This is, like, really scary. I could barely finish it.

Boo! Happy Halloween! remember to give your teeth an extra scrubbing after mowing through nearly half the candy you bought for the kids. Those snack size Snickers and Three Musketeers, they look so small, like little medallions. You could just keep eatin’ ‘em, all night, they’re so small. They’re just tiny, you ate a little over 2 lbs of chocolate, peanuts, and nugat. The 8 rolls of Smarties didn’t help either, but you were on a roll.

Not feelin’ so hot now, are ya? Yeah, you want candy.

Anyway, lots goin’ on, between work and gettin’ the kids ready to strike adorable terror into the hearts of thousands, so this has to be short and sweet. Today we jam econo. Say hello to the Minutemen, they have no badges.

Hope your weekend is horrifying and awesome, cheers!

[IMPORTANT UPDATE]: One of them Heatwole boys of Bawlmer alerts me to the Candy Codex. If you’re lucky enough to see these in your neighborhood, use them to maximize your yield.

If you go look at this bike, the owner will sell you on it by yelling at you. Should be a good time.

(h/t Cyclelicious, Twitterin’)

Very cool, I want to see video of someone riding it.

Whoa. It doesn’t seem possible that a single person in that crowd wouldn’t have scratched their head, remembered something about a Golden Calf, and piped up. But there it is, prepare for a smiting.

Well. I hadn’t noticed at the time, but now it’s obvious.

Can it be a coincidence that it’s now dark out no matter what time I escape from work, and that I just posted In The Dark last Friday? Believe that if you’re less frightened by the implications, but in my experience there are no coincidences. Clearly, my shamanic use of Billy Squier has accelerated the shortening of the days. Thankfully, that shortening has zero trans-fats.

I left the office last night in late twilight, it was 46 degrees, blowing 15-25 mph, and the ride home was really and truly delightful. There were two stretches where the wind and I were headed the same direction at the same speed, and I had that rare experience of moving fast in still air. All the buffeting in my clothes and exposed hair just stopped, the roar in my ears got quiet, I could hear tires and derailleur pulleys. Pretty neat.

Commuting D.C. in the summer didn’t give as many opportunities to review gear, it was light out most of the evening and any clothing, no matter how light, soaked through with sweat about 3 blocks into the ride. There’s only so many things you can review, positively or negatively, based on their ability hold and dispose of 3 gallons of perspiration in 90% humidity.

But now that it’s getting dark and cooler (I wouldn’t say cold, this is cold), there’s some items that are significant contributors to making any time a good time to ride. I intend to write ‘em up, if for no other reason so that someone Googling “Planet Bike Superflash” will come upon one more post about how awesome they are at blinding people who try to draft you.

After all, product isn’t just something you failed to put in your hair again this morning, you slacking hippie slob. It’s our shared enthusiasm for certain brands, items, and ad campaigns that passes for something like culture, or more accurately tribal affiliation, in these modern times. And if I don’t give the thumbs up or down on a select set of products, how will you know whether or not I’m one of us, or one of them?

Don’t even get me started on your stupid Mac. Just kidding. Not really. Kidding. Not. Stupid Mac.

Anyway, I hear that it’s getting darker and colder ever’whar, how’s your ride been?

Man, you dodged not one, but two bullets today.

Wednesday night I woke at 2:30 in the morning, saw the dimmest outlines of the ceiling fan above me as I came to full consciousness, and realized I had the Wooo OoWoo WoooOooo parts of Sex Dwarf looping through my brain. I think it had been part of a dream, because it had already gone through several loops by the time I was awake enough to figure out what was going on. So, I almost gave you this video of live Soft Cell, but I’m not going to do that. Isn’t that nice? Sugar and spice?

(Seriously though, if you click that link and get a bad case of the Woo Ooo Woo WooOoo’s for the next week, don’t say I didn’t warn you.)

I also discovered, a few weeks ago that I could watch whole episodes of South Park online. You’re asking yourself, “Wow, how far behind are you?” I’m that far behind. I’d kinda lost touch with the show after about season 4, so I’ve been catching up on episodes when I get little bits of time. Little by little I’ve come to realize that Butters is Muh Main Man. I think it was season 8, probably the AWESOM-O episode, when it hit me.

This is where brutal, loud, profane satire connects with sweetness and comfort. Among the things I find endearing about Butters is that he sings Chicago’s If You Leave Me Now to himself. Sappy? Easy Listening? Yacht Rock? I can’t answer those charges. All I can tell you is that that tune’s catchy as all hell, it hits me square, and Chicago’s horn section wins. This is not irony or kitsch talking here. Everyone’s got a secret, a secret that may one day destroy them, and this one’s mine: I fucking dig Chicago, at least up through Chicago X, and maybe even a little farther. I’ve been whistling that to myself as I’ve pedaled my ass around D.C. this week.

So you almost got live Chicago, circa 1976, with Peter Cetera sporting a satin-polyester varsity jacket and a feathered mullet for the ages, doing If You Leave Me Now. Not so much Woo Ooo Woo WooOoo as Woo Ooo OOOOOOOO.

Nevertheless, I feel the need to leave a hook in you, one that you’ll struggle to remove for the rest of the weekend. And for that, I’m going back to Peoria, Illinois, into my grandparents’ basement during the early 80’s. I can see the pool table, a couple chairs, the unfinished wooden body and neck of an electric guitar stripped of its guts, a macrame hanging lamp, my uncles partying with their friends. The smell of beer, dust, and Central American marijuana is close and alive. It was there that I, on the cusp of my teenage years and as yet unaware of the coming punk revolution, heard Billy Squier for the first time. That first album, Don’t Say No, had more hooks than a bait and tackle shop, and didn’t have a bad track on it. Yeah, that should do the trick.

If you’re interested, I ran across this acoustic version he did at a show in 2008 that’s really sweet, but I wanted to send you off on your weekend with the original. No need to thank me, the look on your face is thanks enough.

Hopefully the gun I’ve been under for the last couple weeks will ease up, and the unbearable lightness of posts will get heavier. In the meantime, spank someone who deserves it. In a loving way, of course.

Ran across this interview with Berkeley Breathed on Salon, discussing the end of Opus and his children’s books. I’ve been a fan of his work for years, and Mars Needs Moms! is one of Ruby’s favorites (she even has a pair of red and orange striped Milo jammies).

He said something in that interview that’s been rolling around my braincase like a roller derby.

We aren’t returning someday to any sort of golden era of political civility. The line heads heavenward and has been since the Republic started. And with the intersection of two rather dramatic dynamics — the cable and Web technology allowing All Snark All the Time … and the political realities of No More Free Lunch in America, it will spike in the coming years like Don Draper’s sex life, and I hereby pledge that that’s the last pop reference I use.

Aren’t dark times exactly when satire is most needed?

It’s not so much dark times now, as profane and loud. Satire you’ll have, oh dear me, indeedy yes. “Vomitous” and “awash” are two words that come to mind. It used to be that everyone would be famous for 15 minutes. How antediluvian. Rather, everyone will now want a satirical YouTube film with 15 megabytes.

Satire we’ll have. Rather, the real dearth in our world will be sweetness, comfort, thoughtfulness and civility. If I could do “Peanuts,” that’s what I’d be doing. Alas, I’ve tried.

(Italics mine)

Sweetness, comfort, thoughtfulness, and civility.

The four horsemen of the Antipocalypse. It’s these qualities that I feel have been sacrificed to the gods of Cable and Freeways and the Internet, I sense their absence by the way the world feels like it’s colder and full of sharp corners. It’s why I believe Garrison Keillor is a national treasure, why the News From Lake Wobegon always seems to grab me deeper in the chest than it ought to. It’s the reason my memories of eating pot roast and potatoes while watching Andy Griffith and Hee Haw with my Gramma and Grampa and aunts and uncles are priceless treasures to me. It’s why I jump at the chance to watch Sound of Music and Mary Poppins with my daughter.

And I wonder, after a lifetime of consuming media that eschewed these qualities in the name of realism, edginess, satire, and impact, music and books and movies and TV shows that I still consider essential for having provided the materials that comprise the rich inner life I enjoy, whether or not I can connect with my better angels and become a source of sweetness, comfort, thoughtfulness, and civility for my children and community as times get tougher.

I hope so, it’s important, and I’m workin’ on it. I hope there’s more of us that think it’s worth doing.