'I'm not Trump': We could have gotten more from Joe Biden

The only way to write about national politics is to write about local politics first. You won't see anything on the national stage you haven't already seen in some town hall where they're swearing in the new city council, or in the grandly-named "atrium" of the local city hall, which is made of poured concrete and may last another 30 years if the city finds the money to caulk the seams on the "observation deck," which is, of course, the roof of the parking garage.

The candidate selection process in the smaller places involves fishing in a fairly shallow pond, and it is not unusual for a candidate to be elected who is such a houseplant that she has to be watered twice a week.

Hilarity ensues.

At the end of Mayor Houseplant's term, the city budget has a hole in it you can pitch a pumpkin through, the other towns are snickering loudly and, worst of all, the $40,000-a-year clerks in city hall have begun to run their own departments.

The longshot houseplant, meanwhile, is merrily pursuing her pet project of acquiring a tablet of the Ten Commandments for the atrium while simultaneously bellowing that she is "moving the city forward."

After a single term of this hilarity, people who own their own homes start to get nervous about property values. They don't want a "new vision" anymore. What they want is quiet, and they want the potholes on their streets fixed promptly.

They want boredom.

Properly run government is boring. Streets get fixed. Money is appropriated to fund this year's Founders Day Parade, an event that will feature six classic cars driven by old guys with walrus mustaches, as well as marching contingents from two karate schools and someone named "Dave" dressed as the town's slave-owning, whiskey-peddling founder. Also, $1,500 is appropriated to put speed bumps in the high school parking lot because those kids drive like maniacs.

Trying desperately to get boredom back, the residents of the town throw out the houseplant and elect a new leader whose campaign platform has two planks.

No. 1: I'm not her.

And

No. 2: I won't do anything crazy.

And that was President Joe Biden's platform.

All Biden had to do was not be Donald Trump and not do anything wacky, and he'd be booking the Mount Rushmore modeling appointment.

He's darn near done it, too. As a speaker, he's an engaging combination of deadly dull and boring, and he led with a finance package designed to fix the potholes in the roads. He ended a war because, frankly, we were losing, and no one wants the excitement of soldiers coming home with both legs gone.

And then he put his shoulder behind a legislative package containing a couple good ideas and a big bunch of gabble that is vaguely socialist and tremendously enticing to people with degrees in social work who want to get a job running a "program."

It would have been better to fix the roads, wait two years, provide prescription drug coverage for everyone, wait another year and then tax the rich until they're paying at least what they were paying in the 1950s.

In other words, put some speed bumps in the high school parking lot.

Flush with the money they'd saved on prescription drugs, and happy that corporations could no longer shoplift in the Treasury, the few remaining voters would have given Biden a second term.

It would have been plenty boring, and it would have worked, and the people who are 12 years into a 30-year mortgage could have sat down quietly and eaten a sandwich without getting tire-fire heartburn.

As it is, national government is interesting. The Biden presidency is interesting. The Jesus-and-pistols Republican Party is interesting. Everything is so interesting that it's scary.

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