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Four million Americans, it is reported, plan to attend activities connected with the Obama–Biden Inaugural in Washington–roughly ten times the prior record. That’s enough to convince any sane person to stay home. So what to do?
I propose an inaugural cocktail. To me it feels like 1933 all over again (not that I was alive then, mind). Herbert Hoover, a far better man than his eventual Republican successor, was heading off to salvage something of his name (he would succeed at that, by the way). FDR was about to start the first of his four terms, and Prohibition was coming to an end.
Of that era’s cocktails my favorite was the Clover Club. It’s a vintage drink, popular enough during the Depression to earn Esquire‘s scorn. A bit sweet, a bit sour, and no need for a second. You take one part grenadine or raspberry syrup (pomegranate juice in a pinch), two parts fresh squeezed lemon juice, and half an egg white. Put them in a shaker with cracked ice and shake vigorously to a creamy froth. Add eight parts gin and a dash of apple brandy. Drink to the strains of Roosevelt’s campaign song, “Happy Days Are Here Again.”
More from Scott Horton:
Conversation — August 5, 2016, 12:08 pm
Sidney Blumenthal on the origins of the Republican Party, the fallout from Clinton’s emails, and his new biography of Abraham Lincoln
Conversation — March 30, 2016, 3:44 pm
Joseph Hickman discusses his new book, The Burn Pits, which tells the story of thousands of U.S. soldiers who, after returning from Iraq and Afghanistan, have developed rare cancers and respiratory diseases.
Years ago, I lived in Montana, a land of purple sunsets, clear streams, and snowflakes the size of silver dollars drifting through the cold air. There were no speed limits and you could legally drive drunk. My small apartment in Missoula had little privacy. In order to write, I rented an off-season fishing cabin on Rock Creek, a one-room place with a bed and a bureau. I lacked the budget for a desk. My idea was to remove a sliding door from a closet in my apartment and place it over a couple of hastily cobbled-together sawhorses.
Average exam score, in a SUNY-Fredonia study, for students who only listened to a podcast of their professor’s lecture:
Boys in Taiwan are likelier than girls to vomit in order to lose weight.
Hundreds of women in yoga pants marched through Barrington, Rhode Island, to defend their right to wear the garment, and Trump vowed to sue every woman accusing him of sexual assault. “I look so forward to doing that,” he said.
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"She never thanked me, never looked at me—melted away into the miserable night, in the strangest manner I ever saw. I have seen many strange things, but not one that has left a deeper impression on my memory than the dull impassive way in which that worn-out heap of misery took that piece of money, and was lost."