Kellyanne Conway, the Trump adviser, looks like what we used to call a “sharp cookie.” I don’t have trouble imagining her squinting behind a long-ash butt hanging out the corner of her mouth. Smart, not overly ideological, willing to sell sneaky-shitty politics and not on the cheap.
There are others in the Trump camp we have to love. Chris Christie, fat and corrupt. Rudy Giuliani, a smarmy little prick. Trump and his people make Paul Ryan look like a voice of conscience, heretofore thought impossible.
Even New Yorkers who once voted for Giuliani wish he’d shut up and go away.
He: “Honey, Rudy’s talking on TV.”
She (from the kitchen): “Well, turn the channel, hon. Aren’t the Kardashians on?”
Speaking of maybe not all that bright, how ’bout that Ryan Lochte?
Which brings us around to golf, Olympic golf, Karl Rove-like, while you weren’t looking.
I laid off the Spieths and Days and Johnsons who opted out, because I figured they could make adult decisions as golf professionals. I still think that, but I wonder if they wish now they’d gotten in on it all.
Which is why I think women’s golf is so interesting. Except for the xenophobes who don’t see an American anywhere near the top, we can’t help but admire the best players. Lydia Ko played great in the Olympics, and she couldn’t touch Inbee Park. Going forward, it’s nothing but fascinating, and a real-life feel-good story.
Not like Lochte’s story, which makes me feel like I’d licked the bottom of Kellyanne Conway’s ashtray.