This weekend I sat in the comfort of my own home with my absent voter’s ballot. I’m a permanent absent voter because I hate standing in voting booth lines, and I like mailing in my choices.  I can read over the propositions at my leisure, sip coffee, and make decisions.  Then I got to the presidential candidates.

My fingers sped towards the checkbox.  I already knew my choice.  It was easy.  I didn’t have to even think about it.

Then I stopped.  I thought about the fact that the election is currently in a dead heat.  According to the media, the “swing voters” will decide this election.

But how could that be?  We’ve already had three debates and a deluge of press.  The candidates are well defined. Their differences are clear.  How could there be so many undecided voters?  What do they know that I don’t?

I decided I shouldn’t be so hasty with my vote.  After all, this is the President of the United States we’re talking about.  It’s possible I’m not as well informed as I thought.  I stepped outside to find a swing voter.

It was a gentle October morning in Oakland.  The sun shone faintly and coldly, as it does in those weeks leading up to winter.  I looked up and down the street--and saw a young girl at the end of the block.  She had bright red hair, and looked about 18.  I realized that it was Lindsay Lohan, teen star of the hit movie Mean Girls.

I approached her.  “Hi,” I said.  “You’re eighteen, right?”

She eyed me warily.  “Don’t tell me you’re from one of those ‘countdown to my 18th birthday’ web sites.”

“No no, nothing like that.”

“Good.  I don’t know what’s with those people.  It’s like, yeah, I’m legal, and no, that fact isn’t gonna improve their ability to score by even a tiny little bit.”

I nodded sympathetically. “I’m looking to talk to a swing voter.”

“I don’t get it,” she said.

“Well, what do you think about Kerry?”

“Oh,” Lindsay said. “I think it was a scary movie.  Although if someone dumped pig’s blood on me, I’d use my psychic powers to blow them away too.”

“Not that I want to remake Carrie,” she added hastily.  “I’m sick of doing remakes, what with Parent Trap and Freaky Friday and my upcoming Herbie movie for Disney and all.”

“What about Bush?” I asked.

“If two people are in love, it’s nobody’s business but theirs,” Lindsay told me.  “But personally, I like men.”

I scratched my head.  “Look...okay, listen.  What issues are important to you?”

“Oh, well, I’m sort of in this feud with Hilary Duff.  See, I used to go out with Aaron Carter, but then she did, and she’s been telling all the reporters that I’m a bitch, but she’s actually the bitch, and basically it’s a thing between us.  Actually, that’s where I’m going right now.  I’m going to have it out with her once and for all.  I expect there to be face slapping and stuff like that.”

“That’s pretty intense,” I said.

She shrugged.  “That’s just how I feel.”

“Thanks for your time, Lindsay,” I said.

“Hey. No problem.”

I went back home and pondered the encounter.  I was impressed with Lindsay’s enthusiasm and passion, even though it was clear that she was still undecided about the election.  Which way would she vote?  It was impossible to say.

But I felt much better about the notion that the fate of the country was up to the swing voters.  Yes, if Lindsay was any indication, those undecideds will do right by us.  America will be just fine.