Anthony Weiner’s quixotic mayoral candidacy is clearly a bid for redemption, and just as clearly a way to sate his epic, boundless need to be noticed.
But it wasn’t until I went to the Bronx for a candidates’ forum last week that I realized another function the campaign serves for him. It’s his cardio.
While the nine other contenders at a long conference table did what you’d expect and remained seated as they answered questions, Weiner alone shot to his feet whenever it was his turn to speak, an overeager suitor, an overbearing narcissist.
He’d sink back into his chair when his allotted 60 seconds ran out, then rise anew when it was once again Weiner Time. Up, down, up, down: He was part jack-in-the-box, part aerobics instructor and all about Anthony.
When it wasn’t Weiner Time, he made no pretense of caring about or even listening to what his rivals had to say. He’d bury his nose in the papers before him. He’d riffle through them. This despite several news items that had slammed him for similar behavior at a previous forum. For Weiner, rudeness isn’t an oversight. It’s a coat of arms.
He’s a sad spectacle, but that may also make him the perfect mascot for the unfolding mayoral race, which so far doesn’t reflect the greatness of the city whose stewardship is up for grabs. This contest feels crass. It feels small.
And it feels all the smaller because of the constant reminders of just how large a figure the departing mayor, Michael Bloomberg, both is and insists on being. He’s just brought us bikes. He’s determined to bring us composting. He means to vanquish smoking, he means to vanquish obesity and he’s intent on protecting us from the ever stormier seas, after which he means to vanquish global warming itself.
Say what you will about him, he’s a leader of formidable resolve and considerable boldness. And New York of all places needs that kind of swagger, those shades of grandiosity. Can any of his would-be successors provide them? Among many city denizens I know, I sense a justifiable worry, and sometimes an outright angst.
When they look at Christine Quinn, the front-runner for the Democratic nomination and the mayoralty itself, they see someone trying to thread so many needles she gets tangled in her own string.
She can’t run as an extension of Bloomberg, not in a Democratic primary. But she can’t run against his record, having played a key role in securing him a rule-busting third term.
As a woman, she often felt the need to emphasize her toughness. Then came Michael M. Grynbaum and David W. Chen’s remarkable story in The Times about her vicious temper and her frequent outbursts, so loud that her City Hall office had to be soundproofed. So she tacked in a softer, more vulnerable direction, drawing attention to the revelations of bulimia and alcoholism in a just-published memoir whose “sentimentality and self-deprecating girlishness might leaven her image as a brash virago,” Michelle Goldberg observed in The Daily Beast.
On Monday, however, the sentimentality and girlishness were gone as she gave a sharp-edged speech casting herself as a pol of proven dynamism in a field of pandering lightweights. It underscored yet another of the tricky calibrations in her Goldilocks campaign: what’s too liberal, what’s too moderate and what’s just right (and also credible coming from her, a longtime Bloomberg ally).
To some extent, the race for the Democratic nomination — which pits Quinn and Weiner against Bill de Blasio, the public advocate, and Bill Thompson, the 2009 nominee, among others — has been an anachronistic sequence of genuflections before the teachers’ union, black voters, Orthodox Jews, animal-rights advocates.
“It seems to me that this is a pre-1992, pre-Bill Clinton version of the Democratic Party, where the candidates dutifully troop before one narrow special-interest group after another and pledge fealty to whatever demands are in front of them,” Howard Wolfson, a longtime Democratic strategist who is now a deputy mayor, told me Monday.
Wolfson credited Quinn more than others for straying on occasion from that timid and tedious script.
The field’s lack of luster prompted Bloomberg last year to try to get Hillary Clinton to throw her pantsuit in the ring. And it has given rise to a belief among some political insiders and a few restless plutocrats that 2017 could be a ripe mayoral-election year for a political outsider interested in emulating Bloomberg’s ascent into office. By then, the theory goes, the winner of 2013 will have failed.
That’s a tad too cynical, although there’s no overstating the current excitement deficit, which is of course another reason Weiner joined this sorry circus. He detected an underwhelmed audience whose attention could be riveted, even if he had to play the clown.