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            The campaign videographer, a fresh-faced kid named Chou Li, is easy to spot in all the photographs: He’s the dude wearing a Navy blue beret! And one day he arrives with his first masterpiece on a home-cooked DVD, “Freedom To Be Who? You!” A workman-like portrait of Anna on the campaign trail, he hasn’t even asked me to contribute narration.

            “This campaign be too compartmentalized,” I complain.

            “Is there a problem?” Eric asks in a voice tinged with lead.

            “I told you what I do, Eric. I’m a screenwriter.”

            “Yes,” he agrees, “but not for this campaign.”

            “Wrong answer, Eric. I’ve told you, volunteers need constant petting, otherwise we start to feel unappreciated!”

              Pausing, he considers what I’ve said. Friends do that for one another. “What I’m saying is, we need a full-fledged videographer for this campaign,” he explains affably enough. “We interviewed people for this position. We chose Li because we felt he understands what we want, a campaign document that also delivers a message.”

            “Jesus, man, my partner and I are documentary filmmakers,” I grouse, losing steam fast. The kind of film they want to make would bore me to distraction. “Anyway, keep me in mind if you ever need backup.”

            “I will, I will,” chimes Eric. In Eric-speak, that’s a “maybe.”

            When I volunteered in the Call Center of the Myrtle Beech campaign in 2008, the day arrived when a crisp new pile of bright and shiny DVD’s in little white “Myrtle For President” envelopes sat squarely upon the desk of the Visual Arts Director. Not prone to sticky fingers— everyone at that campaign was scrupulously honest— I sashayed up to Naomi Warren, my supervisor, and said, “I see some DVD’s. Can I have one?”

            “Kevin,” she said, looking extremely uncomfortable, “those DVD’s cost us money, you know. The campaign pays for these services. Those DVD’s are a campaign video specifically tailored to the needs of State Team Leaders in all 50 states. We only have 50 of them. We’re about to mail them out with complementary materials. That’s the only reason they are even in this office.”

            “Well, I thought I’d ask,” I say, giving her my most apologetic smile.

            “Kevin, I love your work, but you’re a volunteer employed at the intern level answering and transferring telephone calls. 2008 is a busy time for us. I have a meeting upstairs in about 15 minutes… I’ll ask.”

            “You’ll ask?” I repeat, stunned.

            “I can’t promise anything, but if there are any stray production copies floating around, I’ll try to wrangle you a video souvenir. God knows we don’t pay you anything!”

            Leaving Campaign HQ that evening, I took the Metro straight to our film office off Rockville Pike. Grabbing dinner in the taquería, the only other tenant in the mall, I joined my partner Boopsie at the controls of our celestial starship Enterprise.

            “Is that what I think it is?”

            “It’s a Myrtle Beech video.”

            “Gimme!”

            First off, we transferred the image portion to a clean DVD. Then we went to work on our own bombastic narration: “In a country as great as ours— and we spit on any grubby foreigners who say otherwise, p’tooee!— once a generation, there comes a candidate so outstanding, so incredible, able to leap tall buildings at a single bound, et cetera, we humbly bow to Her Highness in abject humility.

            “Failing that, here’s… Myrtle Beech! An alternative to all the slick, over-the-top candidates with their perfect teeth and chi-chi smiles, Myrtle isn’t afraid to smell like day-old deodorant, piss and vinegar!

            “She’s a fighter à la Floyd Patterson or George Forman, the sweat pouring off her in a rain of high-quality executive leadership ability.

            “Listen, after the duds we’ve had in the White House, anybody is fit to be president!

            “Elect Myrtle Beech!

            “Why? Because she’s best? The most qualified? The most dedicated? More moxy than a barrel of Congressional staffers?

            “No and Hell no!

            “Elect Myrtle Beech because we said so!”

            Today, mashups prevail, but in 2008, this was cutting edge. The complete DVD sits in a white paper sleeve on a shelf in the office, used only to seduce and impress young college girls into thinking we circulate with the Stars.

                                                    * 

            “Wanna work on an Anna Bola video?”

            “No! Help me write dialogue. Jim hates Susan, but the only way they’re going to escape from the burning elevator is… what?”

             “I thought elevators were fireproof?”

             “All right, let’s move them into a burning bedroom…”

             “Okay. Susan: You always do this…”

              “Wait! Okay, go ahead.”

              “Susan: You always do this! You always get us into these impossible situations! It’s like you just don’t care! Do you have any idea how hard it is to befriend someone whose entire life is dedicated to—“

               “Chasing bad guys! Okay, good.”

               “Anna Bola—“

               “Forget it. We’re making money here. Stay focused!”

                We have just completed a summer video of our receptionist Jacqueline and her punk band Explosive Plastic. Mom’s meteorologist on TV warned motorists of sheet lightning in the next few days. Every night, cranking out our low-light video camera, tripod, mikes and sundry colored gels, we used the overhead halogen lamps on Rockville Pike as basic illumination, switched the camera to the black and white setting and proceeded to do our thing.

                 Behind some bushes, in a hollow full of groundhog holes, just off the highway but wonderfully hidden, we staged a little orgy. Everyone quietly mimed to the playback on the dinky, plastic Magnus brand boombox. Three nights in a row, we were out there. Armed with an endless supply of cheap hamburgers from the local diner, the musicians plied the groundhogs shamelessly. By the third night, Jacqueline was kanoodling with the groundhogs, the footage getting more surreal by the minute.

                Not wanting to chase away the gawking busboys from the taquería, but afraid a crowd would attract la policía, I got Boopsie to drive to the local supermarket for beer. Arraying these stalwart Mexicans as a chorus line behind the main action, half hidden by boughs of myrtle (what else?), we kept everyone involved, inebriated, intense and out of sight of the highway.

                A film like that begs to be done justice in the editing room. If the footage was glorious, it landed in the 3 minute 20 second video, regardless of whether Jacqueline French-kissing a groundhog synchronized perfectly with the song lyrics.

                                                White Nigger

                 Oh momma! Pa Jama!

                 Strike me, mike me, / Don’t ya try to psyche me.

                  Rock me, sock me, / Don’t ya try to shock me.

          Wacko, Jacko, / This guy’s a flacko. / Oh momma! Pa Jama!

          Pantyhose for a pantywaist. / Get on board, you make haste.

          Cash, cash, / Blah-h-h-h-h! / Money, honey! Ah-h-h-h-h!

                  The sun rises on Good Hope Road!

                   Half a million assholes waving clipboards.

                   Average contribution, sixty-nine dollars.

                  Sure! And he’s the greatest / Thing since French toast.

                  Belly-achin’ heartbreaker, two-faced dealmaker.

                  White nigger, Indian giver! What am I? Chopped liver?

                   How can I repay my student loan???

                   Oh momma! Pa Jama!

                   Suck me, pluck me, / Don’t ya outta luck me.

                   Do me, screw me, / Don’t ya black and blue me.

                   I’m totally plucked.

                                                (c) 2011, Rosario, Feingold, Davis

                  A masterpiece is in the eye of the beholder.

                 Many, many hits on YouTube.

                 How could poor Anna compete with that? Campaign video? ¡Mucho gracias, no, por favor! Detalles sin interés.

                                                      *