In Defense of Spring

From Symphony Space's Uptown Showdown Spring vs. Fall debate show on February 6, 2025

Yeah, right- like we don’t know what they’re about to do.

Spring. Will we every really understand it? Probably not. But one thing I can tell you for certain is that when it comes to seasons, spring is so much better than fall that it’s not even funny. In fact, God forbid, spring and fall were forced to share a jail cell in a maximum security correctional facility, spring would make fall its bitch in like two seconds and force fall to scrub their shared toilet with fall’s own toothbrush while spring watched on, cackling maniacally and eating a peach cobbler fall had snuck from the chow hall that day in hopes of eating it later that night after lights out.

Eventually, however, spring would grow bored with fall and trade fall for a carton of Pall Malls, a packet of Lipton Cup a Soup, half a bottle of Robitussin, and an unopened Season 2 DVD of the admittedly flawed yet still criminally underrated post-Friends Matt LeBlanc vehicle Joey. Later, fall might see spring out in the yard and give spring a dirty look or something and spring would be all like “Watch it, fall, or I’ll come over there and beat your ass so bad even summer and winter will recognize you only from your screams!”

I guess what I am trying to say that when it comes to the age old debate of which season is better, spring or fall, I am generally in favor of spring.

Spring is a time of rejuvenation, rebirth, renewal, resurrection, and regrowth and other words beginning with the letter “r” probably. It is a time when children scamper across verdant meadows in pursuit of gilded butterflies, animals awaken from their hibernation, and our very souls teem with wonderment. It is a time when light triumphs over darkness.

But perhaps more than any of these things, spring is a time for some of the hottest sex I, David Clarence Hill, have ever had in my entire life. The farmer’s market, the free clinic, even Bennigan’s- it don’t make no matter. If it’s between March 20 and June 20 on the Gregorian calendar, it’s no longer a matter of if or even where sex might happen, it’s simply a matter of when. And for how long.

In fact, it was Easter weekend of 2024, when I innocently stopped into a Cracker Barrel outside of Akron in hopes of surprising my infirmed aunt with one of their Crispy Tenders Dipper Platters she loved so much, especially in her final days, when what began as an every day struggle to find exact change devolved into molten hot sexual intercourse with at least half of the dining room, a family of seven still waiting to be seated, and one lonely yet open-minded dish washer while the entire waitstaff looked on with equal parts delight, bemusement, and horror.

Unsatiated, I then crossed a four-lane highway on foot to get to the Cheesecake Factory, where I banged four members of the kitchen staff, made sweet, sweet love to a mother of three and her cousin Donna in the restroom for like twenty minutes straight even though there was a line and the manager was kind of being a dick about it, and I got a handjob from an off-duty parking garage attendant who wasn’t exactly crazy about rules. It should be noted that I did the exact same thing at Auto Zone not 45 minutes later.

I do not attribute any of this to my offbeat good looks, my ability to make light chitchat with just about anybody, or the fact that I smell incredible pretty much all of the time. It was simply because it was spring. And just as sure as the butterfly sheds its silky cocoon, literally everyone I encounter seems to want to rip off their Juicy sweatpants and pork.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I have no doubt that many reasonably convincing arguments will be made in favor of fall this evening, telling you how it’s a great time to explore the possibilities of a fun, layered look incorporating a casual sweater vest or perhaps even a jaunty cap that hearkens back to a simpler time. That it’s a time of cornucopias, pumpkin spice, and spooky Halloween fun. Or even that it’s a time to experience the divine in the form of the kaleidoscopic changing of leaves or a bountiful harvest.

But is it a fuckfest? I don’t think so.

Thank you.

Dave Hill