You Can’t Be Serious(55)

I knew what Erin Fitzgerald in Communications was fishing for. “Are you wondering how I’d respond if someone asks me a question about marijuana? Because of my movies?” I had beat her to the awkward elephant in the room. “Erin, I can assure you I don’t smoke weed.” I smiled. She relaxed a bit. “I only do edibles. They get you way more stoned and are super easy to sneak through airport security.”

Erin looked like she was going to be sick. “Don’t worry,” I said. “If I get a weed question, I guess I’ll say that movies aren’t real life—it’s just a character I play.”

Her eyes returned to their normal size and she let out a deep breath. “Okay, great!”

Weeks later I found out how close I had come to getting shipped back to Los Angeles. Paul Tewes, Obama’s Iowa state director, was late in reading a memo about our college surrogate tour and flipped out once he saw that the guy from Harold & Kumar was involved. He emailed Erin in a panic just as Colby was about to drive us to the first event, worried that my presence might fuel the ability of Obama’s opponents to run distracting ads, saying that the campaign was promoting drug use among college kids. I always find it funny when people think Harold & Kumar promotes drugs. That’s like saying Silence of the Lambs promotes eating people.

In hindsight, it’s crazy to think that if Erin hadn’t taken a moment to ask me directly, or if Paul hadn’t trusted his team’s judgment in the first place, I would have been sent back to LA, no questions asked, only to continue on House for its remaining seasons, playing a doctor, and making Uncle very, very happy.



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Olivia, Megalyn, and I had a breakneck schedule ahead. Our mission for the three days—dubbed the All-Actor, All-Iowa, All-Star Voter Education Tour—was twofold: First, to educate college students about their opportunity to caucus (“Whichever state you hail from, if you’re enrolled in a college in Iowa, you can caucus in Iowa, so long as you don’t also vote in your home-state primary!”). Second, to collect coveted supporter cards: colorful envelope-size index cards with a photo of Obama and a place for someone’s name, email address, date of birth, and phone number.

Supporter cards served multiple purposes. They were used as sign-in forms for people who attended campaign events (a way to collect hard data). There was also a place on each card to sign a small pledge saying that you commit to caucusing for Barack Obama. Signing this at one of our events wasn’t binding, but the information gathered was key to building the campaign database and helping organizers persuade undecided potential voters to caucus for Obama. Interestingly, there is behavioral science behind supporter card utilization. It shows that when people sign something, the act of doing so—with their actual signature—makes them feel more committed, and therefore more likely to fulfill their pledge.3 This was one of the ways Obama’s innovative tactics were a departure from campaigns of the past.

On this trip, I saw that Team Obama didn’t take anyone’s vote for granted; if you filled out a supporter card, volunteers followed up with you multiple times. (“You’re going to caucus for Obama on January third, right?”… “You’re going to caucus for Barack Obama on January third, RIGHT?”… “Hey, ON JANUARY THIRD DON’T FORGET TO CAUCUS FOR BARACK OBAMA, ALL RIGHT?!”)



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Iowa is a weird state in that it has a caucus rather than a primary. (It’s also weird because a highlight of their state fair is a life-size butter cow sculpture, which is exactly what it sounds like—and they don’t even eat it at the end.) So, what is a caucus? Instead of going to a polling place and privately casting your ballot behind a curtain in a booth, Iowans meet up at designated locations to discuss, debate, and then publicly vote on candidates. They do this across the entire state. If this sounds insane to you, that’s because it is, in fact, insane. If you tried to have a caucus in a place like New Jersey, it would quickly devolve into fistfights.

I think we need universal health care.

Oh yeah? I think ya mom needs universal health care.

Wuddid you say? Say it again to my face.

Uh-right. Ya mom. Needs. Universal health care. To fix her ugly face!



For Iowans, who live in a real-life version of a wholesome black-and-white movie, a caucus actually works. People bring homemade potluck food to the meeting site—often a church basement, school gymnasium, or cafeteria—and stand underneath the sign or banner that indicates their preferred candidate. This is Hillary Clinton’s sign! Come over here, eat one of these cookies I baked, and let me tell you why Hillary is better than the other candidates! No, come over here and stand under Bill Richardson’s banner! If you have never heard of Bill Richardson, let me feed you some chili I made and tell you about him. Since I am the only one under this banner, you can eat as much chili as you want. Mmmmmm. Bill Richardson.

If a candidate doesn’t have enough support to be viable at a caucus site (to oversimplify, let’s say there is no clear majority), the caucus-goers who supported that candidate will need to pick a backup. That’s when people try to convince one another to join their groups for a second time. The people who get convinced walk from one side of the room to the other, to signal their support for their second-choice candidate. It’s like a middle school dance, but instead of dancing, the middle schoolers are passionately debating whether Dennis Kucinich or John Edwards has the better energy policy. It’s a uniquely public way to vote and requires a lot of commitment on the part of caucus-goers to turn out—the process can take a few hours. Once everyone’s under the right signs, they raise their hands and are counted for the final time.