As a journalist of 30 years, I have come to recognize many truisms about my profession. One is that the reporters who cover politics tend to be the fairest and least ideological in the newsroom. They don't define good and bad by party label or from a left-right prism; they tend to judge individuals by who returns their calls and gives them honest answers and good quotes. The other truism is that while most journalists I know are extremely sensitive to being manipulated - the bogus photo opportunity, the shameless spin, the half-truth study - they are less on guard about being co-opted. Accessibility is the ultimate tool of co-option. The public figures who recognize this have a distinct advantage over those who try to outclever themselves.

In a noble attempt to warm up reporters on caucus eve, Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton made a surprise jaunt onto the press bus on Wednesday morning, bearing coffee and bagels. "It's been a long campaign," she said, standing at the front of the bus. "I don't know about you, but for me, it's been a great experience." Dumbfounded by the appearance (her first and only on board the bus since she started campaigning almost exactly a year earlier), the traveling press corps watched in silence as she handed off the goods to Phil Singer, her spokesman, making a rare appearance on the press bus himself. Clinton then turned and left.

For all the talk about the complex ideological, economic and other factors that shape our horrendous political press coverage, it is always important to remember that so much of it -- as Romano's accurate comments highlight -- is attributable to the adolescent, self-absorbed, herd-like behavior of the reporters who travel around with these candidates. Those whom they like personally -- the ones who flatter them or otherwise trigger their desire to be liked -- receive reverent coverage, while those to whom they're personally hostile receive the opposite.

Just contrast the frosty, petulant reception they gave Hillary when she entered their bus with the way White House press reporters at the President's news conferences, for years, cackle at his every attempt at humor and light up with glee when he deigns to engage them in his insulting frat-boy repartee. But in contrast to George the Popular Jock to whom they're grateful for any attention, Hillary is the overly competitive, know-it-all girl at the front of the class with all the answers, and so instead of acting like professionals and just treating like her like a candidate running for President, and taking the opportunity to ask questions when she entered the bus, they instead band together like they're in eighth grade and give the mean, unpopular girl the cold shoulder.

Is it any wonder that Hillary never boards the press bus? Personally, I'd rather be in Siberia than be in Iowa around all of that.

Hillary stepped onto the parked press bus in Indianola for about 90 seconds to deliver bagels and coffee, and I'm not sure what this says about Clinton and the press — the chill, I think, comes from both sides — but it was a strange moment. She expressed her sympathies that we're away from our families and "significant others," tried a joke at the expense of her press secretary, and paused. Nobody even shouted a question, whether because of the surprise, the assumption that she wouldn't actually answer, or the sheer desire to end the encounter.

One reporter compared the awkwardness to running unexpectedly into an ex-girlfriend.

Clinton need look no further than across the partisan line to Sen. John McCain, the presumptive Republican nominee, whose exhaustively freewheeling sessions with reporters on his 2000 campaign bus, the "Straight Talk Express," brought him enormous amounts of goodwill and favorable coverage. Minor gaffes became part of his charm and authenticity. His very accessibility was enough of a rarity in presidential politics to become a story in itself.

Instead of appealing for votes on the campaign trail, Sen. John McCain spent the weekend playing host at his rustic Arizona home -- and on Sunday members of the traveling press corps were his guests.

GOP candidate Sen. John McCain of Arizona usually takes reporters' questions but was mum this weekend.

It was a news-free zone, and a charm offensive to be sure -- but also a window into the private setting and self-described oasis of the man who may be days away from mathematically clinching the GOP nomination, months after being left for political dead.

McCain greeted reporters as he tended to the grill -- tongs in hand -- on the deck of his ranch house. Clad in a green Maine Maritime Academy baseball hat, white sweat shirt with a photograph of his family on it, faded Levis jeans and New Balance sneakers, the presidential candidate stood over two large, sizzling barbecues, preparing baby back ribs and grilled chicken.

McCain revealed that barbecuing for guests is one of the few ways he relaxes, especially during the grueling campaign, and was eager to share his carefully honed recipe on the gas grill: baby back ribs (bought at Costco), cooked bones down with a dry rub that's a third garlic powder, a third salt and a third pepper.

The trick to not letting it dry out? Keep putting lemon juice on, the senator said.

When a print journalist tried to switch gears to more substantive issues, the candidate who tends to take questions from reporters on the road multiple times a day responded, "No interviews, this is a social event," which also meant no news pictures or video. (my emphasis)

Dessert was served on the deck to Frank Sinatra tunes, one of the senator's favorites, and McCain held court with reporters for a few more minutes, recalling some of the highlights of the 2008 campaign trail but not revealing anything about his future plans.