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January 21, 2009


Everyone’s talking about the inauguration today, so I won’t. Suffice it to say that I campaigned constantly for the man, traveled to Missouri and Denver, did two online videos and an audio message, multiple television appearances, and spent hours at a phone bank in a packed room on an LA film lot that smelled like donuts and feet, reminding voters to go to the polls, several of whom hung up in my face. I guess celebrity can get you into a nightclub, but it can’t get you three minutes on the phone with an angry old lady in Jefferson City.

Yes, I’m happy, but not that kind of crazy wild-eyed giddy happiness that drew 1.5 million people to stand in subzero temperatures on the mall for hours just to see a tiny man on a Jumbo-Tron take the oath of office. I was that kind of tired happy you feel when you’ve just run a marathon, everything hurts, you can’t see straight, the smile on your face that’s been plastered there for 26.2 miles has frozen into a slightly disturbing grimace, and you’re gripping your grape popsicle in one hand and your official mylar race blanket around your shoulders in the other. The kind of happy you feel when you wanted to believe you would make it across the finish line, but at times you weren’t so sure. I’m happy. So incredibly happy. We couldn’t have picked a better person for the job, and in doing so, as a nation we made history. But like him, I think we’re all realizing now how monumental the job he’s taking on has become.

Man, I hope the president eats his Wheaties.

I guess I just talked about the inauguration. Hey, it isn’t like I went back on a campaign pledge.

Next week, I’ll tell you about my new year’s resolutions and how long it took me to break them (does it count as breaking it if you never actually start?)