Pensieri di un lunatico minore

Guess who’s not coming to dinner

Roger Ebert sums up the meta-issues of the debate:

I do not like you, John McCain. My feeling has nothing to do with issues. It has to do with common courtesy. During the debate, you refused to look Barack Obama in the eye. Indeed, you refused to look at him at all. Even when the two of you shook hands at the start, you used your eyes only to locate his hand, and then gazed past him as you shook it.

Obama is my guy. If you are rude to him, you are rude to me. If you came to dinner at my house and refused to look at or speak with one of my guests, that would be bad manners and I would be offended. Same thing if I went to your house. During the debate, you were America’s guest.

What was your problem? Do you hold this man in such contempt that you cannot bear to gaze upon him? Will you not even speak to him directly? Do you think he doesn’t have the right to be running for President? Were you angry because after you said you wouldn’t attend the debate, he said a President should be able to concern himself with two things at the same time? He was right. The proof is, you were there. Were you angry with him because he called your bluff?

What little I saw of the debate—I intentionally avoided it because these aren’t real debates—confirmed my suspicion: that John McCain is really George Everett Wilson with the complexion of cottage cheese.