The Man Who Came to Dinner is a play from the thirties and a movie from the forties that is well worth checking out sometime, for its pedigrees as well as its pleasures; but for now the essential bones of the plot are instructive, I think, for our contemporary politics.
It's about an annoying man who comes as a guest to someone's house for dinner and, for one reason and another, just doesn't leave.
Speaking of Mike Huckabee...
Seriously, though, it's about all of them. Every one of them. Every democrat and republican for the last two years, left and right, everyone running for president; and senator, and congress, and state house, and dog catcher.
But let's start with Mike. He's the last one standing, in a way, the last one with no chance in the world, who's still out there dancing up a storm and singing Doo-Dah. Our synecdoche that indicates the whole with a part.
First, here's what you could say about the ex-governor of Arkansas if you wanted to be kind, or worked for his campaign, whichever comes first.
You could say, "With Romney dropping out, he's articulated some kind of conservative landscape that's been unserved by McCain." Okay, but that's not why he's still running.
You could say, "He's a Baptist minister who accidentally makes commercials with radioactive crosses floating next to his head, and that resonates well in our most religious regions." Okay, but that's not why he's still running. (By the way, I hate to be cynical, but sometimes I get the feeling that a lot of ministers these days get a degree and have never preached, and just use it to impress people. Like lawyers who've never seen the inside of a courtroom or even passed the bar, or after-dinner speakers who call themselves "Doctor" just because they spent a couple of extra years out of the work force writing a paper about the history of television for Spunk Bunny College. As I said, though, I hate to be cynical. I really, really do.)
You could say, "He's lost a lot of weight, and wants to give hope to our thicker brethren."
Okay, but again, that's not why he's still running.
It's not why he ran in the first place, and it's not why he's still in. I'll give you a hint: He's still in the race for the same reason Al Sharpton ran when he did; the same reason Ralph Nader is, at this very second, actually considering running again. Give up?
You see, folks, the reason these people run is because they have nothing to do. Think about it. They have no jobs, they don't make anything, they don't carve anything, they don't sell anything, they just start foundations that hire other people with nothing to do. The only thing in the world they're any good at is walking out on stages and waving.
If you could yell "Cut!" on life and speak to Mike Huckabee honestly, and he spoke honestly in return -- both, I realize, low probability items -- But if you could, and asked him why he was still running, and he answered from the heart, he would say...
"It's a great way to fill the day. Without it, I'd have nothing to do. With it, the days are jammed with things that look important. They're not, but they look that way, and that's good enough for me. See, when I get up in the morning now, I come downstairs at whatever Four Seasons I'm staying in for free or on 'The Campaign' or paid for by the loans everyone knows I'll never pay back, and when I get downstairs there are twenty or thirty reporters waiting for me. Someone on my staff hands me a cup of coffee, just the way I like it, and a bowl of melon balls -- I miss the donuts, but you know all about that -- and they ask me questions and I get to use hunks from my speech or let my fancy wander about Iran, and the economy, and life in general, and no one interrupts, and they write down what I say. Then, I'm whisked away in a Town Car with ten Suburban's behind us to a junior high or a factory or a bridge club and everyone there fawns over me and smiles, and I say a lot of things again, and they don't interrupt me, either. Then, more often than not, people come up to me with moist eyes and thank me for what I'm doing, or say they agree, or just yak. I usually can't tell, really, because there's just so much you can listen to people without tuning out, but who cares? Then there's lunch, and the owner and the chef and the waitress all take a picture with me and insist there's no way I can pay, and we drive off to another event. I hate passing the fried chicken places, 'cause I can't have that anymore, either. Anyway, wherever we go people listen to me and applaud. The rest of the day is like that, and my staff and I will usually gather in my suite after dinner for some Yahtzee. And the next day is the same. So it's all great.
"See, without that I'd have nothing to do. If I leave the campaign, there'll be no one waiting for me downstairs to ask questions. In fact, there'll be no fancy hotels. No speeches, no photographs, no meetings, no teary-eyed hugs, nothing. I'll have to go home and sit around there with my wife, and she's sure as hell not going to bring me any coffee. She's not going to listen to me go on and on about this and that, she's heard it all before, plenty of times, more than she can stand. If I even comment on an item in the paper, she doesn't even look up from her needlepoint, but just raises one hand and opens and closes it in the 'Yeah, yeah, blah, blah' gesture we all know and keeps doing it till I stop speaking. Then I probably have to pick things up from the cleaners or something. Then I spend a half hour or so making faces in the mirror. Then I pretend to be aiming at people walking by on the sidewalk outside. You know. Stuff like that.
"And you want me to go back to that faster than I need to just because I have no chance of winning? Are you out of your mind? The only thing I care about is that for another few weeks I get to strut around and pretend I actually have something to do in the world. What the hell do you think Romney is doing now, counting his money? Posing with those kids? I'll bet that wife of his isn't smiling so much anymore. They've been married two hundred years or something, so she's way past smiling, believe me.
"Anyway, this honesty session is over. I'm running for president, and you can't stop me. I've got three or four places to go today, and then we're flying to Indiana tomorrow, or New Mexico. Hell, I don't know, who cares? All I know is, it's another day I won't be sitting in my den drumming my fingers on some stupid table my wife got."
YOU AND I ARE FLAWED, folks, but we have our jobs and our passions, and we create or sell, or watch the tube, or go to little league, or out with our friends. And if we ever went to someone's house for dinner and broke our leg, the last thing we'd want to do is stay with them. We'd want to go back home immediately.
Look for Mike Huckabee up in a booth on TV in a few months after he's finally called it quits on the campaign. CNN or Fox if he can swing it, but he'll take MSNBC or C-Span. Then maybe his own show, if he has enough juice.
There's always the Food Channel.