I had this weird dream last night that Joe Biden was visiting my parents’ house. I had this great question for him — “Can you tell me why there seems to be so little pragmatism on Capitol Hill?” — but before I could ask it, I spilled something in the powder room (potpurri? not sure. I seemed to find bits of gooey mess that I had nothing to do with making, but the point is that both my father and his wife, are certifiably fastidious, so I was freaking out) and ended up spending the rest of his visit in there cleaning it up.
I could have been a contender. I could have been somebody. Instead of a clutz. Which is what I am.
How can I take a media seriously that refers to the process of choosing a vice presidential candidate as “the veepstakes?”
Chris Matthews made me throw up in my mouth Friday night when he opened his show by asking if a certain senator was “Biden his time.” Ugh. That’s professional writing right there, huh?
Then this morning I wake up to the New York Post headline: Joebama.