What was it David Remnick wrote in that piece I linked to yesterday? “For most people, the luxury of living in a relatively stable democracy is the luxury of not following politics with a nerve-racked constancy.” To me, luxury would be one day, one stinking day, with no Trumps in it.
But how is that possible? If it’s not the president, it’s Princess Ivanka, First of Her Name, Whose Domain is Handbags, Shoes and Casual Separates, which of course qualifies her to sit down with a panel of very accomplished women in Berlin and talk about Issues.
The story here said the crowed “booed and hissed” when she told a big fat whopper about King Donald, whom she described as a friend to women and families and so forth.
I watched the video and was hoping for way more booing, frankly, something like the outburst in a town hall during Congress’ break earlier this year. It was more like a polite rumble, although unmistakably disapproving. Princess Ivanka turned her head, but for my money, the person to watch in that clip is Christine Lagarde, head of the International Monetary Fund, who looks at the princess with a sort of scornful amusement: Who invited you, handbag designer? And she smiles when the crowd jeers, because who wouldn’t? When a person lies, they deserve to be called on it. Lagarde’s skill in dressing is well-known, and I doubt she’d get caught dead in anything branded Trump. Check out that shoulder-scarf thing. The hell with you, Ivanka.
As bad as that moment was, though, this may be worse: Chris Cillizza, defending her because:
1) He’s her daddy, and that’s a daughter’s job:
But, it’s important to remember that Ivanka is, first and foremost, her father’s daughter. As such, she is going to defend him — as would almost every daughter in any situation in which her dad is under attack.
I didn’t see the whole thing, or whatever led up to this remark, but I don’t believe he was under attack. She just spontaneously offered the whole my-dad-is-the-best-dad thing. Cillizza goes on:
2) She knows him better than we do, and who knows? Maybe she’s right:
To walk away from that view would be to abandon what she spent the last 18 months telling us about her dad based on her own firsthand experiences.
Which seems to be some combination of the mafia family-first code and a realization that when you’re caught lying, you double down.
No wonder no one respects “pundits.” Or “pundints,” as Sarah Palin likes to say.
Finally, an analysis — nothing heavy — of how the administration is failing to take advantage of imagery, which is to say, photography. Or, to put it another way, the Trump presidency is producing crappy pictures;
The Obama imagery was so powerful not just because of how artful it was, but because of its apparent candidness. Obama and Souza gave us the impression we were flies on the wall, or part of the team—even part the family. In numbing contrast, photographs of Trump are often awkwardly, even painfully posed, with Trump almost always ensconced at the center. Like local chamber-of-commerce snaps or old corporate newsletter photos, they call attention to themselves as slavish, clone-like endorsements here accented by gratuitous thumbs-up gestures.
Shudder. On to the hump day we toil.