In the upper midwest, our cicadas are finally chirping. The sun is high and hot, the air quality middling from the fires north and west. Pandemic stress and a tumble of world events has us once again doomscrolling, angry, restless, powerless. I cope with a hard YOLO, embracing the abundance of late summer: all the sweet corn and tomatoes; the last of the great beach days; the new local media launch from the best of the former City Pages gang; and my inbox, which has a surprising amount of good news. When the junior creator economy kids wonder why I'm smiling despite delta variants and climate crisis, dressed like Mary Meeker perched at the top of the metaphorical internet bleachers, I reply,
"It's pitch season, froshies."
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