False start for Deval

Governor, come in, please. Loosen your ascot and stay a while.

A quick question before we get started: Who are you getting your political advice from these days, Leona Helmsley?

Don't answer that. The point is, allow me to give you a different perspective before you get too far off track.

Pretty much everything you've been doing since the day you were elected, knock it all off, every single bit. Knock off the self-celebrations at record-setting expense. Knock off the fancy new Cadillac DTS that costs more a month than a house. Knock off the $72,000 publicly funded appointments secretary for your wife. And knock off that exasperated tone as if no one can possibly imagine how tough it is to be you.

I don't know how else to put this, sir, but you're at risk of making a fool of yourself -- and that's not even the worst part. No, the worst part is you're at risk of making a fool of the people who elected you.

Let's start with the car. Trade it in. Today. Just drive it right back to the lot where you got it and tell them that you don't want it anymore. Make something up if you have to. Say there's a squeak or a rattle or the leather isn't as supple as you hoped.

Then go out and get yourself a nice Ford Explorer or Chevy Suburban. They're safe, they're roomy, they're good in the snow, and they scream of the kind of understated authority that a governor should demand.

Then summon the cameras and do something that you haven't been able to do: Admit a mistake.

Don't lie about Ford not making the Crown Vic any more. Don't blame the State Police for a list you could have overruled. Don't say you were so busy saving the world you couldn't possibly be bothered paying attention to mundane details like a car. Just say, "My fault, I should have known better, and I won't let it happen again." You'll be amazed at the reaction.

And you'll be right; you should have known better.

You are the master of the symbol, whether it be the outdoor inaugural or the receiving line in the State House or opening up the governor's-only elevator to the public at large. You really didn't see what it meant to trade in Mitt Romney's old Ford for a flashy new Cadillac? You couldn't grasp how this would look amid tight fiscal times? Or are you so impressed with yourself and your election that you can't get out of your own way?

The truth is, the Cadillac in and of itself is no big deal. It's a car. But add in some of the other stuff -- the over-the-top inauguration, your wife's assistant -- and it's what we call a trend, and not a particularly good one. And then there's the $1,166-a-month price. If that's the best lease deal you could get, then -- nothing personal, sir -- perhaps you should leave the negotiations with the Legislature to Tim Murray.

Of course, all of this wouldn't seem like nearly so big a deal if you were doing something, anything, as governor. Seven weeks into the Deval Patrick administration, seven weeks into your critical but fleeting honeymoon period, and I have no idea what you stand for. That's the biggest problem you have.

I know what you don't stand for, and that's pretty much all of the proposals that you made during your campaign -- property tax reductions, 1,000 new cops, a new way of doing business on Beacon Hill. Though think of the bright side: If you can break all these promises, you certainly shouldn't have any trouble breaking a lease.

Your aides keep talking about the budget. That's nice, but what you really need is an agenda -- four or five ambitious goals by which your administration will be judged. Announce them. Nurture them. Realize them.

It's early. This Cadillac thing will blow over before your first oil change, and someday we'll look back and laugh. But you have to ask yourself, are you done celebrating your governorship and ready to start acting on it?

Brian McGrory is a Globe columnist. He can be reached at mcgrory@globe.com.