There’s a lot of big news today, lots to talk about, lots to catch up on. We’ll talk about bikes and elections and all that shit later, Stevil has provided us with the most astonishing thing ever to grace the InterToobz, and it needs its own space.

Note to every rock band there’s ever been or will be: you can stop now, game’s over. Red Fang wins.

You’ve got a big decision to make tomorrow, citizen.

There’s a lot to think about as we approach this historic election. There’s more than one dire problem to solve, more than a few turds hurtling towards the blades of a big, angry fan, more to be resolved with higher stakes than ever before.

We’re mired in geopolitical conflict, and the way home is difficult to find, harder to navigate. We’re hooked on an energy source that’s dirty, expensive, and often comes at the cost of supporting some nefarious organizations. Our economy is shaky, fragile, and everyone’s looking over their shoulder for the axe to fall. Health care is skyrocketing, and getting sick often means bankruptcy. Bridges are falling into rivers, cities are falling apart, our manufacturing base is much diminished, and the guy you’re trying to order that Bacon Cheeseburger from doesn’t seem to speak much English.

What will be in store for America as we enter the next chapter in our history? Which candidate is better equipped to handle these challenges? What’re we gonna do?!

I know that when I ponder issues of these magnitudes, I try to imagine how the best of our presidents would tackle them. I contemplate Washington’s moral rectitude, Jefferson’s master statesmanship, Teddy’s cunning diplomacy, FDR’s inspiring leadership. Ultimately, the path of my meditation will lead to Lincoln, whose counsel is always the same.

You’ve got a big decision to make tomorrow, Superstar.

So this article shows up today on Ars Technica, about how great the future’s gonna be when the cars can drive themselves. Matthew Yglesias weighs in to discuss how this will affect transportation and city planning. Ryan Avent riffs on this, speculating about how these self-piloting cars will be a shared-resource, and make suburban density more appealing, and what a great thing they’ll be for urban areas. Then someone disagrees with Ryan’s vision, positing his own wild speculation, which gets a thoughtful reply.

And the whole thing got me thinking about something James Kunstler said, about how most people’s thoughts about the future revolve around what we’re gonna put in our cars after the gasoline’s gone, and what it says about what people think is coming in the future. So I said so in the comments at Matt’s place, and this was one reply:

Kunstler is an idiot.

There was a short mention of how the author of The Geography of Nowhere and The Long Emergency (as well as several novels) was “not a reasonable analyst about the things he’s analyzing”.

And then everyone went back to speculating, discussing, agreeing with some assertions, contesting others, and generally trying to predict what colors our unitards will come in during the next phase, the Age of Happier Motoring, when the cars will be driving themselves.

The Internet is a funny, funny place.

I’m crankin’ on a project with a Friday deadline, so I haven’t been able to think about much else, and my thoughts on this aren’t very interesting if you aren’t me and don’t have this project due on Friday. So posting this week has been, and will be, light.

Know that fall is in full effect here in D.C., the leaves haven’t turned quite yet, but they’re on the edge. The weather’s been perfect, if you like hoody weather, crystal clear skies, and biking in cool breezes. And bygawd I do.

Also, last night in my sleep, I was dreaming my own personal horror movie about a certain snake charming, book banning, enemies-list-keeping, demagogue from Alaska becoming president and bringing some Main St. Wasilla to our nation’s capitol. I came up with a nickname for Governor Palin that I think will stick, and become the “Tippecanoe and Tyler Too” of 2008. Check Wkipedia in 2108, you’ll see. So, you ready for it? Okay, here it is:

“Moose-olini”.

Thank you! Thank you very much! There’s that humor rearin’ its head, there.

Let me get to work on this stuff, and next week I’ll be provocative, topical, and mellifluous. For now, here’s muh boy checkin’ out a fixie at the Mt. Pleasant Farmers’ Market. Cheers.

Huck checkin’ out a fixie

It’s happened to any number of cyclists around downtown D.C. You’re pedaling along, stayin’ outta trouble, when suddenly a big guy on a mountain bike rolls up, stakes a position ahead of you and starts clicking away.

And you know you’ve been blawged by Gwadzilla. Not only that, but evidently I stand accused of being a Kool-Aid drinker. I can only refute that charge by noting that the life of an Xtracyclist is always intense, and that what I’m sippin’ ain’t some kid’s stuff, but something else of an entirely different, third-eye opening variety. Grip ‘n’ Sip!

Sorry about the helmet mirror, Senor ‘Zilla, but what can I tell ya, I’m a dork. At least Nigel’s lookin’ good, eh?

For an analysis of what all this campaign suspendering and town halling means, we turn to The Most Trusted Name in Gleeful Apocalyptic Commentary. Take it away, youse Who Is IOZ…

Imagine if you are Vladimir Putin. You do not drink or smoke, and aside from occasionally fucking your gymnast nymphette into catatonic submission while a 10,000 piece orchestra plays Gimn Sovetskogo Soyuza outside your window, you do not carouse. Your life is occupied with grim, atavistic fantasies, which are just now coming to fruition, and as you nurse your bloody dreams in the Siberian expanses of your glittering, Satanic soul, you flip on the teevee and see the only force on earth with any capacity to foil or retard your ambitions rapidly consuming itself in an orgy of abject ridiculousness, a Marx-brothers comedy of political ineptitude so baroque in its Vaudevillian slapstick that it melts, for just one moment, the crimson popsicle that is your KGB heart and from your mouth, for the first time since you traded your soul for life eternal and a thirst for blood one thousand years ago, you let out one brief, delicious: Ha!

Olberman’s gonna need a few hundred billion to get outta the hole when this thing’s all over…

When Senator John McCain selected Sarah Palin as his running mate, Cindy McCain’s first thought was… well, no one’s sure what the whole first thought was, but it ended with, “…and if he thinks he’s going on the campaign trail alone with that little hussy…” Cindy knows how he do.

But millions of people, myself included, had another thought: “Huh? WTF? Who?” And that’s fair, because many Americans can’t name the governor of their own state, so knowing who rules Alaska at any given time is a stretch. But we’re learning more and more with each passing day, as the press gets around to the vetting McCain’s campaign was too busy to undertake. I thought that I’d be a good citizen, and a good neighbor, by providing you, gentle reader, with an introduction to the Moosinating Hockey Mom (and soon to be Gramma!) from far, far away.

You’re welcome!

(h/t John Cole)