Pedal to the Metal

Staffer Joe Donoghue strolls in, the aforementioned little jerk.

Unlike most Senate suites, the boss's office sits in the middle of everything -- not in some regal corner. No gatekeeper keeps his staff, junior and senior, from wandering through during the interview.

"Joe is bipolar and has had some severe alcohol problems as well," McCain tells a reporter. "He used to have hair. He has been accused several times of harassing interns. And he tried to pick me up this morning at the wrong end of goddamned National Airport."

This is a Full McCain Introduction, except that he leaves out the bit about Donoghue's prison work-release status. (Note to lawyers: He is kidding.)

McCain is wearing a wrinkled gray suit. Wisps of white hair stick up from the back of his head and his small pink face is heavy with fatigue. He has been hyperactive and hypervisible of late, even by his omnipresent norms:

He interrogated Donald Rumsfeld when the defense secretary came before the Senate Armed Services Committee on Friday. He condemned the negative tone of the presidential campaign, and his colleague Frank Lautenberg of New Jersey for comparing Vice President Cheney to a chicken. He railed against steroids in sports, Internet taxation and the conservative Sinclair Broadcast Group for refusing to air an edition of "Nightline" in which Ted Koppel read the names of the fallen in Iraq.

McCain likes to tell you how busy he is. He tallies the interviews he's sat for, speeches he's given, people he's seen. He begins by telling you how "dead tired" he is and at what ridiculously early hour he began his day.

On a recent morning -- in which he says he awoke at 5 -- McCain boasts of all he's doing to promote his new book, "Why Courage Matters: The Way to a Braver Life." "I did Hannity alone and I did Hannity and Colmes together," McCain says, "so I figured I had the obligation to do Colmes alone, too."

The previous week, McCain's wife, Cindy, suffered a brain hemorrhage. A few days later, she came home from the hospital and is expected to recover fully. McCain took a few days off from his book tour and flew to Phoenix.

Now back at full-bore, McCain shows off a schedule of that morning's radio phoners: He did 30 interviews in all, and nearly all included some variation on the question of whether he might be Kerry's running mate -- to which McCain answered with some variation on "No," followed by his laundry list of things that make him and Kerry incompatible. ("I am a pro-life, deficit hawk, free-trade Republican.") But this doesn't stop McCain from loving the nuisance of it.

"He tends to complain about a lot of things with a twinkle in his eye," says Sen. Chuck Hagel (R-Neb.), a close friend who says he refuses to get into a car with McCain. "You can tell a big part of him enjoys this."

A Flawed Hero

"All right, how many people we bringing with us?" McCain says, bounding from his office chair. He is heading to a news conference about a drug importation bill. As McCain waits for a Senate tram, tourists keep pointing at him, whispering to each other.

"Yep, I'm him," McCain says. "I'm that Al Gore guy."

After the news conference, a reporter approaches McCain with the running-mate question. She asks about a quote in the Boston Herald in which he said he "admired the Democratic Party."

"My words were taken completely out of context," McCain tells the reporter. His voice rises as his gait speeds. "I said I wouldn't run with Kerry because I'm a Republican, a Teddy Roosevelt Republican, and while I admire the Democratic Party, I am committed to Republicans.

"Duuhhh."

Back on the tram, McCain affects a high mocking voice to mimic the question. He seems exasperated, genuinely so, except for the grin.

The running-mate trope is just the latest co-dependent transaction between the media and their good friend McCain. Intrigue is served, ratings rise (when McCain is booked on a talk show). In return, McCain gets attention.