Last night's State of the Union was surprisingly inoffensive. Maybe it's that I was playing with the internet throughout, but the President's delivery was okay, much of the rhetoric seemed reasonable, and even the standing O's weren't any worse than expected.

I did find the dyed fingers pretty irking, but perhaps that's because of my job: after spending a year or two dealing with House of Reps staffers, I find virtually every non-anthrax-receiving activity that congressmen perform intensely irritating.

The renewed support for the FMA was a little surprising, but c'mon now -- our nation's gay citizens should surely have been able to read the writing on the wall by now. They've had months and months to wrap up their committed, loving relationships and begin settling into their new, more patriotic lives of loneliness and psychological repression. No more dilly dallying! And no, that is not a euphemism for anything.

But while there weren't any revelations of the "Mars, bitches!" sort unveiled last night, I did have a personal epiphany: if you're ever going to be on TV, ask to be seated next to the guy who looks like he's about to have a heart attack. I get that the blue fingers were a symbolic reference to the Iraqi election -- but what was Speaker Hastert's skin supposed to symbolize? American Heart Month? Clothing, Mr. Hastert -- it's supposed to be red clothing. But no harm done -- I suppose it still served to raise awareness of cardiac disease. And with that sly, asymmetric grin and healthy pallor, I'm sure Dick Cheney stole a few more schoolgirls' hearts.