Slightly Off the Mark

 During the last national election (in the otherwise cursed year of 2024), Tippecanoe County, Indiana received a number of write-in ballots for the office of President. I've always thought of write-ins as being the sign of a healthy, free country, where citizens can voice their displeasure with the two main party candidates.

But sometimes, not so much.

In addition to the write-ins, one ballot was held back as provisional because the voter dropped it off on election night--at a Colorado polling place. Half the people of Colorado probably don't even know where Indiana is, let alone Tippecanoe County, and vice-versa.

As far as write-in votes, the biggest vote-getter was Jill Stein, who was running as the Green Party nominee. I don't know what their platform is, but I like the color.

39 voters chose the candidates for the Party of Socialism and Liberation. I guess their goals are pretty much right there in the title: They believe revolution is necessary to establish socialism. In my study of history I've noticed most socialist revolutions lead to a few people being in charge, and a lot of other people being dead.

Cornel West and Melina Abdullah also snagged a few votes. No, I don't know either, let me check ...

Oh--activists! Also socialists, and although that's not my thing, I have to admire Cornel West's awesome and intimidating hairstyle.

U.S. Rep. Thomas Massie, a Republican from Kentucky, got two votes, but I hear he's way more popular in Kentucky. He got the same amount of votes as Kanye West, who I hear is not as popular in Kentucky.

Jesus got 6 votes, and God got 3. Honestly, it seems like those should be combined.

So, who else got write-in votes?

Mike Rowe, he of "Dirty Jobs", one of the few people in the entertainment industry I'd actually vote for. Also one of the few who has an actual idea of what the average Joe does for a living.

Johnny Cash, who I'd probably also vote for except he's kind of, well ... dead. Not that I'd trying to discriminate against dead people, mind you. Lots of dead people vote every election.

Former President John Quincy Adams, by all accounts a man of principle, but sadly also dead. For awhile, now. He would be eligible, though, as he was a one term President, and I'm not sure there's anything in the Constitution forbidding dead candidates. Some people in Congress look awfully dead.

John Quincy--who wouldn't love those sideburns?

Singer Willie Nelson. I can't help thinking he'd have a "legalize marijuana" plank in his platform. If not a plank, at least a joint.

Alfred E. Neuman, the "What--me worry?" mascot of MAD Magazine, which doesn't have the circulation it once did. He may be a little too laid back.

Michael Vick, sportsball star who also ran a dog fighting ring that got him put in prison. Lots of politicians have gotten away with worse stuff than that, but as a dog lover I kind wish he was still behind bars. Which ... also isn't necessarily fatal to a political career.

Kermit the Frog. Yeah, I'd totally vote for him. I mean, he kept the Muppet Show more or less under control, and as First Lady Miss Piggy would also serve as butt-kicker in chief.

And finally, the one I'm really surprised didn't get more votes:

"They All Suck."

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I had a business plan all ready to go when we published The No-Campfire Girls, and it was, if I do say so myself, fool-proof:

First, we tell everyone half the proceeds to go a good and worthy cause, and that much of the other half go toward advertising that good and worthy cause.

Second, we set the e-book price at only 99 cents and, even better, the print book at just five dollars. Hey, you can find 99 cents in your navel lint collection. (It's up to you to dig it out.) Not only that, but these days 99 cents worth of navel lint is worth five bucks, so there you go.

Third, we spread the word among Girl Scouts, since that good cause was to support a Girl Scout camp. There are about two and a half million Girl Scouts in America today. So the Scouts of Camp Latonka would spread the word about this cool new young adult novel to other Scouts in Missouri, who get the word out through the Midwest, and before you know it I'm on Oprah's book list. No, I have no idea of Oprah was a Girl Scout, but she would know a fun read when she sees one.

I do sneak in a book cover, every now and then.

But speaking of Oprah, the next step would be to have The No-Campfire Girls endorsed by famous Girl Scouts. I may only remember a few Taylor Swift songs, but I know a former Scout when I see one.

By which I mean, I looked it up. 

 So pretty soon Swift, Gwyneth Paltrow, Susan Lucci, Abigail Breslin, Dionne Warwick, Kattie Couric, Martha Stewart, Mariah Carey ... let me take a breath ... Celine Dion, Dakota Fanning, Barbara Walters, Venus Williams, and my favorite, Sheryl Crow, are all telling their fans, "Buy a book and save a camp!" (trademark pending) ... "Oh, and enjoy reading!"

According to my math, these steps would result in 8,914,976 sales. If every one of those buyers likes the book, that in turn will result in approximately 475 book reviews. Since online publicity depends so much on book reviews these days, that many should result in at least another ten billion sales.

I confess, my calculator app froze up a few steps earlier, so that's some quick and dirty napkin calculations that I had to read off my face in the mirror, after an unfortunate chocolate mishap. But I think it's a fair approximation.

So, Girl Scout Camp Latonka is saved, and I see a book series in my future!

Well, I did. The plan stalled along the way, possibly during the "going viral" stage. Or maybe I should have led with, "It's a fun, story--really it is". But I'm working on it.

And, just in case, I've already got a sequel planned out ... maybe I'll put in a cute puppy.

I got a bit of a weird feeling when I heard actress Erin Moran once stayed in (and got kicked out of) a Holiday Inn Express in Corydon, Indiana. A little research confirmed it was the same Holiday Inn that Emily and I stayed in while researching Hoosier Hysterical a couple of years ago. Corydon was the original state capital of Indiana, so naturally we spent some time in the area.

We weren't there at the same time as she was, of course. Well, not that I know of, although apparently she lived in the area then. I suppose it could have been the same room.

On the one hand, I was a little offended at the way the news media covered her move to Indiana, as if Moran had been banned to the seventh circle of Hell. (Apparently she and her husband moved here to take care of his mother, after her acting jobs dried up and they lost their California property.) I'd take southern Indiana over southern California any day.

the other hand, I suspect I'd choose wealthy in California over impoverished in Indiana. She'd hit on very hard times, and didn't make the move for the scenery; those of us trying to work our way up can't begin to imagine what it's like to be a TV star at fourteen, and considered a has-been by thirty. Her happy days were far behind her, and it sounds like she spent the last years of her life trying to drown her sorrows in alcohol. I remember the fresh faced kid on "Happy Days", and can't help thinking she was only two years older than me. It could have been any of us; and it's very sad any way you look at it.

The latest of my stories featuring the main character from "The Notorious Ian Grant" as he begins a cross country trip toward the events of the novel. My next might be delayed for about a week and a half due to a wedding and a book contract (!); I have one more fanfiction crossover done (everyone's welcome to suggest another one), and also an all original short story we'll be giving away later on my website.


 Title: A Poor Choice of Alias
Author: ozma914
Summary: Determined to drive to Indiana and make up with his family, B-list celebrity Ian Grant is barely out of L.A. when he runs into two cops in a diner--and, as is his nature, decides to mess with them. Which might not have been so bad, but this time around the Winchester Brothers chose a very unfortunate pair of fake names.

 Rating: PG
Length: 1,600 words

 A Poor Choice Of Alias

            Could he call it a road trip yet, when he hadn’t even made it out of the city?

            Ian Grant pressed his back against the outside of a diner door, desperately signing autographs, if signing autographs was something one could do desperately. He’d managed to gas up the Mustang and pee before the paparazzi found him—the pee part, especially, was a relief. Now, somewhere on the outskirts of L.A. just off the freeway, he’d been found by half a dozen bored photographers and what were probably the only dozen Ian Grant “greatest fans” on this side of the city.

            “Yes, thanks, here—love the Mohawk. Who’s it for? How do you spell … ah, Krysanthemum with a K, your mother must be very proud.”

            His new adventure had not started off well. He’d had to stop and pick up some toiletries—no way was he going back to face Bethani in that hotel room. The pop star was probably still throwing furniture around to protest the very idea that anyone would dare break up with her before she did it first.

            Nobody recognized him at the dollar store. When he realized the Mustang was down to a quarter of a tank, which would certainly not get him to Indiana, he made another stop and was again not recognized. A guy’s luck had to run out, sooner or later.

            “Gotta go, sorry—thanks!” Ian managed to squeeze through the door and, much to his surprise, no one followed. The fans were apparently content after he signed napkins, breasts, and the side of one head. The photographers were apparently disappointed that he wasn’t drunk and drag racing Justin Bieber, the cheating little bastard.