Remember a few years ago when everyone had to get a digital TV converter box if they still wanted to get over-the-air local television, like CBS or ABC? There was a big panic and kerfuffle as people fought over boxes like 1983 Cabbage Patch dolls. Riots occurred in the streets; mothers wept; children were sold into slavery in exchange for a Roku box . . .

No? That’s not what happened? I wouldn’t actually know, because my house is located in a black hole that no digital television signals can penetrate. I have been unable to watch local television or even the news as it airs since I moved off of Block Island over ten years ago. And I’ll admit it: it’s kind of nice.

We’re not total Neanderthals. We had satellite TV until the trees around the house grew so tall that we could no longer get signals. We scrapped the dish, signed up for Netflix streaming, and called it a day.

Our lives changed for the better. Netflix, you see, allows for on-demand viewing, so you can binge-watch, say, all eleven seasons of M*A*S*H in one weekend. I can stream Netflix on the iPad, so I could watch old episodes of Forensic Files while scrubbing the toilet. If the power went out, I could watch old episodes of Forensic Files while heating up dinner over a Sternocan. On any given weekend, you’d find me folding laundry, old episodes of Forensic Files looping from the iPad propped up on top of the dryer. Life without regular television isn’t so bad.

There are more bonuses, too. I can’t watch the news, so I never get worked up over politics or people behaving badly. If I can’t see or hear you, Donald Trump, I don’t have to waste precious energy hating you. I plan on buying a copy of Time magazine when the election gets closer to learn about the candidates before voting. Doesn’t that sound lovely? No commercials, no CNN, no Fox News. It’s a peaceful life I lead.

I will admit that there are a couple of television shows I can’t live without. One of them, Downton Abbey, is available for free online at PBS.org the day after the newest episode airs. For the others, God created the miracle known as the iTunes Season Pass, for He is a generous God. Sure, I have to pay $20 a season to watch The Walking Dead and Survivor, but again, this still beats rolling over a CD every month just to pay the cable bill. Plus, no commercials!

Some of my friends would say that because of my lack of regular television, I am alarmingly uninformed regarding current events. This may be true. But my blood pressure was 118/60 the last time I went for a physical. Did I miss a wildfire out in California that I can do nothing to stop, or the GOP debate? I sure did, and that’s just fine with me. I’m not completely uninformed, however. I do read the Block Island Times online on a regular basis. I’m well aware that Mark’s Beachcomber Hair Design is seeing an influx of windblown hair tragedies this week.

I feel for the windblown ladies—I really do. But life is short. And it’s just a little sweeter when I don’t have the weight of the world blasting at me from the television.

My parents always emphasized the importance of voting. Party lines didn’t matter, they said. Just listen to the candidates, get involved, and make a choice.
When my sister turned 18 and registered as a Democrat, my father didn’t speak to her for several months (turns out party lines did matter a little bit to Dad). So when I was finally able to register to vote, I registered as a Republican in a shameless effort to win my father’s love. Then I went to college and promptly became the Co-President of the Penn State Clinton-Gore Fan Club. With my Co-President and roommate, Heather, and Beki and Denise as Co-VPs, our fan club membership totaled four. We were a proud group.
Over the years, I have listened to the candidates and made my decisions based on who I thought made the most sense, regardless of party. This year, in Connecticut, Chris Dodd is retiring, and the race for his Senate seat is wide open. One of my first bosses on Block Island was a strong, smart businesswoman who constantly faced (and still faces) opposition simply because she has a brilliant (okay, and stubborn) head on her shoulders. It was this fondness for my former boss Mary Jane that really made me like Linda McMahon as a candidate. She’s the former CEO of a male-dominated industry – the WWE – and I respect that. My childhood crush on Stone Cold Steve Austin probably had nothing to do with my decision.
I agreed to distribute signs in my town for the McMahon campaign. This got me invited to the third debate between her and Dick Blumenthal in New London. I heard my parents’ voices in my head: “Get involved! Wear clean underwear!” So I went.
When I arrived, there were people rallying outside. Some guy with a microphone was shouting in support of Blumenthal, but he was saying things like “Linda McMahon wants you all on steroids!” and “Vince McMahon is the son of Satan!” Note to the Blumenthal campaign: get people who are not crazy as fruit bats to speak on your behalf. I quickly got in to line to wait for the doors to open. A gentleman next to me noticed my Linda sign and leaned over. “You’re voting for the right person,” he opened. “I know,” I smiled back, and we began chatting. Rich was a Republican, and this was his first senatorial debate (mine, too!) We agreed to sit together and bask in our smug self-righteousness over our decision to back Linda. We were herded inside, and while we were waiting, Rich continued the conversation. “So you listen to Rush, right?”

Uh-oh. He’s not talking about the band.

I started to get a little scared. I don’t listen to Rush Limbaugh. As a matter of fact, I own a copy of Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot. In hardcover.
Panicked, I lied. Sort of. I nodded. Forgive me, Al Franken!
Rich continued, “And of course you watch Fox news. I don’t know why these liberal Democrats won’t watch Fox news. They should be more informed.”
Um, maybe because Fox news is so unbelievably slanted and biased that it’s kind of like watching tobacco companies argue about why cigarettes are good for your health? I kept silent. Cold terror was coursing through my veins.
He continued to talk, and I continued to nod and add things like “yup” and “mm-hmm” to the conversation.  What if he found me out? What would I do if he suddenly started pointing at me and screaming “Democrat!  Demmmm-oooo-cratttt!” I might have to make a run for it.
We made it through the debate, which was fun, I’ll admit. The crowd was restless and rude, the candidates were snarky, and I was really glad I went. I was a little distracted, however, by visions of death by rabid Republican.
 We shook hands after the debate was over, and Rich went on his way.  I managed to shake the crazy Blumenthal guy with the microphone when he tried to follow me home.  I called my sister and promised her that I would never, ever, try to masquerade as one of the politically passionate again.
Then I curled up with a book and a cup of tea.  A little Jon Stewart did wonders to soothe my nerves.