Fall (or autumn, for you hardcore season junkies) is my favorite season. I’ve always loved it, even when I was living in California and fall was more of a calendar concept than an actual shift in your daily weather experience. Growing up in Wisconsin I got to see some of the most beautiful landscapes when the millions of trees would start exploding into red and orange and yellow and even a red so deep I’d call it purple, and of course we had the annual tradition of raking every leaf in our yard into a giant pile under the crabapple tree and then jumping out of the branches into the slippery mess. At least, we did until I jumped out one year and my pants stayed attached to the tree, causing a pretty impressive tearing sound and a bit of an awkward landing.

So it’s not like I was dreading fall or anything.

But on August 31, the greenery around our new neighborhood was vivid and warm, and it felt like summer would never end. Then I took Evey out for a walk the next morning, and it was like someone just hit a switch at midnight on September 1 and turned on the fall. Half the trees on our street were noticeably bare, brown and red and yellow leaves were filling up the gutters, and the temperature had dropped about 20 degrees – and it’s stayed that way ever since.

All I can think is “Crap, I didn’t spend NEARLY enough time outside during this amazingly gorgeous summer, and now it’s too late!!” My legs and belly are still winter pasty white and this past Saturday was the first time I broke out the bikini all year. I’m so lame.

Anyway.

I’ve been stockpiling things to blog about for weeks, and now I’ve got so many that I’m going to have to divvy them up over the next few days. To kick it off, I’d like to introduce you all to the music I’ve been obsessing over for the past month. It’s not that Katy Perry song “I Kissed A Girl,” though when I finally switched off NPR long enough to realize that everyone wasn’t talking about a revival of Jill Sobule’s quirky tune by the same name, I kinda started to dig it.

No, no, this isn’t on the radio or in the clubs. This is way, way better.

Picture Neil Patrick Harris – yes, Doogie Howser, MD, all grown up – starring in a musical about an aspiring supervillain with a serious crush on the redhead at the laundromat. Then add Joss Whedon (creator of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, my all-time favorite show), and top it off with a trio of guys in cowboy hats who serve as a singing telegram for a horse.

I know. It’s nuts. I’m in love with it.

Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog

If you’re not actively singing about your freeze ray by the end of the day, you and I will probably never be able to hang out. I’m sorry.