Dear fall,

It’s good seeing you again. Your crisp air has injected life into all of us, and I can’t wait to stomp on your crunchy leaves. You’re never too old to do that, you know!

You’re my favorite season. It’s not just your colorful foliage. You’re all about change—just like President Obama. You pick up where summer left off, reminding us that change is inevitable. It’s a formality.

Your homie, summer, had her cool moments. The free concerts and live grooves in the park. The different festivals (African, jazz, art and all the ones involving food). Certain things about your friend never get old, like the beautiful women walking in their resplendence to lunch breaks on Michigan Avenue. Summer held me down with outdoor tennis, good convos with friends on rooftops and all the wine and scotch tastings I could handle. Pitchfork, North Coast and Lollapalooza were live. I even bumped into Dave Chappelle at a Lolla after-party and managed to avoid asking when “Chappelle’s Show” is coming back.

But as great as summer was, some things were played out. Most specifically, violent crime. Maybe because you’re so cool, you can help quell some of this foolishness? That’s why I like you, fall. You are chill. Let’s pray the goons chill out too.

And forget about a “cuffing season,” fall. No need for corny calendars to define love’s arrival. When the time is right, I want it to be natural like you. And as fashionable. When you come around, everyone knows they better have their gear tight. I’ve got a box of threads with your name on it. Literally. I might have to stock up on some new sweaters, sweatshirts, cardigans, blazers, thermals and hoodies. Hoodie season for the win was our little inside joke. Remember?

I was wondering what you think about me growing out my hair a little. Just like how Brad Pitt and those A-list actor dudes grow out wild beards and make looking scruffy cool. Well, maybe not that extreme, but definitely a mild change from the bald fade. The Even Steven look was cool, but I really want to impress you.

Maybe your arrival will bring some renewed energy to Chicago’s sports teams. My White Sox are close to clinching the division title. We could use your good luck for a deep playoff run this October. Wouldn’t it be cool if ’05 happened over again? I know you’ve been watching a bunch of football. Perhaps you can talk some sense into Jay Cutler? He thinks he’s Brett Favre. Unfortunately, the Cubs still stink. Sorry, no changes there.

In all seriousness, fall, you denote a cool marker in time that helps us find our way. My mentor always taught me to know where you’re at so you can get to where you need to be. With you here, that means we are a few steps closer to the next season, which transitions us into a new year. A new you. A new season.

Tell winter I’m not ready yet.

Sincerely,

Grant

By Grant Yanney, For The RedEye

My cousin Quentin has a friend named Chris he always rolls with when we go out. Chris is short, super-skinny and wears full suits to the club. Yeah, he dresses like he’s headed to prom every time.

Chris’ gear doesn’t give him much play in the club, but start playing Montell Jordan’s “This is How We Do It,” and it’s an absolute wrap! Chris puts on these powder-white gloves and turns into a dancing machine. The running man. The funky chicken. The Macarena. The watusi. The casper slide. You name it. And he doesn’t stop. The guy will dance all night, sweating and all.

So while Chris is something of a legend in my circle for his dance-floor exploits, the truth of the matter is most peeps are too cool to dance. It’s like after high school and college, you’re instantly uncool if you dance.

Why is that? I don’t exactly stomp the yard like Chris (not anymore), but I do have enough rhythm to move the crowd. And if you can do that, guess what? You become the life of the party.

Yeah, rhythm is the groove! When I’m in the club, I pretend I’m Usher for two or three songs at a time with no warning. Some people think I’m crazy; others recognize I have the skills to pay the bills. Whatever.

Knowing how to dance is a lost art, but in the souls of the lively bunch at the party who don’t care what the opposite sex thinks lies a champion! Well, at least a bronze medalist.

Dancing is a good gig if for no other reason than it makes a great segue. Girl: “Where did you learn moves like that?” Guy: “I toured two summers with Michael Jackson and perfected my moonwalk in Morocco.” See what I mean? Chris knows what I’m talking about.

You don’t have to be Magic Mike to get in on the action. Start with something simple, like the cooking dance. Think of it as preparing a meal—slicing carrots, stirring a pot, flipping a pancake—without holding actual utensils, pots and pans. And doing it to a beat. This probably is the dance Peter Pan and the Lost Boys did after defeating Captain Hook.

If you want to try something with a little more swag, my friend Sir Michael Rocks of The Cool Kids made up a dance called Bussin Down, a move for people who don’t want to break a sweat in the club.

Basically, it’s the fist-pump dance but with some cooler twists. Put your game face on, switch up the tempo and don’t bring your fists above your eyebrows. Seriously, check out Mikey’s tutorial on YouTube.

See, you don’t have to know how to break dance to win the crowd. A quick two-step, fist-pump, cooking dance or Bussin Down variation should suffice.

Now can we all stop frowning at one another, put down the smartphones and kick it? This isn’t Hollywood—it’s Chicago! It’s OK to bust a move. Bailamos!