Some stereotypes about Ohio grate on the nerves like an ex-boyfriend who shows up at your wedding and then decides to sing a solo.

It's not that we want to deny our history. We'd just like not to be dragged back in time when we're on the cusp of moving on.

Ohio is going to be a destination place for the next eight months, right up to Election Day, so it behooves us to clear up a few misperceptions about the Buckeye State.

Let's start with why we're called the Buckeye State. It has nothing to do with Ohio State football, no matter how many Ohioans pump their fists and start hurling threats whenever someone mentions Michigan. Don't tell anyone at Ohio State I said so, but the chronology of births runs like this:

Ohio, the state: 1803.

Ohio, the state university: 1870.

We're called Buckeyes, but we're not balls of chocolate and peanut butter that slap fat to your thighs faster than you can say Crisco. Our nickname comes from the buckeye trees that once lined Ohio's borders. Their nuts resemble a buck's eye. Get it?

Speaking of nuts, there's a talk show host in Cincinnati fueling one of the worst stereotypes about Ohio. Listen to him and you'd think we hate anyone who isn't whiter than day-old snow and doesn't talk like Billy Ray Cyrus. There's nothing wrong with being white with a Southern accent; I've got plenty of such people in my own family. But we have all kinds of accents. There are entire chunks of Ohio where, if you close your eyes and pretend everyone is wearing black, you'd swear you were listening to the ladies who lunch in Manhattan.

Back to this talk show host. I'm not naming him because that's exactly the kind of attention he wants. Many already know who he is anyway because he made national news last week at a John McCain rally by focusing on Barack Obama's middle name. McCain apologized, which made the talk show guy so spittin' mad that he told National Public Radio he might support Hillary Clinton just to get even. Then Rush Limbaugh stuck up for him, and no good can come of that.

Fact is we have people of all kinds of colors and religions in Ohio. We mingle, too, which is why my Protestant daughter attended more than a dozen bar and bat mitzvahs during middle school and my son's favorite takeout was soul food from Mama's Boy.

Ohio has gay people, too, and I'm a little surprised by how many of them were willing to stay after we tried to run them out in 2004 with that heinous Issue 1. Sometimes, Ohioans get second chances we don't deserve. Gratitude reigns.

A word about music: We have more than bluegrass and polka to make us proud. Actor Luke Perry, of "Beverly Hills, 90210" fame, once told me that whenever he says he's from Ohio, somebody expects him to pull out a banjo. We have the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, people. Granted, the annual induction ceremony almost always takes place in New York, and what's up with that, anyway? There's another Ohio stereotype: Go ahead, kick us. We still will invite you back — and feed you, too.

Actually, that one's true, so never mind.

Now, before I go, I want to address the apparent confusion that our three vowels present. Last week, I called up my Google screen and typed in "Ohio" and "stereotypes." Immediately, a YouTube video popped up. In it, an earnest young man from Massachusetts talked about regional stereotypes. Take Ohio, he said. Whenever he hears Ohio, one word comes to mind:

"Potatoes."

Um, that would be Idaho, OK? Three vowels there, three vowels here, but totally different states. We have corn, lots of corn. Potatoes? Not so much.

Also last week, a colleague was interviewed on a national morning radio show. Throughout the interview, the anchor called us Iowa. There's nothing wrong with being from Iowa. Their caucuses make no sense, but they're still nice people. They're just not our people.

I asked my friend why he didn't correct her. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "Ohio. Iowa. It was early in the morning. Easy mistake."

It's going to be a long eight months.

In Ohio, anyway.

Connie Schultz is a Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist for The Plain Dealer in Cleveland and the author of two books from Random House: "Life Happens" and "… and His Lovely Wife." To find out more about Connie Schultz ([email protected]) and read her past columns, please visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.