On his first show back Conan O'Brien seemed intent on usurping Seinfeld's position as the preeminent show about nothing. Where Leno lazily lapsed back into a deadeningly familiar rhythm O'Brien spent much of the show impishly goofing around, powered by nothing more than nervous energy and an overgrown class clown's irresistible urge to entertain.
There was something weirdly intimate about Late Night last night: without writers or scripted bits to fall back on the show's central comic conceit seemed to be Conan being Conan. That was enough for me. There didn't really even seem to be any jokes in his monologue; instead he expressed solidarity with his writers and riffed extensively on his strike beard, which made him look like his evil twin, his Mexican non-union equivalent Conando and, as he was quick to point out, Young Kris Kringle from Santa Claus Is Coming To Town.