I'm Keeno On Geno

Beware, I'm prepared this year. Like no other off-election year in history, I'm ready for 2011. With nothing at stake besides some local elections and boring issues, one might question my fervor. But that is the point. The even year elections are the exciting ones; it takes nothing to get riled up for them, as long as you're still breathing. But these off-year ones usually pass by with nothing but an extended yawn. But this year--maybe it's the Occupy atmosphere, or the seemingly already-underway nastiness of a Presidential campaign--I've decided to revel in my right to vote and prep myself for the ballot-punching process like never before. I'm keeping a sharp ear out for the radio commercials (while again being so thankful I don't own a TV); the ads I end up hating the most, I am sure to vote against (State Issue 2, it's neck and neck). I'm also keeping a detailed spreadsheet charting the contents of my mailbox and the things left in/on/around my side door (if you're a front door candidate, I don't even recognize you)--not that I read any of the little placards, but I'm counting, and voting in indirect proportion to the number I receive. Let's just say there's a certain Cleveland Heights City Council wannabe who's about two leaflets away from not only never receiving any kind of a vote from me, but if I see any of his kinfolk on Halloween, I'm not giving them any Smarties.

Admittedly, as much democratic dedication as these above-mentioned strategies demonstrate, they are a bit passive. I realized this the other day as I drove to work--through about six different towns--and saw all the various campaign signs on people's lawns. Gee, I wondered, how much democratic zeal would it take for me to do something so active? To actually take the time and effort to walk outside on one of these cold, rainy days and stick something in my front yard? And even if I did eat something strange that gave me such gumption, what the hell, I live on a side-street whose cut-through rate is pretty insubstantial. So again, the standard existentialist-democratic question reared its effete, ugly little head--what difference does it make? Then it hit me. I blog, dammit, I've got a virtual front yard that stretches across the globe. I can make a difference.

For nearly forty years I've watched politics with a fan's dedication. And long ago I came to the conclusion that the coolest, most useful role one can play in politics is not voter, not candidate, not poll worker, not aide-de-camp, but endorser. Nothing spells importance and true American egotism more than, Listen to me, folks, I'm going to throw open that measly curtain they hang on voting machines and tell you all just how I'm going to vote, because I think that much of myself to think that I can persuade you to vote the same way I am. And so, for the last few days, I've been a man on a mission--searching far and wide for a candidate worthy of spitoutyourgum's inaugural endorsement.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Geno Trunzo. Geno is running for city council in Mayfield Heights, Ohio, a suburb east of Cleveland. He gets my vote, if I had one in Mayfield Heights, and I hope he'll get yours, if you have one in Mayfield Heights.

I do not know Geno personally. As far as I know I do not know him impersonally either. I don't know why he is running for office or what his views are. I know one person who lives in Mayfield Heights. As far as I can tell, I have no readers who live in Mayfield Heights. So why, you're all scratching your heads, why would I gift, with my precious and much-sought-after inaugural and sole endorsement, someone I don't know or know of, in a race where I have little or no pull?

Because I love the man's name.

Look, as I said, I drive through six different communities to get to work every day. In a year of nothing but local elections, do you realize how many different signs with different colors and slogans and names I encounter? Hundreds. And I can't name a single one of them for you right now because they're all a blur. All expect for Geno Trunzo. Geno: Clarity In The Blur. What a name. Say it. Just go ahead and say it. And if you can do so with a full, Pabst-influenced good old Cleveland accent, you'll really get the effect--Geno Trunzo. A doubly trochaic masterpiece. How can you not admire, nay, trust, a name like that? It rhymes! It's got a great vowel to consonant ratio. It's got that down-to-Earth, man-of-the-people "Trun" followed by that zippy, charismatic "zo" flourish--meat, potatoes, and chocolate mousse! Tell me this country wouldn't be better off if along with (or in place of!) all the John's Andrew's, and Franklin's, we had a few more Geno's living at 1600 Penn. Ave. Although I don't live there, I feel my life will be better every day just simply driving through Mayfield Heights and knowing that a man named Geno Trunzo is sitting on city council there.

You might not like my politics, my music, or my sports teams, but if you're a regular reader of this blog (yes, all five of you), you must trust my love of words. Well, I'm telling you, as far as candidate names go, it gets no better than Geno Trunzo. And I don't care if you don't live in Mayfield Heights either. If you get lost in the morass of bland and nefarious-sounding names on your local ballot, remember the name Geno Trunzo and write him in. If he doesn't make it in Mayfield Heights, maybe he'll make it where spitoutyourgum has some real pull, like, for instance, Wasilla, Alaska (seven hits in the last 30 days!).

Go Geno!