Just in case you missed it and didn’t want to- here is the link to my last article- Stoned in Massachusetts- in betterafter50.  Some of you had trouble getting on this article last week- this was my mistake- I scheduled it to be published for the wrong time.  Always learning!  My newest piece about Hostess’ demise will be up on betterafter50 on Tuesday at 11:00 AM.  Be sure to subscribe on the home page and you will get just one email a week.   Promise.

Hi readers- I have decided to focus my time and energy on betterafter50.com- an online magazine for women 50 plus.  If you enjoy my writing, I would be honored if you would subscribe to betterafter50.com-where I will continue my weekly posts.  I think you will enjoy the site – there are some great articles by a number of fantastic writers- and I will have an article in every week.   Please look there for my piece this week- it will come out tomorrow and is entitled, “Stoned in Massachusetts.”  Betterafter50 comes out weekly- on TUESDAY mornings.  If you subscribe to the site (it’s easy to do right on the home page,) just plug in your email-  you will get one email a week notifying you of the new issue.   Thanks so much for supporting me in the past and in the future on betterafter50.com!

Sunday night we got no less than six automated messages from candidates on our home answering machine, and other than the one pre-recorded by Matt Damon (really) I deleted them all in turn without listening to more than a millisecond.  I’ve lost patience.   I’m irritable.  I’m tense.  I can’t wait until Wednesday when finally, I won’t have to listen to any more of those pathetic television ads complete with doomsday music meant to scare the hell out of me.  And I know I am not alone.

The way I see it, an awful lot of money was spent trying to sway my vote, and it didn’t do a thing for me- except piss me off.   I long for the good old days, when only millions of dollars were spent on presidential campaigns.    In the last couple of weeks, every time I read a news report about this year’s campaign spending, I visualized Dr. Evil, pinky finger at the corner of his mouth, suggesting that he would hold the world ransom for (dramatic pause)…One.  Million.  Dollars.   Why spend millions on the campaigns when you could spend billions?

According to opensecrets.org, the Presidential election alone accounts for $2.6 billion in spending-and that is just by presidential candidates, major party committees and outside organizations, which have to report their spending to the Federal Election Committee.   http://www.opensecrets.org/news/2012/10/2012-election-spending-will-reach-6.html   But that figure, as bad as it is, doesn’t include the “soft money”- the super pac money- spent by organizations the likes of American Crossroads, Restore Our Future, and Priorities USA Action.  No one knows exactly how much that is, but it is generally understood that spending by these types of organizations accounts for hundreds of millions more.   From what I’ve read, I’m guessing the total spending this year will come close to about $3.0 billion.

And that is just the Presidential election.  For my senate race (Massachusetts) the Scott Brown and Elizabeth Warren campaigns together spent approximately $48 million.  http://money.cnn.com/2012/09/25/news/economy/senate-warren-brown/index.html.

All that money.   All those ads.    All those posters.    All those rallies.   All for one day.   And at the end of it all, only half the participants are happy.    Actually, I’m not sure anyone is happy.  Remember the Onion headline after Obama won in 2008?  “Black Man Given Nation’s Worst Job.”  I think that just about sums it up.

Twenty-eight years ago, my dad could see the writing on the wall as soon as my mother started planning my wedding.  Every time my dad had to put down another deposit, he made the offer to me:  Would we rather just have the money?  I didn’t take it then-what does a 26 year old know?  But over the years I started wondering whether the wedding money would have been better used, for say, a down-payment on a home, to feed the homeless, or to start a business of my own.

I think my dad had the right idea then, and it is the right idea for now.  Forget McCain-Feingold.  That only got us so far.    We need real campaign reform- something that we can all get behind.    They should just give us the money instead.  No more ads, no more calls.  Leave us alone, and just hand us a check.

I figure it at approximately $39.00 per actual voter here in Massachusetts- give or take a few dollars.   Not everyone gets a check, of course- just those of us who actually vote.   Everyone else just gets some peace and quiet from an election they obviously don’t care about.  Really, it seems like a no brainer.

Give us the $39.00 bucks, and we won’t have to spend September, October and half of November being held hostage to a Romney Ad, followed by an Obama ad, followed by a Scott Brown ad, followed by a Romney ad, followed by an Elizabeth Warren ad.  We can go back to the good old days of Viagra ads.

Give us the $39.00 bucks, and we will feel less angry, disgusted, fearful- to the contrary, it will make our day, like finding a $10 bill in the pocket of a raincoat.

Give us the $39.00 bucks, and we can do something with it that will make us feel good:  get a pedicure, donate to Planned Parenthood (in case my candidate loses), or buy a healthy dinner for a homeless family, complete with broccoli.

Give us the $39.00 bucks and we will promise to take someone supporting the opposing political candidate out for drinks and have a reasonable conversation.

Give us the $39.00 bucks, and all the politicians will look better in the end, because quite honestly, in the weeks before the election, they all appear pretty damned ugly.

Give us the $39.00 bucks, and give us a few weeks of silence to think.

Really, can we forget the campaign ads, the telephone calls, the signs, the rallies, the buttons, the balloons?   I love hearing Matt Damon on my answering machine, but I know I would rather have the money.

“Could you stop singing, mom?” my kids would whine years ago as I carpooled them to their activities.    “You’re ruining the song for me.”   I reminded them that they never once lodged a complaint when I sang them to sleep when they were little, but I knew what they meant.  I have a lousy voice- I get it.  As the kids got older I sang only when I was alone:  in the shower, on a run, alone in the car with the windows up.

But in the past few years, I started singing as a mnemonic device.  Forget the string around the finger or the pad and paper, my voice became my most important memory tool.  I’d head down to the basement, singing an invented tune I dubbed, “Bringing Up The Paper Plates.”  I’d be in the shower and sing, “Pick up the Script at CVS.”  One day about a year ago I was in the car and remembered that I had neglected to make an important work phone call that I needed to make from my home office where the papers were.

“Julie, Julie, Julie,” I sang out loud on the way home, “Call Julie, Julie!”  My “Call Julie” song morphed into “I’ve got to call Julie Mulie” to the tune of “They Call Me Mellow Yellow.”  And it worked.  I walked into the house through the mudroom door singing the Julie song, and I reminded myself, “Got to call Julie now.”  And then I walked by the washing machine and saw the wet laundry silently screaming to be moved to the dryer.  “I’ll call Julie after I switch the laundry,” I thought, and I went about that task, humming to the tune of They Call Me Mellow Yellow.  I never did call Julie.

So, for about a year now, I have been searching for a new memory tool.  I needed something that would always be by my side.  Something that I could use when I think my most important thoughts- when I am behind the wheel of a car.  Something that would be relentless until my task was completed.  And I knew from talking to my friends that I was not alone- millions of people just like me needed help remembering why they went down the basement.  In January, 2012, the Today show reported that mental capacity starts to diminish at the average age of 45.   I wrote that down as soon as I heard it, and I’m glad I did.

But now I am a new person.  I have a new lease on life.  I have an iPhone 5.  Imagine you, but with more memory.   Here’s my analogy, SAT style.

GPS: Directionally Impaired ::  iPhone5: Memory Impaired.

I got my new iPhone a couple of weeks ago, and my son showed me the basics of Siri.  “Mom, you’re going to love this,” he said, “it will help with everything.” And I do, and he was right.   I haven’t forgotten anything in weeks.

I tested it out as I was driving:

“Siri, remind me when I get home to call Julie before doing anything else.”  After a brief exchange with Siri, my reminder was set.   Like magic, as I drove into my garage, Siri messaged:   “Call Julie before doing anything else.” And the best part?  Until I manually deleted it on my phone, that message stuck.

I tested it again.  “Siri, at 2PM remind me to go down the basement to get paper plates.”  Perfection.  Over the next few days, I was like an addict, and Siri did not fail me- not once:  “Siri, tomorrow at 11 AM remind me to visit Bubbie” ; “Siri, remind me to do my stretching exercises at 10 PM”;  “Siri, remind me to send Debby a check for the tickets Monday at 9AM.”

“Siri, remind me not to sing in public.”

“OK, I’ll remind you to ‘Not to sing in public’. When would you like to be re-mind-ed?”

“Every day at 8AM.”

“Ok, here is your reminder starting tomorrow at 8AM.  Shall I create it?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, I’ll start reminding you.”

“I love you, Siri.”

“That’s nice, can we get back to work now?”

Isn’t that the best?  A memory device with a sense of humor!

I had a slight scare the other day when I misplaced Siri for a very long half hour.  After all, Siri can’t remind me if she busy hiding between the cushions in the den, or in the car, or in the deep recesses of my purse.  I was beginning to think she wasn’t perfect.

“I can’t find Siri,” I said to Mike in a panic the other night.

“Did you try ‘Find my iPhone’ on the iPad?” Mike asked.   He thinks of everything.  And of course, there was an app for that.

I found my phone in a pocket of my leather jacket on a hook in the mudroom, ironically, next to the washing machine.

And there it was-  a reminder from Siri to do my stretching exercises.   A message I immediately deleted and intentionally ignored.

I was bundled up in three layers: long underwear, fleece and windbreaker, sitting on the foredeck of our boat at a beautiful Marina on the Chesapeake Bay.  Other than sitting and taking in the scenery, I wasn’t able to do much that vacation week.  I had hurt my back and was still on some pretty intense pain meds.  So I sat on the deck on a cold day in October, pretending it was summer, enjoying the time to just sit and think.   Mike was doing his thing- tidying lines, cleaning the teak, repairing impellers and adding chemicals to the heads- all the stuff that he loves to do when on vacation (I kid you not).

We were pleasantly distracted when a couple came strolling down the dock, stopped by our boat and started up a conversation.  It turned out they were recent empty nesters on vacation, also sailors intent on seeing the world by boat some day.  We talked about the wind and weather, and it didn’t take more than about two minutes before the woman mentioned that she didn’t fly on airplanes.

“Oh really,” I inquired, “Do you have a phobia?”

“No.  I just don’t fly.”

“Well, why the hell not?”  I asked.   I tend not to mince words (but if she had said she didn’t drink, I promise- cross my heart- I would not have asked why.)

“I believe the government is too intrusive in our lives, and I believe that we should not be searched before we fly.”

“OK…” I responded, still looking for the explanation.

“So that is why I don’t fly – out of principal.”

I was uncharacteristically mute (the pain meds indeed included Valium).  Mike, picking up the slack, asked her a few questions- something about the 9/11 terrorist attacks and safety and whether she would rather fly with the risk of being blown apart in the air.  As far as I could tell, the conversation ended pleasantly enough.  Mike went back to fixing things.  I went back to my thoughts in the sunshine.

I thought about this woman who sacrificed air travel to protest what she believed was the government’s intrusion into the privacy of its citizens.  Was this woman for real?  Was her sacrifice worth it?  Did she think she was making a difference?  Did it matter?  And why was it, that within the first two minutes of meeting her, we knew of her sacrifice?

I know there are some very wonderful people in the world who quietly follow their principals, and I didn’t know if this woman was one of them or not.   Though I thought her choice of protest was bizarre, she just might have been a living example of that one small voice standing up for injustice, and that was pretty cool.

My thoughts drifted to people who do the right thing, but make sure you know about it. And then to those people who think that the things they care about should be the things that I care about.  And then to those who believe that their way is not only the right way, but the only way. And then my thoughts drifted to how I measured up to my own principals, and I decided right then and there, while the sun warmed my body on the Chesapeake, that I had no tolerance for anyone with a ‘holier than thou’ attitude.  I already knew I fell short.  I didn’t need it shoved in my face.

I made a mental list of some of the ways I have failed:  I believe in recycling, but every once in a while I throw paper in the blue trash bin instead of the green.  I believe in conserving energy, but I crank the heat to 70 degrees in the winter (to be completely honest- I prefer 72.)   I care deeply about the Death with Dignity bill, but I do not plan on holding a sign on Election Day.   I believe in bringing reusable grocery bags to the market, except for the many times I forget to take them out of the car and I don’t make the effort to go back to get them.  I believe in returning the shopping cart to its metal cage in the lot, except when I am in a really, really, big hurry.

There were plenty more.  I believe in organic, but not when it is too expensive or terribly inconvenient.  I drink water out of those nasty plastic bottles.  When the water bottles are empty, I recycle them- except on the sailboat, damn it.  I throw apple cores out the window of my car.  I forget to shut off the lights when I leave the house.  I do not protest the evils of big corporations like Monsanto.  Hell, I hadn’t even heard of this company until my daughter gave me an earful, and still I won’t protest.   What kind of person was I?   I was just getting started as the sun started to go down, and I had to go below to keep the chill out.

I learned a lesson that afternoon:  stay off those pain meds.  Sober, it seems to me that I do my best, and that feels like enough.  And now I can’t wait until Election Day.  I think it will feel especially good to vote this year.