I cry today, not so much for the promise of tomorrow, but for the fact that an entire dresser drawer filled to the brim with the rubbery doppelgangers of Bush-era all stars will soon be rendered totally obsolete, as the fleshy molds all but disappear into the woodwork of America. I also can’t help but feel a tinge of regret that they weren’t employed more creatively within the construct of the last eight years – their investment deserved more, even if monies won from The John Ashcroft Video Project all but covered their expense.
Still, the Republican Fight Song will always endear because of where it’s production fell – in 2004, halfway between the entry and exit wounds, with lyrics as base as the visuals, all speaking to just how black and white our world, and more importantly its discourse, had become. We were merely kids with a video camera, on the brink of adulthood, which for our generation meant we had just turned thirty, and this would mark the last time a creative endeavor saddled with a budget would be conducted in a state of mind bordering on absolute shitfacedness.
Come around here…no more.
