Wow – Political Parties are Creating Sophisticated Tools!

The Democratic National Committee has forgotten that I asked not to receive so many emails, but this one intrigued me. It was going to give me my personal “Official Democratic Record.”

Wow! The DNC had compiled a list of issues I’ve addressed, either by signing petitions or by writing letters based on their emails to me? That’s impressive. They’ve searched data bases or used computer modeling to develop a, … well, this word has gotten a bad rap,… but “profile” of things important enough to me that I have voiced my concern? Genius! What a sophisticated tool to garner my support! Very cool.

So here it is…  Drumroll Please!

“Official Democratic Record for You”

Total 2015 Donations

$0

Okay, so I’m naïve. But thanks for the morning chuckle, DNC. I’m still not inclined to give you any cash, but you can add “Zero Funding Donor” to my list of political issues for my “Official Democratic Record.”

Still Smiling,

Kathy Galgano

September 28, 2015

Betrayed

After reading the news that the online dating site “Ashley Madison” was hacked, my initial thoughts focused on security. Doesn’t it feel like we are living through an epidemic of profound hacking? Internationally, banks, governments, businesses, and now dating sites have been compromised. Is nothing safe? Is nothing sacred? I heard myself breathe that deep “Here-we-go-again!” sigh. But it quickly dawned on me; this is less an issue of online security and one of online stupidity.

Ashley Madison is a site for cheaters. Hackers hold the detailed information including names, sexual fantasies and who-linked-up-with-whom for some 37 million individuals, er, idiots world-wide. “Idiots” is a strong word. The question for me is this: Why would 37 million cheaters or cheater-wannabes search online for a partner to have an affair? Is it because we all know and trust that the internet is such a safe place?

Let’s put the numbers in perspective. In the U.S., over 36 million folks watched the Oscars this year. On Memorial Day, 37 million drivers hit the road. It’s the number of roughly the population of all of California, the most populous state in the nation. Staggeringly, 37 million people internationally would trust their most private information, secrets and desires to a Web site, knowing that they can’t even bank, work, or shop at Target without their data being stolen. Go figure!

We really do have big problems.

Kathy Galgano

July 20, 2015

Welcome Guest Blogger, Rich Galgano — A DISTANCE RUNNER IN A FOREIGN LAND

I regularly hit the pavement. In snow-filled months I rely on my treadmill, or the local indoor track, when conditions are icy. Besides running, my strength training usually involves body weight exercises, resistance bands, a kettle bell, some light hand weights, and creative use of a workout ball and stairs, all of which I perform in the comfort and seclusion of my basement. Wanting to add some leg presses, hamstring curls and knee extensions with more weight, I decided to join the local gym. It’s close to the house, inexpensive, and is open a lot of hours. It also has some large mats and multiple stackable steps so I can do standing long jumps and vertical jumps.

I’ve been going a couple times a week and slowly increasing the weight on the machines. (They have a seated leg extension which is easy on my back.) On my last visit to the gym, I was ready to work the knee extension machine and started to straighten my legs. It didn’t move. I looked down and it was at maximum weight, about 270 pounds. I took 200 pounds off and did the exercise. Next I moved to the mats which are found near the aerobic equipment. I noticed a few curious glances from that area while working on some standing long jumps and flexibility exercises. I don’t think there were many track athletes there.

I headed to the free weight room to do some rotator cuff exercises. I injured the left one from all the snow shoveling and have been rehabbing it. The free weight room is next to the larger mechanical weight machines and the men working out on these machines were pretty large and muscular. This was nothing compared to the guys in the free weight section. They were HUGE and totally ripped. They were lifting hundreds of pounds, grunting while they worked. Everyone seemed to know each other.

In I walked, built not like a formidable weight lifter, but the runner that I am. Everyone started looking at me. I went over to the hand weights, grabbed the 5 pounders and started exercising. They all stopped lifting and stared at me. Trying not to notice, I kept working and after a few minutes, I finished the set. Hoping to make a better impression, I grabbed a couple 20 pound hand weights and did some curls and overhead presses, trying to make it look easy. They kept staring. Finally, I went over to the chin-up bar. I usually do six pull-ups but thought it was a good time to pull out the stops. Fortunately I was facing the wall which hid my contorted face, and managed to do ten at a steady pace, keeping my torso straight. After finishing, everyone was back at work but they were still glancing my way or looking indirectly through the many mirrors. I considered doing some push-ups, but as I had done them already, I wasn’t sure I could do an impressive number.

Next, I dropped to the floor and decided to really go for it; I did a plank — a really long plank. Three minutes. I kept my back straight, tried to hide my shaking arms and somehow managed to stay conscious.

Getting up slowly, very slowly, I stretched a bit and decided to head out. The guys were back at it. As I left, one of them nodded at me.

Strike one up for the distance runners!

Richard Galgano

March 26, 2015

Kathy’s Note: Richard has been running for over 40 years, races occasionally, and, when time permits, helps out with youth athletics. He’s also a riot! Check out his other notable and humorous posts about track and field on Kathy’s Musings: Welcome, Guest Blogger Richard Galgano — A Funny Think Happened on the Way to the Track Meet (published here on March 1st, 2014), and Welcome Back, Guest Blogger Richard Galgano — A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Track Meet, Part II (published March 16, 2014).

Preparing for St. Paddy’s Day

While grocery shopping yesterday,  as  the world would be honoring St. Patrick in one day, I bought corned beef and red potatoes and cabbage. I told my family it would be Irish fare on the 17th, and so my husband picked-up a special horse radish cream he loves with corned beef while driving home from work. What would make the meal perfect? I had already bought the rye bread, but for me, St. Paddy’s Day is perfect with Irish soda bread. Last year I brought home a loaf from the local market’s bakery, but it was disappointing. I can make it. I figured I had flour, so I bought a new baking soda while shopping. Somewhere in the recesses of my brain I pulled-out “buttermilk” but dismissed it, so I paid for my items and left the store.

Once home, my son put away the groceries for me and I pulled out my Irish cook book and immediately realized that the little voice in my head was right. I did need buttermilk. I cooked all day yesterday afternoon, not only making my St. Paddy’s day feast with corned beef and red potatoes and carrots and cabbage, but I also made a chicken dish with medium-grain sticky rice and more carrots and stock and fresh sage leaves from my garden. I pan-grilled fresh green beans, and made a double batch of my chocolate brownies to be given as gifts to friends this week.

This morning, after a quick cup of coffee, and after feeding and playing with our freshly-shaven, gussied up dog, I took off for the market. I came home with the buttermilk. I was measuring out the fourth cup of flour, and I was so happy that I had just enough, when I saw a speck of what looked like a tiny piece of packaging in the flour. Hmmmm.

On closer inspection with my magnifying glass, I decided I had better buy some fresh flour. So I tossed the just-measured four cups of flour, baking soda, salt and sugar from my orange mixing bowl into the waste basket. I also discarded the remaining flour package (which I had stored in a zip-lock plastic bag in my pantry). Grabbing my keys and purse, I let my husband know I was off to the store again.

“Why don’t you pick up a loaf of soda bread at Whole Foods?” “Oh,” I answered. “I don’t want to drive to Campbell.” He looks at me and laughs. “Whole Foods is down the street.”

O-H-H-H-H! Right! It opened recently and I toured the market before it opened. They gave each of us a great bag of goodies, too. It’s close enough to walk. He’s chuckling. I’m chuckling.

Not to be deterred, one more run to the store, and now I have new flour – not wrapped in paper, but already sealed in a zip-locked bag, and a fresh sugar.

Four more measured cups of new flour into my washed and dried orange bowl, a teaspoon of baking soda, the sugar, salt, and the baking powder. Baking powder? In a soda bread? Gee, that’s weird. But it’s not a lot, so oh, well.

Wait. Now they want me to add whole wheat flour? They also want me to use rolled oats? I’m perplexed.

My son walks in and I tell him how weird this recipe is.

“Are you sure you’re looking at the right recipe?”

Well, on the left page is a recipe for Irish brown bread. On the right side, bottom, is my recipe for “Nora’s Best Soda Bread.” Oh well. It’s an honest enough mistake. I’ll just forget that I added baking powder and keep making the bread. At least I don’t have to run to the store for whole wheat flour.

My son looks at me. “Did you get enough sleep last night, Mom?” “Yes! I feel great!” My husband steps into the kitchen and realizes I’ve goofed. He says to our son, “She forgot that Whole Foods is down the street!” We’re all laughing now.

The loaf came out pretty well, but you can taste it’s not a pure soda bread. What the heck; I have more buttermilk and flour and everything.

In addition to cooking and running to the store today, I’ve been submitting Hal Roach Irish jokes to my Facebook page. There’s this one Hal Roach joke that really makes me laugh. I’ve been hearing it in my head all day, while walking around the house, and driving, and tossing ingredients into the trash, and walking through the aisles of my grocery store, and waving to the staff who have seen a lot of me these past two days. I’ve been laughing and chuckling all day.

The widow had her husband laid out for the wake, and he had the biggest smile on his face that was ever seen in Ireland. I said to her, “I never saw a corpse with a smile like that. What happened to him?” “Ah, dear God,” she said. “Twas terrible. He was struck eight times by lightning, and he thought he was having his photograph taken.”

“He was struck eight times by lightning, and he thought he was having his photograph taken”? HA! I’m positively guffawing.

So now as I’m waiting for my next loaf of Irish soda bread to come out of the oven, I’m thinking of the punch line, and I can see and hear my husband and son laughing, sure, at my expense, but it was pretty funny, and I’m remembering how the staff at the grocery store looked surprised when they saw me yet again this morning, and I can’t believe I’ve just spent hours making a loaf of bread that I could have picked up down the street and that my whole morning and a chunk of my afternoon has been a fiasco, and I realize that I really do have the luck of the Irish today. I haven’t laughed this hard in a long time.

And besides, I can “gift” the first loaf along with the brownies. Who’s gonna know?

Happy St. Patrick’s Day

Kathleen O’Galagan (Just for today!)

March 17, 2015

UPDATE FROM SNOW-WEARY GUEST BLOGGER RICHARD GALGANO WHO HAS WAY TOO MUCH TIME ON HIS HANDS BECAUSE ALL HE CAN DO IS SHOVEL, WHEELBARROW, FLAME THROW, AND WHAT’S THIS NOW, “NUKE” THE SNOW AND ICE?

My ads on Craigslist have not provided a solution to the snow problem. All the dog teams are in training for the Iditarod race in Alaska. I received a link about building your own helicopter, but it would require dismantling the washing machine and dryer. Having cabin fever is one thing. Adding piles of dirty clothes is another.

The fire department will not issue a permit for the flame thrower. Apparently they would rather have alpine skiing held on the snow mountain in front of my house than speed skating on a rink created by melting the enormous amount of ice on my property. Darn, there goes my chance to meet the Erics (Heiden and Flaim).

Just received these notes:

To: Richard Galgano
From: Nuclear Regulatory Commission
Re: Newly appeared glacier on your property
Dear Mr. Galgano:
Many thanks checking in with us. While we appreciate your condition, the use of a thermonuclear device is not yet approved for removal of personal glaciers even when roof collapse is imminent.
Sincerely,

NRC

P.S. Off the record, it sounds like an interesting idea. However, it will probably turn your house white, assuming the structure survives.

To: Nuclear Regulatory Commission
From: RG
Re: Glacier
Dear NRC. Thank you for your timely response. I’m disappointed but will not pursue efforts to obtain uranium. I don’t know what I would do with it anyway.
Sincerely,

RG

P.S.  My house has been white for a number of weeks now. I think it used to be blue. 

To: RG

From: NRC

Re: Glacier

Dear Mr. Galgano:
Have you considered using a flamethrower on your glacier? I suspect you may be able to obtain an old one from an Army-Navy store.

Sincerely,

NRC

Richard Galgano

February 11, 2015

CAN’T DRIVE. NO ROOM FOR SNOW. MUSCLES SORE. MUST BLOG. (WELCOME BACK, GUEST BLOGGER RICHARD GALGANO)

5 a.m.

It has stopped snowing!

The entrance to my driveway is filled again. I’ve resorted to using the wheelbarrow to move the snow to the other end of the driveway, where the front of my car would usually go. Fortunately, I cleaned out the garage a few weeks ago and may be able to fit a car in it. Hopefully the roof won’t collapse from the weight of a glacier.

Ad for Craigslist — Needed: One dog team, sled, and driver who has a permit to carry fuel. I found an Army Navy store with a Korean War flame thrower. The ban on driving doesn’t say anything about dog sledding.

Uh-oh. Miscalculated (underestimated) the amount of ice created by using flame thrower on a cold day.

Eureka! Acme Supply Company (of Road Runner and Coyote fame) offers a special on ice crampons and studded snow tires. Unfortunately, they can’t deliver due to ban on cars and trucks.

Next ad for Craigslist – Wanted: Helicopter with payload capacity to drop above package into our yard.

On the phone with Acme again. They are balking about inserting an electronic tracking device with the package. I’m trying to explain that the package may be lost for a long time in snow drifts.

Where there is crisis, there is opportunity. In addition to a new mountain for the winter Olympics, I’ll have more than enough ice for a speed skating track! Wonder if I’ll get to meet the Erics (Heiden and Flaim)? By the way, the largest snow mountain in my driveway is now tall enough for the downhill race.

Check this out! There is a St Bernard across the street thumbing (well, “pawing,” actually) rides. The sign reads “Florida or bust. Will share brandy.”

One of the meteorologists of Armageddon Storm Team is broadcasting. (I must have missed the others who went to the Florida Keys). We are going to get, you guessed it, MORE SNOW in a couple days.

It’s a good thing I have a two story house. I can still see out of the second floor windows.

Richard Galgano

February 10, 2015

QUICK NEWS COVERAGE UPDATE FROM A MAN WITH NO DRY CLOTHES SHOVELING AGAINST THE TIDE — WELCOME BACK GUEST BLOGGER RICHARD GALGANO

“If one more plow fills in my driveway while I’m standing in it…”

Armageddon Storm Team 6 update: “It’s still snowing.” Thank God. I couldn’t tell with all that white stuff pelting my windows. So far, 24-plus inches have fallen. I’m grabbing a bite to eat and trying to warm up – for the past hour I’ve been attacking the glacier at the end of my drive. The glacier appears to be winning.

One of the city barns is on my street. All the trucks in our end of town have to drive by to get back to the barn to reload with sand, and so our street is always well-plowed. The disadvantage is that there is a whopping 10 feet of hard packed snow in our driveway.

Special Alert: As all the meteorologists are working, the broadcast cuts back and forth between them. One meteorologist standing outside near a highway, just announced, “When it’s snowing hard and it is very windy, you can’t see far.” She also said, “When there is a ban on driving in the Commonwealth, the highways tend not to have many cars on them.” God, what an education I’m getting.

Cut to the beach. It’s snowing.

Breaking news: “If it snows a lot, it can get deep.”

Ahhh! Something different! The station is now advertising their continuous coverage of the storm as well as cell phone apps.

Oh, Thank God… a real commercial!

Here’s something: One of the Armageddon Storm Team 6 vans is reporting and broadcasting as they drive down a local street. Sure hope the camera operator isn’t the driver. Oh well. It must be considered an essential vehicle. I wonder if they could pick me up a Dunkin’ Donuts coffee.

More news: “If you see the snow blowing sideways really fast, it’s probably windy.”

Change of pace: The regular news anchors are talking about… (wait for it), the weather!

We are at number 8 of the biggest snowfall totals of all time. Worcester is at number 3 all time. The airports are the official measuring points. I’m guessing they didn’t record the Ice Ages because there were no airports then.

Back to the beach. Do I see someone surfing? It must be the total white-out conditions wreaking havoc on my brain.

I changed channels; a rerun of a 70s police drama is on. Those ties are back in style.

None of my four pairs of gloves are dried yet; I can’t go back out. Why aren’t Dunkin’ Donuts delivery vehicles considered “essential”?

I need a change of pace. Time to flick on the radio and get the latest on Deflate Gate.

Richard Galgano

January 27, 2015

The Real Crisis

Kathleen, Can we talk?; terrible news; read the email carefully (don’t skim); Please, don’t click delete; Absolutely urgent; DISASTROUS; The next two years are on the line; Today’s critical deadline; NEVER in US history (completely unprecedented); DEADLOCKED; Photo finish;  Not an option – DON’T DELETE; All is lost; It’s going to come down to you, Kathleen;  disappointed; Kathleen!;  I need your help, Kathleen!; DISASTER; DEADLINE: Add your name if you live on Earth; I’m relying on you Kathleen; This is disgusting;  lost cause; All is lost; We’ve lost; All Hope is Lost; Doomsday.

And to think I woke up in a good mood. These emails litter my inbox daily.

“Shoot. Again? All hope is lost… again?”

Political action groups, political parties, U.S. Representatives, Senators, even the Prez send me missives. I wrote in a previous post that the Prez and I are good buds because we are on a first name basis. Nothing’s changed there.  I realize that folks sitting at their computers at home or at favorite coffee shops all over the place are being paid a pittance for these emails, and they are grasping at straws to find new sensational wording to get my attention, but really, is this necessary? Haven’t people ever read the story about the boy who cries “wolf!”?  What a waste of time and resources.

Usually, my responses are about as thoughtfully crafted as the emails themselves. “Idiotic!” “Are they kidding?” “What imbeciles!” “How stupid.” “Ridiculous.” “They’re off their rockers!”

Routinely, I delete the lot of them, but once in a while I take a peek. Just last week the Prez thanked me for my help, (What help?) and I could tell he doesn’t read my blog. For the umpteenth time, if I donate money, my name will be entered into a drawing and I could meet the President. This is all routine. Here’s the part that got to me; the missive said that POTUS wants to meet my parents! I just shook my head. These people sure have their demographics wrong.  I am the parent!  My folks are dead. I am not a twenty-something.

“Get it together, people! If you have to send stupid emails, at least target the right group!”

I started getting these emails as I wrote to elected officials a year ago pleading with them to end the government shutdown. I wrote to everybody, and so these responses are fallout from my kitchen grassroots campaign. My letters were impassioned, yes, but they were also respectful and, I believed, well crafted. Could it be that my kitchen campaign of activism has caused a dramatically different and unexpected outcome?

While I look forward to reading the rare but newsworthy and interesting political updates, I could care less about all these “crises.” I am not giving a dime. I am not signing petitions. I am not sending hate mail. I am not reading these missives. I don’t care about them. I am rapidly losing interest in the process. Yes. I mean it!

Of course, the campaign finance rules need to be changed. Yes, real work needs to be conducted on Capitol Hill. But does everyone really need to air their dirty laundry every single second? Can’t elected officials do one thing without calling everybody they know? Sure, there are days that go from bad to worse to really downright lousy, but is it every single day? We vote. We elect officials to do the business of our country. So just do it already, and stop bothering me with the petty stuff.

The sheer number of these nonsensical emails barraging my inbox for a year now is making me numb – well, emails, sound bites, news, all of it reflecting the reality that nothing gets done anymore. But my inbox is my personal domain and I don’t need groups and individuals harassing me every second of the day. I can feel my drive for activism being shut down.

Now that’s a crisis.

Kathy Galgano

October 15, 2014

Mother Never Said Aging Was Graceful

Whenever you find yourself doubting how far you can go, just remember how far you have come. Remember everything you have faced, all the battles you have won, and all the fears you have overcome. (Unknown)

No wonder I’m so darned tired.

Note to self: When driving your elderly aunt to a doctor’s appointment, do not overshoot the one-way entrance drive. You might find yourself unable to turn into the second, or exit drive, and choose instead the third, which is really the entrance to a mortuary.

Words of wisdom from my Grandmother and me: Waste not, want not. A stitch in time saves nine. A bird in the hand is messy.

I contacted my high school, vainly in search of my vaccination records so I can volunteer at a health clinic. I was told that the school saves records for only fifty years, and it’s a good thing I called now.

How am I supposed to take an ample number of daily cool showers when we are experiencing a drought?

While driving, some women (ahem) apply lipstick when waiting at a red light. Some women (ahem) also grab a travel-sized container of baby powder conveniently placed in the second cup holder, directly behind the large iced-tea, and generously shake the powder down the front of their blouse to overcome the effects of yet another hot flash.

My car mechanic couldn’t understand why I wanted the air conditioner recharged in January.

Al Gore was wrong. I am the cause of global warming.

Whenever you find yourself doubting how far you can go, just remember all the times you have meddled in your friends’ business, all the times you encouraged them to spend their money, all the times you have played matchmaker, all the times you have told loved ones what to do, and realize that finally, with all that practice, you can continue with a vengeance and achieve success. (Me)

Lessons Learned

Last fall, when the government shut down, I blogged daily and submitted my Kathy’s Musings pieces, and many more formal letters in email form, to elected officials on both sides of the aisle. These missives were respectful in nature and tone, even when I pleaded with officials to end the nightmare. While I knew that my grassroots kitchen campaign, one citizen’s efforts to halt the shutdown, was most assuredly in vain, I figured it might be worth the effort if only to demonstrate that a tone of civility, a spirit of cooperation, and a sense of decorum are all still possible.

In due course, I received the standard “form” reply emails from the officials, thanking me for my interest, and would I like to receive updates from their offices? While it would have been nice to have spoken with staff members during the shutdown, the sheer numbers of furloughed staff, and the fact that emails rarely receive responses within a day or two, made it understandable that these replies came long after the shutdown ended. But sure — Why not? I could keep up with political news, and so I clicked on the “Yes” button to receive legislators’ updates. During the shutdown, I did come by one most appreciated response. One evening I was cooking dinner, and answered the house phone. Did I want to listen-in to a live Q and A session/ townhall meeting in progress with the Representative? This was the same Rep I had written to earlier, describing a specific heart-wrenching, shutdown-related situation in her district, which neighbors mine. I wasn’t able to ask any questions, but I welcomed hearing a live voice.

When all was said and done, my letters and hard work were not the catalyst for ending the shutdown, but I had achieved my goal. I had communicated my ideas, sentiments, facts, and accounts of how the shutdown wreaked havoc on real people to readers in the U.S. and countries around the globe. In my letter-writing campaign to representatives and senators, I maintained a sense of decorum. I never engaged in name calling even though the press was having a field day describing the jabs emanating from Capitol Hill. And, I refused to give up on my quest, even though I was tempted. I urged readers to join me in my campaign to contact legislators, and many did; political involvement and activism is always a good thing. In addition, I was happy to receive email replies from the reporters I contacted, having informed them that I had quoted their information and facts in my blog pieces. I received advice from the people I connected with, and I especially enjoyed talking to folks at the Los Alamos National Bank, a fiscal organization I highlighted for coming up with a way to help furloughed citizens.

And since the shutdown, I have been receiving emails from many Congress members. I like being informed, and I don’t have to agree with all the politics to keep up with the news. However, there is fallout from my kitchen campaign, and I should have anticipated it. Every single day I receive email after email from political organizations and elected members requesting I join them in either signing a petition or contacting someone to fight a particular cause, or that I donate money, or both.

Okay. Since I’ve put myself on lists, these emails are to be expected. True, but I’m fairly certain I haven’t hit this many “Yes” buttons. I delete a lot of these missives without opening them because I’ve come to recognize the authors’ names and their respective political groups. I understand how campaigns work; I, too, asked my readers to barrage their reps’ inboxes during the shutdown.  I describe these daily email campaigns this way: Hit ‘em often, Hit ‘em hard!, and Act Now! — We’re on the brink of disaster! And somehow, it seems that we are always on the brink of one kind of disaster or another.

These campaigns are successful. I know because at some point I receive emails thanking me for my contributions, even though I haven’t donated a dime. The typical requests don’t ask for a lot; usually, it’s a request for three bucks, or five, but sometimes it’s for more. When there are fiscal deadlines, I get tons of emails, and I truly wish the authors would adhere to some semblance of decorum. I bristle a bit when I receive an email from the President addressed to “Hey, Kathleen.” In the back of my head I can hear my childhood friend’s grandmother saying, all those years ago, “Do not address me as ‘Hey.’ I do not live in a barn.” And the President frequently signs these personal emails as “Barack.”

Leading up to midnight, June 30, 2014, my Inbox was filled with many, many passionate pleas for donations. Some of them were going to be triple-matched; political campaigns must have learned something from public broadcasting membership drives, with the announcer chanting, “Call in the next five minutes and your donation will be matched!” Well, these Congressional campaigns needed, demanded, implored me for contributions. The subject lines of some of these emails read: “We keep emailing,” “Another Email?! (DON’T SKIP),” and “Things are getting a little loopy around here.” (The “loopy” email shows a video of a bunny running around a person’s legs. That was a strange one.) In one series of requests, I could have won a chance to meet the President. These came along with the “We need you,” and “LAST CHANCE,” and “We’re Running Out Of Time,” plus the personal plea, “Don’t sit this one out, Kathleen.” Then there were the subject lines that were all doom and gloom: “TRAGIC Conclusion,” and “Devastating Losses.” The one that really got me was the “All Hope is Lost” email.

Tell me, if all hope is lost, why the heck would I donate a dime? The definition of a “lost cause” is, well, a lost cause! Then there’s the drama. If a campaign purportedly is being outspent by $9 million, the amount is written in the emails like this: “$9,000,000.00.” I’m guessing the author was hoping people might read this as $900 million instead of $9 million? Well, if that’s the case, would a potential donor actually think a three dollar contribution would make a difference? Hmmm, well, maybe. After all, I was hoping my miniscule kitchen campaign might make a difference.

So here’s what I’ve learned in a nutshell: 1) The President and I are good buddies; 2) I have so impressed political campaign organizers that they believe I can save the day, every day, and that I’m personally able to make contributions, large and small, multiple times a day, every day; 3) It’s okay to dump decorum, and 4) It’s also okay to barrage legislators’ inboxes with requests for everything, all the time.

Lessons learned. Got it!

Kathy Galgano

July 7, 2014