Essays in Idleness

Perhaps there is a “culture clash,” between the hippies and me. I am thinking of Mr Neil Young at the moment, but he could stand in for the rest. Mr Donald Trump used his song, “Keep on rockin’ in the free world,” at his (Mr Trump’s) patriotic rally last night, in the Black Hills of South Dakota. The commies were slashing the tires of trucks on the road leading in, to prevent the audience from getting to the show by Mount Rushmore; but from what I could see, enough made it through. They also couldn’t stop the jets flying over. It was “summer of love” in suits, with firecrackers. (Many waited in their seats for hours, while the temperature topped out at 125 degrees of F.) … Mr Young wasn’t there.

But look what they did to his song. They played it. And not for the first time at a Trump rally. You see, the campaign paid for the privilege. Mr Young was happy to take the money, through his agents. Now he is Twittering his Rage that the Trumpistas actually used what they paid for.

Mr Young is a Canadian citizen, incidentally; and also a Natted States citizen, since January, when the authorities there finally agreed to overlook his drug offences. He does like to have things both ways. He even sounds like a girl. But Mr Trump loves him, even if they are differently politicked, according to a response from the other side. Do we care? Of course not.

I wish they could choose some other music at these Trumpfests. Something more Baroque. Handel would be nice. Or some Samuel Barber, and some N’Orlins jazz. At seventy-four, I don’t think Mr Young is old enough.

But meanwhile, I favour good old-fashioned contractual law. (I wish it applied to everything it used to, such as marriage, for instance.) I’m gung-ho for property rights. I’d even grant them to millionaires.

The hippies only understand money, unfortunately. They’re not up to principles. Things like, “One nation under God,” tend to go over their heads. Or even, “God bless America.”

Greetings to my Natted States readers, by the way, on this Fourth of July. And thanks — for housing Mr Young in Los Angeles these last fifty-something years. (There seem to be a lot of Canadian hippies in that town.) Though if I were you, I would have kept him moving on to Mexico.

Cue, the “Adagio for strings.”