Snippets

Like many of us, I have had a lot of insect bites. Most are only aggravating—the itching of mosquito bites. But sometimes they are more serious. I got what I thought was a wasp bite on a sandal-shod foot. It felt as if a cigarette was being put out on me. The calf ballooned. The doctor gave me an antibiotic that in due course brought back my lovely looking leg which — in days of yore — drew compliments. Years later I got a bite on my elbow, which did not seem to be anything important. But I developed a fever and soon the temperature was hitting levels that I had seldom had. The elbow became more and more tender, and when it was bumped and I let out a little scream, I finally went to the doctor, who again prescribed an antibiotic. This time it did not work, and I went back to the doctor. He said he was sending me to the hospital. I needed an antibiotic that had to be injected for several days in a row or delivered by an IV drip. He could not do it because his office was closing for summer vacation. I said that I did not want to go to the hospital. The spouse, who was with me, spoke up, “Couldn’t I inject him?” The doctor looked askance, but the spouse told him that she had gone to medical school and had gotten a Ph.D. She continued that she ran a research lab and regularly injected animals. He did not ask with what. He did say, “Maybe it’s possible.” The spouse: “Where does the injection go?” The doctor: “In the ass.” Saucers. The spouse’s eyes became as big as saucers. “Ohhhhhh, I can do that,” she convincingly said, and the doctor consented. She injected me over the next few days, and I got better. The injections hurt, but not much. When they were through, the spouse said, “That was FUN.”

A character in Death Comes for the Fat Man by Reginald Hill gives marital advice: “Never give your wife a surprise she doesn’t know about.”

Our president said recently that Benjamin Netanyahu is a war hero and continued, “I guess I am, too.” His act of martial bravery in his estimation was ordering the bombing of Iran. In the eyes of many including the prosecutors of the International Criminal Court, Netanyahu is a war criminal for Israel’s actions in Gaza. And Trump, who has supported those actions?

A recent article in The New Yorker by David K. Kirkpatrick quotes an ethics expert who says that “when it comes to using his public office to amass personal profits, Trump is a unicorn—no one else even comes close.” Another presidential observer concludes that the Trumps “have done more to monetize the presidency than anyone who has ever occupied the White House.” But while Trump’s monetization of public office may far outstrip all others, other presidents have benefited from their presidential actions, including our first chief executive. The Whiskey Rebellion in western Pennsylvania sought to prevent taxes on whiskey. George Washington personally led troops to suppress the insurrection. Easterners, including the first president, had long speculated in western lands. Land values soared after Washington’s actions; properties were sold; and profits were taken. Brady J. Crytzer in his book The Whiskey Rebellion: A Distilled History of an American Crisis states, “Later, when speaking of the insurrection in terms of his personal wealth, the president admitted, ‘this event having happened at the time it did was fortunate.’”

Presidential Rock

No president has performed heavy metal or even any good rock. Or rap. We have had some insipid piano playing, some mediocre saxophone, and a good version of Amazing Grace. But no real rock ‘n’ roll. Or rap. And I believe the country would be better if the president rocked. Or rapped. However, after extensive, made-up research, I have found that many presidents did make music. Some examples:

Of course, the hits began with George Washington and his surprising novelty, Does the Chewing Gum Lose Its Flavor in the Dentures Overnight?

This was followed by Thomas Jefferson’s unclassifiable, but revealing, song that was huge in the South, Love in Chains. The third president had a follow-up success in the North, Set My Love Free?  

It was Dolley Madison who had a hit that referred to her husband’s constitutional amendment career with a refrain still resonating today: “Oh, Jimmy, Jimmy Mad, Are those rights just a fad?”

Andrew Jackson sang now forgotten plaintive Appalachian songs accompanying himself on the acoustic dulcimer.

Then there was Millard Fillmore.  No one knew who he was, so no one knew if he sang anything.

Abraham Lincoln accompanied Mary Todd Lincoln on the concertina as she sang, Re-United. Lincoln himself on the late-night tavern circuit tried to set With Malice Toward None to music, but, of course, he never finished it.

Rutherford B. Hayes performed with disastrous consequences still felt today, Reconstruction is for Suckas.

The insomniac William McKinley sang with some success his Mr. Tariffing Man. It was only after the full effects of Smoot-Hawley were seen in the Depression that the lyrics were expanded to include: “that evenings empire has returned into sand/Vanished from my hand/Left me blindly here to stand. . . .”

William Taft, who could not lie, was too obvious when he sang,”I like big butts.” The country back then, however, apparently did not.

Woodrow Wilson seemed convincing when in 1916 he sang “War! What is it good for?” And then he led us into war.

Warren Harding sang old family “darky” songs that would be considered offensive by many today but would be banned by others as DEI.

Calvin Coolidge did not sing but he was a trained mime. He did not get enough recognition for his Man Walking Backwards Against Heavy Wind although he was overpraised for miming handcuffing the Boston Police strikers.

Not surprisingly, FDR could not rock. His only memorable song was The Wheels on the Chair Go ‘Round and ‘Round.

Eisenhower avoided music. He thought that the public would demand from him martial tunes, which he hated.

Kennedy largely spared us those Irish jigs where four or eight bars are endlessly repeated until the fiddler gets tired and stops.

Not many people know that W wrote many lyrics, but they were so filled with malapropisms that no one could understand them.

And now under Trump we have endlessly repeated I Am Just a Fool (in Love) ((with Myself.))