In a recent article, the Associated Press reported the following:

Nine Inch Nails dropped out of the MTV Movie Awards after clashing with the network over an image of President Bush the band planned as a performance backdrop.

The Bush image was to accompany the song "The Hand That Feeds," which obliquely criticizes the Iraq war. It includes the lyrics: "What if this whole crusade's a charade / And behind it all there's a price to be paid / For the blood on which we dine / Justified in the name of the holy and the divine."

Oh, how they go on.

And what do we have here, really? A musician and/or band of popular modern music protesting Bush's policies.  How original! How profound! How poetic! How bloody boring.

Get over it, people. He's president. He will be until his term runs out, at which time you can try again to succeed at the polls.

Maybe what's called for is yet another campaign to lure the youth. What was it called? "Rock the vote"?  Ah, yes, that was, and still is, it.

I guess the last attempt to of the entertainment left to "connect" with young voters, didn't play out as well as planned. Either the hoped for horde of "progressives" didn't come out and play, or else they played for the other team. Since substance can't possibly be the problem, in their view, maybe it is time for new rhetoric.

As much as I like "rock the vote" as a slogan, I'd have to relegate it to second place among my favorite buzz phrases employed to motivate the pliable to the polls. First place would have to go to "get out the vote."

It's a brilliant blunder in syntax. "Get out the vote" makes one think of "getting out the winter clothes" once again. Though, not nearly as useful as the timeless Rag wool sweater from L.L. Bean, your coerced party vote is, however, just as dependable. It always says the same thing: "Democrat, no matter what."

Perhaps there is an erroneous assumption buried somewhere in all of this activity.

So, to these bands I say....

Get a life. You've got millions of dollars to your name. You've got girls screaming and fighting to be your next plaything, wife, mother of your children, whatever. You've got more freedom than virtually anyone else in America. Every eccentricity is tolerated. You can jet set around the world non—stop for months at a time and not see a dent in your bank account, nor care if there were one. People are stepping on each other to meet you. All you have to do is sneeze and your wet tissue will be installed into the Hall of Fame.

And what do you do with your time?

Complain about Bush.

And the band played on...and on...and on.

Robert Reilly observes American politics and culture from Tokyo.