potato-Infused Chocolate Mousse — The mushy quality of sweet potatoes could not be better suited than when paired with delicious chocolate in one giant mousse mixture. Cinnamon Baked Potatoes — Think rosemary is the spice to add to your potatoes? Think again with the seasonal favorite of cinnamon. You’ll feel like you’re diving into fall itself. Apple Cider Soaked Lasagna — It’s time to get new age with everyone’s two favorite things. Tomato sauce is boring when compared to sweet and bubbly apple cider as a sauce. Cranberry Chili Stew — A classic combination of sweet and savory. This would have been a traditional Thanksgiving dish if the pilgrims had just landed a little farther south.
SADVERTISEMENT
Autumn Poetry Corner I am freezing cold Should I turn on the heating I am much too cheap
I washed my sheets Back in the end of August Now they are yellow
The naked branches Science Building telescopes Silly astro perves
Bon Appétit scone Why are you so delicious Pumpkin spices yum
I want a jacket I can’t wear a North Face yet I am not wussy
The Patisserie Is a great place to study Loud on Saturday
Lace-up boots are back Everyone has the same pair Steve Madden Trooper
Velociraptor Stomping on all of the leaves Where is your sweater?
It’s hicky season Hey let’s go to TKE tonight Wearing scarves through Spring Consent is sexy Ooo you touched my tra-la-la And you asked first Getting my groove on Obstructive brick support post Reid Coffeehouse shows Four Day Four Day Four Days without classes freedom Just a day away
Fight S.A.D. with sad A weekly support group that pits Seasonal Affective Disorder against FEELS
Tuesdays at 4:00 p.m. THIS WEEK: “The Notebook” in the GAC Cry away your S.A.D.
When my parents come Handles and weed meet closet In need of Febreeze ILLUSTRATION BY HERNANDEZ
Who stole my seasonal
I
remember it like it was yesterday. There are nights when the whole world seems to press in on you — the clouds linger close to the streets, and the air is cold and dense, concealing the covert and the unspeakable. Even the streetlamps seem like pale stars, feebly holding back the darkness and casting shadows on black figures in their enigmatic missions. It was my roommate who found them. All three of them. I’m used to seeing this kind of carnage — three years on campus security and you have pretty much seen it all — but this, this was different. This was personal. I surveyed the empty tins on our kitchen table. Crumbs and bits of filling were scattered everywhere — the only remains of the pumpkin, the cranberry-apple and the cherry. I’d seen them only this morning — so fresh and full of steam. Yet here I stood, on the very doorstep of my home, faced
with the inconceivable brutality of three stolen pies. I’d like to think they were still whole somewhere, but I knew those pies too well. They were delicious. They were long gone. I stepped into the hallway — the whole apartment seemed to be closing in on me — and that’s when I saw her. A platinum blonde sporting a pair of cherry-red heels that just matched her lipstick. Everything about her was pressed and neat, but she exuded an air of fullness I could not shake. Who was she, and why was she coming out of the downstairs neighbor’s room? James was not the kind of man who kept women like that around. Come to think of it, James was the kind of man who loved pie. James. James from downstairs. If I am Sherlock Holmes, then he is my James Moriarty. But I’ve got no time for limey prep-school sleuths with too much time on their hands. Give me a real yellow-jacket, flashlight wielding gumshoe
any day, and you can keep your Benedict Cumberbatch. Besides, James is not the kind of man to play games — simplicity is his protection. But here — here was a complication he hadn’t counted on. You can’t pull off a heist this size — eat three pies — by yourself, and accomplice is just a fancy word for a weakness in your plan. So I corner the blonde in the hallway. She looks at me with two of the biggest blue eyes I’ve ever seen and in a voice like dark chocolate she purrs: “Hey! Are you headed to class?” Oh, I know her game. Well, I am not about to be distracted. Women are all the same — they pretend not to be hungry, but inside they all thirst for pie. I look her straight in those sapphire-blue pools as I ask her the question she already knows is coming. “Hey, you haven’t seen my pies, have you?” Just a flicker — that was enough to know the truth.
“No?” her eyes dart to the door. “Class is in, like, 5 minutes — you know that right?” As if I cared — as if I could care. But I can tell she’s onto me, onto my game, and now it’s too late. Turns out James chooses his friends better than I thought. I watch her leave and turn back to the door of James’ apartment. Of course there would be no way to prove it. James is too smart for that, no. I just have to wait. Wait for him to slip up. That’s the real life of a gumshoe: You see crime every day, but there is never any justice. It’s a cold, cruel world out there. I light a cigarette and stare out the window, out into the darkened street. Not even the fire alarm can move me from my perch — watching the night, waiting for justice. ILLUSTRATION BY BOWEN