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Sometimes, the great Flying Spaghetti Monster in the sky sends you signals when you least expect them. Consider the other night ... as I was driving home, caffeine-withdrawn, from work. Six traffic lights — each of which turned to yellow as I approached. An Amber Alert, as it were, without the accompanying anxiety of a lost child. Well, at least in the literal sense. We live in such a yes or no, thumbs-up or -down, red or blue world, that a warning reminding us to pause is a jolt to the decision-making system. Or, as my father would say, a light turning yellow tests the stability of the vehicle part most likely to fail — the nut holding the wheel. So, having been taught to drive in the Northeast, my immediate impulse instinctively was to swivel my head to scope out traffic and/or law enforcement in the vicinity … then see if I could make it through the intersection without seeing red. No longer living in a part of the country where video games that reward dangerous driving at high speeds couldn’t match the real thing, however, I approached each traffic light politely, cautiously and — at the risk of invoking the mantra of President George Bush the First — acted prudently. A more mellow yellow approach, to be sure. Being of a certain age — and with a mind that might have trouble remembering whether I’m wearing my glasses, but which can recall pop culture minutiae from decades ago — I sat in my car and fondly recalled the Rev. Jim Ignatowski’s driving test from a classic 1979 “Taxi” episode. “What does a yellow light mean”?” Rev. Jim reads aloud from the test form. “Slow down,” his fellow hacks respond in a surreptitious effort to help him keep his license. “OK,” he says with a verbal and physical shake. “What … does … a … yellow … light … mean?” “Slow down.” “What … “… doessss … “… a yel- … “… looooowww … “… light … “meeeeeeeeeeannnnnnn?” It’s good advice, slowing down, particularly these days as we rush with breakneck speed toward Election Day 2018 — a six-week sprint to finish a political season that began two years ago. And, yet, it seems like yesterday. It was back in May in this little corner of the whirled that we slowed down and thought about a Medford billboard attacking U.S. Rep. Greg Walden that was produced and paid for by a nincomPAC from our neighboring state of Maryland. My lament then, as it is now (since the billboard still stands), was two-fold: First, that outside money and influencers should leave Oregonians to settle our elections by ourselves. Also, the aggressive, in-your-face tenor of the billboard was a display of political discourse that would be more at home elsewhere (someplace, parenthetically, that also would be more suited to the current Medford City Council imbroglio.) Yet, as we head toward the finish line, it’s Walden downloading a less-than-subtle attack ad on Democratic opponent Jamie McLeod-Skinner — featuring ranching members of her extended family — that makes sure constituents hear her described as a “California liberal” (nudge-nudge) while making reference to “her wife” (wink-wink) and inferring that the Ashland High School graduate was somehow less of an Oregonian than she would have voters of the massive district believe. Proof might be in the pudding, but truth often can come coated with a substance found on the grounds of a ranch. After years of sleepy political news, Oregon is emerging as an unlikely hotbed. Sen. Jeff Merkley has been to New Hampshire so often (say no more) that he almost has enough punches in his latte card at Aroma Joe’s in Manchester — because, after all, what is the 2018 election season if not the official start of 2020 toe-dipping? If he runs, it’d be the first time Oregon had played a major role in a presidential campaign since the Santos-Vinnick race of 2006. (See what I said about pop culture minutiae?) Meanwhile, the race for governor between incumbent Kate Brown and challenger Knute Buehler is now the most expensive in state history — eclipsing the one between John “ultimately-forced-to-resign” Kitzhaber and Chris “college drinking buddy of Brett Kavanaugh” Dudley. Considering the recent drama and the possibilities of what could await, some will see this Perelandra political landscape shifting beneath our feet as the cup being half-full … and some will see the cup as half-empty. Either way, it’s not going to be enough coffee. I often do my own thinking about politics in the privacy of my car. In part because if I did so at home, I’d be relegated to the garage; but also (as it is in space) in your vehicle … no one can hear you scream. Which is yet another reason we need the Flying Spaghetti Monster’s yellow traffic lights. To slow down, think through where we’ve been, and regroup for the road ahead. Mail Tribune senior designer Robert Galvin, who can be reached at [email protected], still doesn’t know what to do at a flashing red light.