These nine people all have something in common. They all still have no idea who they’re going to vote for in the upcoming presidential election. I interviewed them to find out what the f*ck’s wrong with them, I mean, what is keeping them from making up their mind.
With only weeks remaining before the 2024 presidential election, the contrast between the two candidates for our nation’s highest office could not be more obvious. On one side is a 59-year-old black / South Asian woman, the child of Indian and Jamaican immigrants, a liberal who smiles relentlessly, talks about joy, and exudes optimism about the future.
On the other side is the oldest candidate ever to run for president, a crotchety 78-year-old massively overweight orange man, convicted of sexual assault, who posts dozens of rambling texts every day railing about how horrible everything is and that only he can save America from a terrifying, dystopian future of doom, despair, and imminent collapse into a hopeless hellscape.
One is a former prosecutor. The other, a convicted felon. One is named Donald, the other goes by Kamala – or perhaps it’s Kam-MAL-a or maybe Kamabla – I’m not really sure anymore.
Their differences in policy, ideology, personality, and ability to utter coherent thoughts could not be starker. And yet, incredibly, there remains a handful of people who still claim to be undecided about who to vote for. Who are these people? What the Hell is wrong with them? I mean, why have they still not made up their minds? And what will it take for them to finally pick a candidate?
I recently conducted an informal focus group with a few of the last remaining undecided voters to get some answers. Here is what I learned.
Tim Jones: I understand that you have not yet made up your mind about whether to vote for Kamala Harris or Donald Trump. Why is that?
Undecided Voter Mary: Who was that first person you mentioned?
Tim: Kamala Harris.
Mary: No, can’t say that name rings a bell. Who exactly is he anyway?
Tim: It’s a SHE. And she’s the Democrat in the race. That’s Kamal Har–
Rebecca is a busy mom. She said she plans to read up on the two candidates just as soon as she has some downtime between taking her kids to soccer practice and making everybody dinner. She will get around to picking a candidate by early December at the very latest, she promises.
Mary: Oh, you mean KamABla? Yes, I think I’ve heard of her. Why do you ask?
Tim: She’s running for president. What will it take for you to decide who you’re voting for?
Mary: Well, I’m just waiting until my husband tells me who to vote for.
Tim: Pardon me? And who is your husband planning to vote for?
Mary: He’s not sure yet. He is hoping Gerald Ford might run again this year.
Tim: I hate to break it to your husband but Ford passed away in 2006. You sir. I understand that you have not made up your mind yet about who to vote for in the presidential election.
Undecided Voter Bert: Is there an election this year? Gosh, it feels like there was an election barely four years ago.
Tim: That’s right, sir. Every four years – like’s it’s been done since 1788, when George Washington was elected. May I ask you, why are you still on the fence?
Bert: I’m not on the fence. I’m sitting right here, on this leather couch. Maybe you need to get your eyes checked.
Tim: No, I mean figuratively speaking, why are you on the fence – undecided about who to vote for, for president?
Bert: I don’t like to rush into things. I’m a muller. I’m still unsure about whether or not to take a shower today.
Tim: Just curiously, when’s the last time you took a shower, sir?
Bert: August 2011. Like I said, I’m not one for rushing into things.
Tim: Ma’am, I understand that you too have not made up your mind about this year’s presidential election. Why is that?
Undecided Voter Trixie: There are just so many choices. I just can’t make up my mind.
Tim: So many choices? Not really. There’s the Republican candidate, Donald Trump, and the Democrat candidate, Kamala Harris. Oh, and a third guy named Kennedy running as an independent, but he’s a bit of a wackadoodle. He claims a worm ate part of his brain. And recently he admitted to dumping a dead bear in Central Park. A bit of an odd duck.
This is Lucas. He isn’t really into politics. Besides, none of his friends plan to vote, so why should he? He’d tell us more but he’s in the middle of an intense game of Mortal Kombat 11 with a 9-year-old from Sweden named Lars, who’s pretty good.
Trixie: Oh really? I like Kennedy. I voted for him the last time. I think it was 1960.
Tim: Not the same guy, ma’am.
Trixie: Just curious. How did he kill that bear, anyway? With his bare hands? He sounds very brave.
Tim: Excuse me, sir. Can I ask you a question? What is it going to take for you finally to decide on a candidate for president?
Undecided Voter Richard: Well, I hate to see anybody lose. If it were up to me, I’d vote for both candidates, so they could share the job of president.
Tim: That’s not how our democracy works. The voters decide on one person. We don’t let them share the job.
Richard: Well, that sounds selfish. I always tell my kids they need to share their toys. Maybe it’s time we let both candidates share the Oval Office. Can we vote for a dog? My neighbor’s dog, Barkley, is a basset hound. He’s dumb as a brick, but he’d never get us into a war, that’s for sure.
Tim: Um, I’m pretty sure dogs can’t run for office.
Tim: Hmmm. This isn’t going quite the way I had hoped. You, ma’am. Why have you not made up your mind yet?
Undecided Voter Gladys: Well, to be honest, I really don’t like either candidate. On the one hand, Donald Trump is old and grumpy and mean and he seems to be a little, well, weird. On the other hand, Joe Biden looks like he’s about to keel over and die. He’s so old and frail-looking lately.
Tim: Ma’am, sorry to interrupt your coma, but Joe Biden is no longer running. Kamala Harris will be the Democrat choice for president. Does that help you make up your mind?
Gladys: I did not know that. When did that happen? And who’s this Kim-OH-la person?
Norm doesn’t really follow the news much, so he’s not really sure who’s running for president. Norm usually just asks his bartender friend Collin who he’s planning to vote for and follows his lead. So, what’s Collin’s system for choosing a candidate? Simple: Whoever has the most TikTok followers.
Tim: Several weeks ago. And it’s KAM-ah-La. Kamala Harris is his Vice President.
Gladys: Oh right. I think I’ve heard of her. Is she the one who can’t decide whether she’s a black girl or an Indian? Why won’t she just come out and pick a race?
Tim: Because she’s both.
Gladys: I’m not sure that’s possible. And another thing, Fox News says she’s never had kids. I’m not sure I can vote for a woman who hates children.
Tim: She is the stepmother of two kids.
Gladys: Hmm. I’m not sure that’s true. I heard she hates the Jews.
Tim: She does have kids. And her husband, Doug Emhoff, is Jewish.
Gladys: Hmm. I’m not sure about that.
Tim: Arrgh! Well, I’m not sure what conclusions to draw from this small focus group of undecided voters. From what I can tell, they all have one thing in common: They’re all idiots.
Maybe they all should sit out this election. Besides, they appear to have much more pressing decisions to ponder, like what to watch on TV tonight, Cagney & Lacey or Matlock, and in Bert’s case, whether or not to shower.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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This man is Joie Henney with his 8-foot-long emotional support alligator named Wally. One of them should be locked away for their own safety and the safety of others. The other one is an alligator.
Recently a quirky small news story caught my attention. It was about an elderly Pennsylvania man named Joie Henney, whose pet named Wally had gone missing. But Wally wasn’t a Schnauzer, a Dachshund, or even one of those annoyingly persnickety Persian cats. You see, Wally is well, a little different. He’s an emotional support reptile. To be more specific, an emotional support ALLIGATOR! I hear you. I didn’t know that was a thing either. Wally is an eight-year-old alligator and, at last count, the last remaining emotional support gator in the world (and I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess he’s also the world’s first).
Mr. Henney did a road trip to Georgia in April 2024, and, as any caring pet owner might do, he decided to bring his pet along for the ride. But while he was visiting a friend, his scaly scallywag escaped from an enclosed pond and has not been seen since. Apparently, before his Great Escape, Wally and Mr. Henney had been inseparable. Mr. Henney took Wally everywhere – to friends’ houses, restaurants, and even minor league baseball games. I don’t know this for a fact, but I feel confident in speculating that Mr. Henney is not married. He strikes me as a man who doesn’t like normal pets – either that or he has extremely poor eyesight and mistook Wally for a hairless, barkless Great Dane.
When asked why he cares so much about this alligator, Mr. Henney insists his menacing-looking companion behaves more like a dog than a reptile – if you can ignore the minor fact that he has scales, a threateningly long tail that look like a dinosaur, and a bite force measured at 2,000 pounds per square inch – enough to crush a human skull like a Styrofoam cup.
Mr. Henney asks people to look past his intimidating appearance – and that of his alligator. He explains that Wally “is just loveable. He sleeps with me, steals my pillows, steals my blankets.” Sounds adorable, but I’d still caution against trying to spoon with Wally on the sofa – unless you feed him one of his favorite bedtime snacks first. I did some research and learned that gators like Wally love to snack on live snakes, turtles, and the occasional Yorkshire Terrier.
In an effort to help Mr. Henney reunite with his lovable lost lizard, I’ve crafted this helpful LOST PET poster. Please print out copies and circulate them anywhere you think Wally might have wondered off, such as a bowling alley, a Chinese restaurant, or Beaver Creek Elementary School.
Hello. I’m Wally. I’m an Emotional Support Reptile and I’m lost. Will you please help me find my owner?
I was just hanging out in a stranger’s swimming pool, when I decided to climb their ten-foot fence. Then I started on my Walk-About journey. The next thing I knew I was lost. I vaguely recall approaching a crowd of people in a Dairy Queen parking lot, but then they all started sprinting away from me, screaming in terror, before I could ask for directions home.
I am actually very smart and will respond when my name, “WALLY,” is spoken. I also respond to several other commands including Come, Sit, and Let Go of Her. My favorite things to do are snuggling with my owner, lying on the couch watching reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond, and doing an occasional Alligator Death Roll clenching my teeth on a plump, chewy river otter.
If you see me, don’t be afraid. I am very lovable. Honest! It is simply not true that all alligators are dangerous and aggressive. In fact, I am probably more afraid of you than you are of me. The only times I would ever attack a human are if it’s mating season, my territory is being threatened, or I’m feeling a little hangry.
I should be easy to spot. I am eight feet long, have 80 sharp teeth, each averaging two inches in length, and I can run up to 35 mph – so no, you can’t outrun me. Don’t even try. But you won’t have to, because, I won’t hurt you, I promise.
Oh sure, I look pretty much like any other alligator. If you run into one of my cousins, they may not be quite as amiable as I am. Most of them still have an axe to grind about how you humans keep making them into boots, belts, purses, and wallets.
But don’t worry. I’m a friendly gator. You can pat me on the belly or behind the ear – although, I’m not really sure where my ears are located, or even if I have ears, now that I think of it.
Before my disappearance, my owner used to take me to fun places like parks and zoos and, in this photo, the local Subway restaurant. I love going to restaurants because everyone I see looks so tasty. I mean everyTHING I see looks so tasty. I was talking about the menu. Sorry if that was confusing.
Please help me find my owner. He’s even put out a generous reward for my safe return. I’m not exactly sure what his reward will be. I’m hoping a nice, juicy baby panda. Yum!
When you spot me, it will be easy to capture me. Just roll me over with my belly facing up, and I will go totally limp within 15 seconds. I have no idea why that works. But it blows people’s minds. That said, just to be sure, you might also want to have at the ready a tranquilizer dart gun filled with diazepam followed by an administration of succinylcholine chloride, in the remote chance the “roll me on my back” maneuver startles me.
If you spot me, please don’t do any of the following things: 1) try to collar me with that lasso strap thing (it hurts); 2) take a selfie of you riding me bareback (that’s just humiliating); or 3) attempt to dress me up in leather boots and a leather belt. (I get the irony. It’s just not funny.)
Please help me find my owner, won’t you? If you do, I promise to show you my appreciation the best way I know how – by depositing a recently deceased Yorkie on your door step. No need to thank me. It’s the least I could do.
A widower friend of mine recently decided to jump back into the dating pool. He wanted to spruce up his Match.com profile in hopes of receiving a better response from women. He made one small mistake: He came to me for help.
Recently, a longtime widower friend of mine concluded he’d been alone and lonely for too long. He decided to take the plunge and get back into the dating pool. He created his Match.com profile, with several photos and posted them. Alas, he’s not been thrilled with the response he’s received thus far.
He told me he’d seen far too many similar, lame profiles posted by other men seeking female companionship who annoyingly employ the same hackneyed profile lines, like “I enjoy yoga, Pilates, hiking, walks along the beach, a playful French wine, the feel of the salt air in my hair, or whatever else it is you chicks are looking for these days.”
He knew that as a humor writer, I have a certain way with words. So, perhaps against his better judgment, he asked if I could assist him. Being notoriously generous by nature, I told him I’d be happy to help him out. He thought that I might be able to come up with a few attention-grabbing starter lines to make his profile stand out from the crowd.
My friend went on to explain that Match.com offers starter phrases for you to fill out to paint an appealing picture of you for prospective matches. Below, before the ellipsis dots (…) are actual starter phrases provided by Match.com. My friend (for the moment at least) shared these with me, and I took it from there. After the ellipsis dots are the responses I’ve come up with so far:
I spend my free time…. searching for a cure for cancer. I’m THIS CLOSE. Soon the Nobel Prize will be mine. All mine!
I would never ever… join Al-Qaeda or ISIS. I hope I don’t have to explain why. If you ask me, the reasons should be obvious.
My happy place… is my 7,000 sq. ft. mansion on the shore of Italy’s Lake Como – just as soon as I can convince George Clooney to sell it to me in a swap for my 850 sq. ft. mobile home.
Things I’m thankful for…. include the fact that, to the best of my knowledge, I’m not on ANY major airline’s No Fly List. (I don’t consider Spirit Airlines a major airline.)
The most influential person in my life… is probably my parole officer. He holds my freedom’s fate in the palm of his hand.
A dream I would like to come true… would be to win People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive. Heck, I’d be honored just to make it to one of the top five finalists.
If I am in a bad mood… I know it will usually quickly pass – unless you stole my chocolate chip ice cream, in which case, you are dead to me.
The one thing that always cheers me up… is seeing high school classmates who thought they were better than me get convicted and sent off to prison.
If I need advice, I’m calling… the Psychic Hotline. They have never steered me wrong – if you don’t count that one time they advised me to put all my retirement savings into Blockbuster Video. That one stung, I’m not going to lie.
Something that always makes me laugh… is when a rambunctious cat bats a priceless vase off a table, and it crashes into a thousand pieces – especially if the vase belonged to someone I don’t particularly care for, like my one of my four ex-wives.
An odd habit of mine… is that I sometimes have this uncontrollable urge to press all the buttons for every floor just as I’m exiting the elevator – but I only do that when I’m off my meds.
Five years from now… if everything goes as planned, and I get that raise I’m overdue for at McDonald’s, I will be just six years from paying off the last of my graduate school student loans.
A perfect day for me… starts and ends with a bowl of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream while falling asleep on the recliner after having watched the film Caddyshack for the 125th time. (That movie never gets old to me.)
I should do this more often… I’d have to go with remembering to brake for pedestrians in crosswalks. Come to think of it, I probably shouldn’t be driving so much anymore, now that my driver’s license has been revoked – for almost running over pedestrians in crosswalks.
My most unforgettable travel story… was when, as a young child, Somali terrorists kidnapped me while on a family vacation and I was taken to their hideout deep in the Ugandan jungle. My parents debated for two weeks whether to pay the $500 ransom. Now, that was a CA-RAZY vacation!
I spend much of my free time… trying to beat my record time at Rubik’s Cube. My personal best: 5 days, 4 hours, 11 minutes.
I would really like to meet in person… Homer Simpson because everybody keeps telling me he reminds them of me. Or maybe Jesus. But I doubt I’ll ever meet Jesus in my lifetime – unless I can work out the kinks in the time machine I’ve been building in my basement since 2nd grade.
The first thing people often notice about me… is that I’m not wearing pants. Don’t worry. I almost always wear them on the first date – and always at work – unless I’m working from home, which is most of the time now… ever since my employer insisted I stop coming into the office… because I forgot to wear pants.
Well, what do you think? I believe there’s a good chance, thanks to my creative suggestions, that my friend is going to receive more responses than he ever imagined from scores of women. Of course, it’s possible some of those responses might be along the lines of, “Whoever you are, NEVER EVER contact me again.” Or maybe, just maybe, he’ll find the love of his life. The way I see it, it could go either way.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it aLikeorsharing this post on Facebook.
[The following is a true story about my friend Neil. We went to high school together and we are close friends to this day. – TEJ]
It started with a blanket at an outdoor movie show at the end of their senior year. A chance encounter that would change the destiny of two young people.
Neil was only sixteen years old, a junior at an all-boys’ military academy. He loved computers, something that was just starting to be taught at our school (the year was 1972). He earned good grades, competed on various sports teams, and was excited about heading off to college in another year.
Then suddenly, the trajectory of his life would be forever changed – in a most devastating, cruel way. Neil suffered a massive stroke. It would leave the entire left side of his body paralyzed.
No one saw this coming. It was a freak medical crisis. Miraculously, it did not impact Neil’s mental or speaking abilities in any way. But he could barely move parts of the left side of his body. In the six months following his stroke, he endured painful physical therapy just to help him re-learn how to dress, bathe, and walk.
Throughout his arduous ordeal, Neil wondered to himself: Will I ever walk again? Will I be able to attend college? Will anyone ever want to go out with someone in my condition? Will I ever have children of my own? What will my life become, now that I can’t fully use my left arm, hand, or leg? Doctors told Neil he would never have full use of the left side of his body. They were right.
On top of the physical devastation, Neil’s world shrunk smaller and smaller. He became more introverted than before. His self-confidence was crushed. It was impossible to hide his affliction.
As soon as Neil discovered computers in 1972, he signed up for the first computer programming class his high school ever taught. This became central to his college and career journey.
It was a long, tedious journey. But thanks to Neil’s own enormous perseverance – and several excellent physical therapists – in time, Neil was able to walk again – albeit using only his right side, essentially thrusting his body to move his uncooperative left leg forward. He took make-up classes and incredibly graduated from high school on time, and with honors.
Neil attended a small area college called Siena College. Because of his mobility limitations Neil was not suited to the challenges of dorm life. He lived at home and commuted to college. Neil learned how to drive using only his right extremities. He dove into his college studies, majoring in math and computers.
On his second day of classes in his freshman year, in an elective course that was his fourth and last choice, called East Asian Studies, Neil sat next to a young woman with kind eyes and short brown hair. Her name was Maryann. They exchanged a few banal pleasantries, but apparently Neil did not make much of an impression on this young woman. I say this because they were in this same class together for two semesters, but they never said another word to each other for the rest of the school year.
Neil and Maryann met on their second day of college. They didn’t speak again until the final day of their senior year. Fate kept them apart… and then brought them together again.
Over the next three years, they never saw each other – except for the occasional casual wave or head nod as they passed each other on campus – because almost all of Neil’s courses were in the college’s science building, while Maryann’s courses were in the business building, since she was an accounting major. Even though Neil really liked Maryann, his introversion and lack of self-confidence kept him from pursuing a closer friendship. He got involved in the Student Senate and the Math Club instead.
Four years went by. It was now the tail end of Neil’s senior year. Final exams were over. All that remained other than Graduation Day were a couple of days on campus filled with a series of social activities for the departing senior class, before they all scattered and headed off on their own separate journeys.
Neil drove to campus to see one of their outdoor movies, a WW II film called A Bridge Too Far. He brought a blanket and sat by himself. As Neil sat, alone on his blanket, three people parked their blanket right next to his. It was that girl from his freshman year. Oh, Neil remembered her name, that’s for sure: Maryann. She was with two other friends. But as they all settled on their blanket, Maryann looked over at Neil’s blanket and casually, without asking, sat with him. Neil was taken aback, of course, but he was delighted by her unexpected move. They chatted casually about nothing in particular, watched the movie, said goodnight, and parted company.
Neil thought about his missed opportunity. He was by now quite smitten by Maryann, but he had no idea whether any of his feelings were reciprocated.
Three days later came graduation. One final chance to see Maryann. Neil watched as she walked across the stage several times to receive one award after another. But he never found the courage to approach her. Opportunity missed, again. As Neil ambled to his car to head home, he glanced across the parking lot. There, in the distance, he spotted Maryann with her parents, getting into their car, about to leave his life forever.
Neil and Maryann, with their son, two daughters, and daughter -in-law. They would go on to have three grandchildren (so far).
Neil realized it was literally now or never. He hopped in his car, took a deep breath to fight his overwhelming pangs of anxiety and fear of the impending rejection he felt certain he was about to experience. He drove right up to Maryann’s parents’ car. He jumped out and headed as quickly as his uncooperative legs would transport him – over to their car. As her parents, no doubt confused, watched this stranger approach their car, Neil hurriedly, with no segue, blurted out, “Maryann, would you like to go out sometime?” He calculated that perhaps by asking her out in front of her parents, she might be less likely to reject him outright. Neil was right. Maryann said yes.
Neil’s bold, if not desperate, move paid off. They would go on to date for a couple years. Then in 1982, Neil and Maryann wed. Over the next four decades, they would travel all over the world. They would go on to have three children and, at last count, three grandchildren, all healthy and thriving. Maryann got involved in photography. Neil started playing golf (yes, golf – and despite only using his right hand, he became quite good at it).
Neil and Maryann traveled all over the world in their marriage, including the Great Wall of China.
Alas, as with some love stories, this one has a bittersweet ending. A few years ago, Maryann was informed she had a dormant, congenital heart condition that would eventually require a heart transplant. In 2022, she had what was initially presumed to be a successful heart replacement surgery – until two weeks after surgery, when several major organs started shutting down. Maryann’s heart was just not strong enough to continue the battle. She passed away in the spring of 2022, after 40 years of marriage.
Neil continues to travel with family members and friends from their church to this day, because Maryann told him in her final months that if she did not pull through, she wanted Neil to promise to continue with the travels they had planned together.
Neil misses his soulmate deeply every day. But he will forever be grateful to Maryann for the happy life they shared together, the wonderful children they raised together, and for her decision so many years ago to sit with him on his blanket.
That’s the view from the bleachers.
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Hey, friends. Tim Jones here. You may know me as a humor writer. But now that I’ve mastered that field (unless you ask my children), I’ve decided to embark on a new creative journey – life as an artist. I have a good feeling about this (even if my wife does not).
Ilove my wife, Michele. She’s a very smart, incredibly talented artist. We can be competitive in some ways, but the truth is, our talents tend to lie in totally different arenas. For example, she can make incredibly tasty, nutritious meals, and I …. cannot. On the other hand, there’s not a sport you can name at which my wife can defeat me. That’s because she has about as much interest in learning how to play, say, pickleball, as our cat Zippy has in learning about the intricacies of cryptocurrency.
But there’s one area where, if I’m being honest, I must grudgingly admit my wife has the edge – anything to do with art. She went to art school. I, on the other hand, graduated from a liberal arts program with a degree in Communications – which, upon my graduation, opened up a universe of exciting possible entry level job opportunities – mainly in the food services industry.
For the past 25+ years, Michele has painted incredible, lifelike portraits of judges, university presidents, orchestra conductors, military generals, philanthropists, and snotty rich children posed next to their prissy Irish Wolfhound named Prince Tuckahoe.
If you’re curious about how talented a portrait artist my wife is, check out some of her portraits here. (And no, those aren’t photographs. Those are oil paintings.) But her real passion is painting landscapes of lakes, coastal areas, flowers, mountains, and birds – in other words, chick stuff. See what I mean here. I’m not one to toot my own horn, but I recently found out that I am the co-owner of the largest private collection of original Michele Rushworth artwork in the world.
Watching Michele create her masterpieces has inspired me to explore my own latent artistic potential. I retired a couple years ago from a career in sales and marketing, so I have more time on my hands lately. I believe there’s room for more than one artist in this house. So, I put down my writing pen, picked up the paintbrush, and am now well on my way to challenging my wife for household artistic supremacy.
I’ve only been at it a couple months – three, if you count my color-by-numbers coloring books initiation. I recently completed a painting of a horse prancing around in a field with a red barn in the background. When I showed it to a complete stranger for their reaction, they had no idea what it was, thinking that it might be an octopus or perhaps a school bus or maybe a mutant platypus, with a red barn in the background. On a positive note, I appear to have totally mastered how to paint a red barn.
Lately I’ve seen a marked improvement in my technique. Within less than three months, I had already progressed from finger painting to drawing with crayons, then colored pencils, and now I’m using actual paintbrushes – just like da Vinci used to paint the Mona Lisa. Check out the side-by-side comparison of da Vinci’s masterpiece vs. my own below. In case you’re uncertain, mine is the painting on the right.
Left: The Mona Lisa, by Leonardo da Vinci. Right: My own interpretation of this subject. I felt she needed a party hat and a bowl of popcorn, to make her feel happier. Okay, so I took some artistic license. Still, I think I nailed it.
Oh sure, my technique is a bit primitive, but I’m still in the early stages of my artistic renaissance. Eventually, I anticipate it will be difficult to tell the difference between an original Rushworth painting and an original Jones – assuming you’re drunk, can’t find your glasses, or are a dog.
But I have one thing going for me that my wife doesn’t have. I obtained a graduate degree in marketing, not to mention having spent over a decade in advertising. So, I know a thing or two about how to promote my work and generate some buzz. I just came up with this brilliant promotion: With your first purchase of an original Jones artwork, I’ll give you a punch card. Buy ten Jones originals, get all ten circles on your card punched, and voilà , your eleventh painting is half price. That’s called marketing, buddy.
I thought briefly about trying to create a media stir like the famous graffiti street artist known as Banksy does. He’s built almost a cult following by creating bold, sometimes controversial, works of street art in secrecy without asking permission. I tried doing this last week, painting over several area stop signs with the edgy word “GO” where the word “STOP” used to appear. It was done extremely tastefully. Alas, I was unable to explain to the arresting officer that this was just artistic expression, protected by our Constitution.
One idea I had was to offer a free lifetime subscription to my View from the Bleachers column, to any customer who purchased one of my original paintings. But one kind person suggested that instead, perhaps the incentive should be that the purchaser could request to be permanently UNSUBSCRIBED from my column. If it will help sell my work, I’m open to that suggestion.
My wife’s landscape paintings typically sell for thousands of dollars. I might have to start out a little lower initially until I build up a following. I showed a buddy of mine some of my most recent paintings. He suggested I start at Five dollars – or Best Offer. Hmm. This could be a tougher nut to crack than I thought.
Left: My wife’s oil painting of lily pads. Right: My own interpretation of the same subject matter. At first blush, it’s easy to mistake my wife’s artwork as superior. But notice how she totally left out the frog in her image – a glaring oversight, if you ask me.
I have no idea whether my artistic gifts will ever rival those of my artist wife. But one thing’s for sure – she will never match my prices. I accept cash, check, Venmo, and Dairy Queen gift cards.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it aLikeorsharing this post on Facebook.
