I rarely watch Bush-speeches; listening to them is hard enough. The patently sly and by now infamous smirk that never seems to leave him these days; the air of pious self-righteousness while mouthing the most inane platitudes known to man; the thick layer of arrogance that drips like bad plastic surgery melting under a heat lamp; the pugnacious how-dare-you of privilege that’s never known a blocked desire or an unfulfilled wish and expects it to go on that way forever as if it were a right; the fierce mediocrity in the shifting gaze which never seems to be looking in the direction his head is pointing, as if there were some fundamental schizophrenia embedded in his very limbs; and of course the preening air of accomplishment shining from those narrow eyes whenever he tells what he thinks is a particularly persuasive lie. It’s all just too depressing.
But I watched the UN speech, can’t say why exactly. Maybe I was feeling masochistic, maybe I forgot for one short moment what watching him is like. I don’t know what it was, but I watched it. I watched it and even though I thought I knew what to expect, I was appalled by the reality. It was a new low, even for him, the man who invented “low”.