Greg Sargent woefully finds the Romney campaign lathered in teflon. Jonathan Chait finds it "an amalgamation of free-floating conservative rage and anxiety." Steve Benen finds it dishonest, immature, and "silly."
All true, even impeccably true. But the more I watch of the Romney campaign, the more I find it just plain painful.
It's not so much that Mitt Romney is slippery and slick; it is, rather, that he's so goddamn, manifestly amateurish at it.
The man is an embarrassment to political cynicism, he's a screaming insult to cheap opportunism, and Plato's Ideal of demagoguery ought, by rights, to sue him for defamation. But most of all, he is painfully inept.
Is it any wonder that he hides from the press? Now remember, we're talking about the modern press--the press that doesn't know how, or refuses, to actually ask any pertinent questions of politicos. But even this press is too perilous for Mitt Romney; not because some journalist might accidentally stumble on a pertinent question, but because Mitt Romney might tragically think of something unscripted to say.
Whoa. Too dangerous. It's too dangerous for the man who wants to be the leader of the free world to speak, for even a minute or two, extemporaneously. That's not my judgment. It's the singularly sound judgment of Mitt Romney himself, in consultation with his singularly ill-at-ease campaign staff.
And it's painful--painful to watch, painful to ponder, painful to anticipate even one more day.