It's Biden time!

I'm going to admit it: I straight up love Joe Biden.

You just know he sauntered down to today's beerfest all casual-like and popped his head into the yard all, "Oh hey, guys. Thought I saw you from my window while I was reading about health-care refor- oh, wait... today's beer day?

Sure, sure, I could stay for just one. What's that? You already each have a red, white or blue beer picked? No worries, Joey B travels with his own cooler of Silver Bullet. Silver for the stars on the American flag. Can we all just do a little scooty-scoo down there? Reminds me of my Amtrak days. I'd always try to get the window seat and have to get past the people in the aisles. Tricky little train dance. If you're in the aisle seat the trick is to pretend you're asleep and hope they go down to the next car. It's a long way to Delaware.

Thanks for moving down, Gates, I'll just sit right here. I won't stay long, just one drink. How you doin', Crowely? Different to be invited into a house and not be bustin' down doors, am i right? Boy do I feel like the black sheep of this group. Oh boy, probably shouldn't have said that. Have you always had that cane, Gates?

Drink up! Taste of the Rockies! It's Biden time!"

Oh I'm sorry, are we boring you, Joe Biden?

Let's review. What did we learn during the Address to the Nation or whatever the non-State of the Union was called. (Change!)

Now we know that ol' hairplugs-and-Chicklet-chompers Joe is wont to nod off when Obama isn't instructing people to clap for him directly. And we learned that Nancy Pelosi is an applause slut who'll apparently just hop to her feet gleefully for anything Obama says.

But the big star of last night came after Obama's part.



America, meet Bobby Jindal, your twing-twanging Bollywood Cajun. He's just a good ol' Southern boy who loves gator wrasslin', boot scootin', and not protecting us from volcanoes. (The fuck?)

(I have a friend who - as a kid - was playing in a friend's yard and the friend's mom yelled out the door, "Get in here! We're havin' meatpies!" Without missing a beat, another friend turned to the kid and goes, "Someone has a new nickname." And the kid answered to Meatpie ever since. I'm calling Bobby Jindal "Meatpie" from now on.)

Don't worry, rednecks, he's not a foreigner, he's just tan from all that good American sunshine. Vitamin D, yo! And if you say it with his Southern accent "Jindal" now sounds like the hickest name ever. (Try it out: "Bobby Jindal! Get yer butt in here! We're havin' meatpies!")

When was the last time the nation rose up as one to think the same thought at the same time? Probably when we all decided we all disliked Bin Laden, right? How do we explain the national consensus that Meatpie Jindal is Kenneth the page from 30 Rock?

And never has Chris Matthews' potato head summed up the feeling of a nation when his open mic caught him muttering "Oh God" as Jindal strode out for his response.

Is it his wide-eyed wonder about the world? The slow enunciation that made us all feel like he was teaching us how to make turkey pictures out of our handprints? Who's to say. All I know is I went to make the comment on a blog and found 50 people had beaten me to it.

Here's a quick roundup of the best (non-Kenneth) reactions I found:

* If I closed my eyes, I would swear Smokey the Bear is giving this response

* Bedtime stories with Bobby

* All I can think of when I see his face is "I'm Casey Kasem counting down the Top 40 songs in the USA, and now, our long distance dedication. It comes from Suzie and she writes, "Dear Casey, could you please play 'Somewhere Out There'?"

* It's like watching a Gomer Pyle cameo in Slumdog Millionaire

* He must not have received his 'extras' check from Slumdog Millionaire yet

* By the way, that is how people talk to 9-year-olds when they aren't used to talking to 9-year-olds. It drives 9-year-olds crazy.

* Also, I'm pretty sure Bobby Jindal is a Muppet.



Jindal/Palin 2012!

OK, just one more post, then I'll shut up about Obama. (P.S. That was a lie.)

What have you been doing with yourself in the post-election emotional crash? Buying commemorative plates and then shaking your head proudly at our new president's "kind eyes" and your own cleverness for somehow scoring this 24-carat-plated masterpiece? Me too. Of course you have. It's the American way. Soon enough the nation's curios will be stuffed silly with these heirlooms.

When you're done insuring your children's retirements with these masterpieces, may I kindly suggest you buy yourself one of these posters? It's from this infinitely clever and talented Brooklyn (where else?) artist Patrick Moberg.

Let's hope it up, y'all.

Last year about this time I worked with the Obama campaign in Harlem, registering voters, getting the word out, confounding people by my not being there for Hillary. So Tuesday I went back. I just wanted to share a few of my inauguration pictures from Harlem.

(And yes, my favorite moment was when Obama paused when John Roberts tripped him up and the man behind me yelled, "Take yo' time, playa!")