Chasing likes

We went to the Elizabeth Warren rally the other weekend because it was practically in our backyard.

It was happening three-quarters of a mile down the River Trail, it was a nice day, and we were going to walk the dogs that way anyway. So why not hear what the then-candidate had to say?

Karen had, for professional purposes, attended the Amy Klobuchar rally the week before. So she would have something to compare to the Warren rally. The last straight-up political rally I attended was held in Phoenix, Ariz., for Bill Clinton at a union hall—the candidate somehow saw and identified me from across the room, worked his way over, and asked me what the hell I was doing in Arizona.

Bill Clinton is amazing. Despite all the negative things I’ve written about him over the years—not one of which I take back—I like him. He’d be fun to hang around with if you somehow managed to become friends with him.

Anyway, though it sometimes seems like I wasted my youth going to political events, by design I haven’t gone to any in years except for a fundraiser that we accidentally turned up at because we thought it was a regular party. I’m not comfortable attending these things, much less writing checks to candidates.

I know this is America and all and that I’m paid to provide opinions, but I would prefer to not give the impression that I’m endorsing anyone for any office. Because I don’t do that. I often cast my ballot with, as Hunter Thompson used to say, “fear and loathing.” The very act of seeking political office ought to disqualify one from holding political office. We’d be better off drafting citizens to fill most of these positions.

Still, it was a beautiful day. We walked the dogs down to the rally; we got in after texting “Little Rock” to some data-harvesting robot and showed the peppy volunteer that we had complied, walked in, said hello to a few friends and neighbors, and heard Warren deliver her lightly localized version of her standard stump speech.

I ended up liking Elizabeth Warren.

Which isn’t surprising. One of the reasons Elizabeth Warren is Elizabeth Warren is because she has a talent for evoking the empathy of others. Not every politician is highly charismatic, but you don’t achieve a national profile unless you have the ability to magnetize eyes. She told a good story.

And, while I’d like to pretend otherwise, getting voters to like you is the greatest part of getting their votes.

When my friends are running for something, I almost always vote for them, regardless of whether our views on the proper taxation rate on long-term capital gains align. My method is pretty simple: Other things being equal, I’ll vote for the candidate I like better. If I like them both about the same, I’ll vote for the woman or the ethnic minority. If I get further down than that, I’ll vote for the one with the dog featured prominently in their campaign literature. (I can always find myself a tie-breaker.)

Still, I often feel compelled to choose between two people I don’t like. I can even remember occasions when my head overruled my heart and voted for someone I found obnoxious over someone I thought sincere and good-hearted but irreconcilably wrong. But I don’t want to minimize the part my visceral

feelings about someone’s personality play.

I could be persuaded to vote for Mitt Romney in the right context but am still bothered by the story about how he drove 12 hours with the family Irish setter Seamus (yes, I remember the dog’s name) in a carrier strapped to the roof of the family station wagon back in 1983. I just can’t get over that, even though I understand the carrier had a windshield and there are more important issues to worry about. Maybe if I sat down with Romney he could make me understand how it really wasn’t all that big a deal, but it bothers me.

Same with Klobuchar and her alleged binder-throwing and her reputation for being a “tough boss.” I don’t like bullies, and fairly or not, she was presented as one.

I was briefly amused by Bernie Sanders during the 1980s when he seemed like a real-deal Yankee eccentric. Now I don’t like the shouting and the obstinance and his failure to disabuse his most fervent supporters of the purity of their cause. Thirty years on, Bernie bores me more than anything else; I have begun to doubt his sincerity.

He is more like the current POTUS than any other candidate, very concerned about his brand. I wish he were both more curious and inclined to self-interrogation. Nothing frightens me so much as personal certitude.

All of this is relatively shallow stuff, but it’s also true stuff. We’ve known forever that telegenic candidates have an advantage. The American electorate is by and large an unthinking mob ruled by fad and swayed by the recommendations of intellectual mascots who better not use too many big words that make them feel less than the best and brightest ever.

I know that liking a candidate is no guarantee of the candidate’s fitness for office. We might disagree on some issues, but most people have a defensible rationale that I’ll grudgingly accept.

And there are some goofy people who are delightful to be around but shouldn’t be trusted with a rubber spoon and a sippee cup.

So Elizabeth Warren is out of the race, and maybe that’s a good thing, because I might have voted for her. I might have voted for William Weld too, because as quixotic as his quest is (and as much as I disagree with him on some policy issues), he’s a good guy too.

That doesn’t mean he’d be a good president. Most of the country has finally come around to my long-held position that George W. Bush is a pretty good guy. Maybe not a great president—maybe he leaned a little too hard on Karl Rove and Dick Cheney—but a decent man.

And decency, though not as common as it used to be, is a good place to start. Maybe we shouldn’t vote for folks we don’t like.