How Do We Like Him Now?

I don’t like a couple of my doctors. One is a stuffed shirt and the other a martinet, but based on their education, training, and experience I trust their judgment.  They probably don’t like me either, but I don’t owe them money, so it’s a win for both of us.

I am surprised when people risk their wellbeing and select those who serve them based on likability as opposed to qualifications. Yet, isn’t this exactly what happened during the 2016 election? When did we reach the point in our culture where we valued likability over capability?

Likability was the focus during the 1952 election, with “I Like Ike” campaign slogan. Unlike our current Republican leader, Ike took a firm stand against mob rule, risking his favorable likability rating.

Likability wasn’t a factor until Hillary Clinton ran against you know who. Voters chose a snake oil salesman, with no qualifications to lead anything but organized crime, over a woman who was eminently qualified to be president, because they didn’t like her.

The 2016 election results were further proof of Russian influence via the Vladimir Lenin quote, “Show me who your friends are, and I’ll tell you what you are.” Fox and Friends and Trump and friends reinforce this adage. The past three years of revolving door appointments and subsequent resignations are the result of choosing spin over substance.

Maybe next time we will consider someone who has demonstrated a capacity for caring and compassion over the recommendation of a two-bit street preacher.

Maybe next time there is an election logic will prevail. There’s not much that’s positive about likability these days.

Maybe Dogs Don’t Like Trump Either

Am I the only person who wonders why the current occupant of the oval office doesn’t have a dog? This is an American tradition.

Many of the past presidents had dogs. The Obama’s had Bo, Bush 2 Barney and Bush 1 Millie. Who can forget LBJ’s beagles? Even that nasty Nixon, had Checkers (the dog died before Nixon became President and was spared any association with Watergate.) The Kennedys dog, Pushinka was a gift from Premier Khrushchev.

We have some clues about what Trump may have given Putin, but why did Putin not follow the tradition of Premier Khrushchev and present the Donald with a dog?

The other curious thing is nothing is ever written about Trump enjoying quality time with his near and dear. (Given his history, there may be a good reason for not publicizing those he considers near and dear.)

Maybe his family doesn’t like him either. Could it be he is the male counterpart of “Mommy Dearest” or perhaps the Trump dynasty is more like the “Running with Scissors” family.

Aside from photos of him and a stony-faced Melania with clenched jaw and angry eyes, there is no hint of any sort of connection. You never read about Kennedy-type picnics and touch football games or photo ops like Obama with his girls at a bookstore.

Trump does not have a dog. One cannot say with any degree of certainty that Trump doesn’t like dogs; I’m betting it is more like dogs don’t like him.

If you want to know the true character of an individual, put a dog in the room with that person. Dogs have higher standards than many humans and refuse to have anything to do with flawed individuals. There is no greater endorsement of personal character than the devotion of a dog.

The Democrats should invite a dog to their house hearings of the Trump crime family. I’ll bet their stonewalling shenanigans would stop in a hurry.

You can’t stonewall a dog.

Note: For a different take on current events. Check it out.

Could Thelma and Louise Run Our Country?

If you ask most people, they would say personality traits and interests are the ties that cement relationships. I believe it’s the opposite.

I’d be bored to death if I had to spend time with someone who is just like me. I have proof of my theory.

One of my most cherished buds is nothing like me; and as far as I can tell she enjoys my company.

She is the voice of reason and measured responses.

In my case, the filter on my mouth comes loose and takes off on its own.

She has a Master’s degree but doesn’t flaunt it.

I have some college; am a lifelong smart aleck and occasionally embarrass myself.

We enjoy the same books and some of the same movies. She is a romantic with a bent toward nostalgia. I prefer HBO— off the wall drama. Nostalgia rarely visits me.

She is a social whirling dervish. I can be happy at home for days on end.

I’ve come to believe she is the angel that sits on my shoulder and I am the devil that occupies real estate on hers.

Most people would never suspect that my devil tugs on her ear at times. On rare occasions, her angel holds her nose and performs a quick fly-over to me.

Someone referred to us as Thelma and Louise. They nailed it—that’s us.   I’m Louise. My bud is nowhere as meek as Thelma. So far, as I know, she has never visited a bar.

I haven’t visited a bar recently, but if I did; and if she happened to tag along and some man tried to assault her, I wouldn’t kill him, but I’d make sure he wished he was dead.

I’m too much of a coward to drive off a cliff and my friend would never agree to that. We might consider putting the assailant in the car and letting him take a ride off a cliff, but I don’t think we’d follow through.  For all our differences the thing my friend and I have in common is a similar value system; caring and compassion.

The current division in our country isn’t as much about our differences as it is about the trickle-down, low-down, break-down of values demonstrated by the current occupant of the white house.

A Thelma and Louise paradigm shift could be an improvement

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