I’m somewhat disappointed in the state of our political campaigns. Kind of a bold statement, but let me explain.

We live in a world of rapid technological innovation that has transformed everything but lawn-raking, and yet the major campaigns are still stuck with the same techniques they’ve been using for decades. For example, they’re lavishing their money on TV ads. That hasn’t worked since my kids taught me how to use the remote.

When the politicos aren’t peering out from my television screen and sharing what they found on OminousMusic.com, they’re calling me on the phone. They must know that political calls at home just trigger hostility. After all, I’m trying to keep that line open for the fund-raisers at every college anyone in my family has ever driven past.

With all of the millions of dollars at their disposal – chumps pay taxes; smart people buy influence – the major state and national organizations are relying on the same gimmicks used to push local candidates and farm herbicides.

Perhaps each of the major parties should take one or two people off the mud-slinging task force and assign them to keeping up with the latest technology. They might learn less about what their opponent said about foreign policy during a high school debate competition, but they would know all about the power and promise of Audio Spotlight.

A company called Holosonic Research Labs Inc. developed this concept, which employs ultrasonic sound beams to send a message directly to one person at a time. Reportedly, it gives the impression that someone is speaking inside your cranium, so it’s quite effective for selling products or tipping people over the edge into insanity.

So it’s perfect for politics.

You’re driving down an Iowa highway. You see a combine going through a soybean field and raising a cloud of dust with the dimensions of an Iraqi sandstorm. Suddenly a voice begins to speak inside your head. It’s Roxanne Conlin, and she says: “See that lung-choking pollution? Senator Chuck Grassley thinks it’s just fine and has opposed reasonable restrictions.”

A transmitter would have to be mounted on every combine, I guess. I’m more the big-picture guy.

Another day, you’re in downtown Des Moines and happen upon a large commercial building that has gone back to the bank. (This is not hard to do, by the way.) A voice tells you, “This business was doing just fine before the Republicans allowed the economy to nose-dive in 2008. Vote for Chet Culver.”

Republicans could stick a transmitter on the head of each unemployed Iowan, so that whenever you encountered one (also not much of a challenge), you would hear: “Vote for me, Terry Branstad, and help me give this poor soul 200,000 job openings to pick from.”

The power of the sales pitch comes from its disorienting nature. When you think some all-knowing voice has singled you out, you pay attention. It’s like Moses chatting with a burning bush or Peyton Manning calling an audible.

By the time the next elections roll around, a determined political party could have this strategy in place. As well as the beginnings of an “augmented reality” system.

Augmented reality, which sounds like the very definition of politics, actually refers to a type of technology that adds information to the boring real world. Someday you’ll be able to wear a pair of high-tech glasses and see relevant data when you look at an object.

Aside from the first thing that pops into most men’s minds, applications might include a list of the businesses housed in a building, or the menu offered by a restaurant.

But a good politician should be able to make more of it than that. You’re in western Iowa, walking down the street in Beebeetown, and you spot Rep. Steve King. Suddenly, you feel an overwhelming urge to build a fence and keep out those liberal devils from Minnesota.