I was very satisfied with myself for asking my smart question!
“Yeah, I read that article from the experts in Foreign Affairs too,” Obama said. “The point of my plan is to use corn-based ethanol as a bridge to cellulosic ethanol, so that we can eventually make biofuels from things like grass clippings and leaves.”
Here I was, confident that I would be asking the most incredible question of all time and schooling a senator, and not only did he have a clear, concise answer, but he had also read the same article and knew that’s where my outside information was coming from. （Weird, but I guess my graduate certificate in international security was just no match for a member of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee）。 Anyway, this all clinched it for me: the boldness of what Obama had said about the Hummers at the private rich people breakfast, his understanding of the arts and humanities, an approach to transcending race, and of course, schooling me on an article I had read while we had a casual convo about climate change. I disliked politics but was always passionate about public service. This guy knew how to merge the two, and I knew I had to be involved with his campaign. He was the real deal.
As Obama walked away, Olivia turned to me and said, “Hi, my name is Kal Penn and I have impressive things to tell you about biofuels. Did you know that I read an artic—” Olivia’s face contorted into an “accidentally fucked in the ass” look as she finished with “—HULLLLLL!” Holy shit, a combo! That had never been done before!
I signed up to volunteer for Barack Obama that night.
1?The Namesake super fans might notice that in the end credits, it says Kal Penn played Gogol Ganguli and Kalpen Modi played Nikhil—a subtle hat tip to having two names like my character, albeit for different reasons.
2?“Finally.” —Suraj Uncle
3?I always thought it sounded cool when people say they “traded in” their car. In reality, Mom’s Chevy Cavalier started making a very loud noise; it sounded like someone had attached three leaf blowers to the hood. I took it to a mechanic who said it would cost a few thousand dollars to fix, so I donated it （my first lesson in one-percent problems—you sometimes garner more benefit from donating something than selling it） and used some of the new money I had earned to buy a more environmentally responsible car.
4?If I remember correctly, when it became clear during college that I wasn’t going to become a doctor, the further downward expectations went: At least go to law school → No? Okay at least get an MBA → No? Okay at least get a real estate license.
5?It probably should have been called “Accidentally Yet Consensually Fucked in the Ass,” but the consensual part was implied.
6?Pantera Sarah was a club promoter and is a talented organizer. A real progressive advocate with roots in Wisconsin, she was pivotal in helping Obama recruit artists to help out on his campaign.
7?You know it’s fancy when a house has a main gate.
8?Okay, fine, technically I wasn’t even invited to this event, I was just Olivia’s plus-one.
CHAPTER TWELVE UTOPIA
（The Underdog, Part One）
Afew weeks after Obama pushed me off the bridge to Cellulosic Ethanol, I was headed to Iowa with Olivia and CSI: Miami actor Megalyn Echikunwoke for my first political volunteer trip. Until this point I had been a regular voter （I registered as soon as I turned eighteen）， but had never campaigned for anyone outside of attending a single event in support of John Kerry in 2004.1 For the next three days, Olivia, Megalyn, and I would drive around the state, speaking primarily at college and university events as some of the Obama campaign’s first surrogates.2 But instead of carrying the senator’s election baby in our tummies, we’d be carrying messages of freedom. That is, if we landed in one piece.
The Quad City Airport is small, which I’m told means the planes that land there have to be even smaller （math）。 A brutal winter storm was making for a choppy welcome. As we slid to a stop on the frozen tarmac, I looked out the window and thought, This is the whitest place I have ever seen. A sheet of ice covered everything in a glossy half-inch sheen, and all the weather reports warned that nobody should be on the roads except for essential workers.
We gathered together in front of the kind of white van that up-and-coming bands rent when they self-drive to shows in third-tier cities, and looked up in horror as the sky vomited chunks of sharp ice. An overly cheery Obama staffer said, “Don’t worry, we won’t let a little weather stop us!” Just as I was thinking how I didn’t want to die in Bettendorf, Iowa, the overly cheery staffer introduced herself as Teal Baker, Obama’s national director of surrogates, and motioned to a bearded, flannel-clad man in a mesh-backed baseball hat. “Meet Colby. He’s a professional eighteen-wheel emergency truck driver. He’ll be operating the van today. Cool?” Phew. A professional.
We piled into the campaign van with Colby at the wheel. As he was about to pull onto the ice rink of a highway, a young blond woman sitting in the passenger seat held up her index finger. “Wait a second.” She turned around to face me, BlackBerry in hand. “Kal, I’m Erin Fitzgerald in Communications. Before we get going, I just—I’m reading something here from our state director…” She glanced anxiously at her screen and shook her head. “Ummmm, so I guess we’re wondering… since these college events are all open to the press, you know, since journalists might be there… ummmm…”
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.
* * *
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.