Legend of Kenny and the treehouse still inspires

My friend Kenny was decades ahead of his time. The year we graduated from high school, he moved into a tiny home. Actually, it was a treehouse. He lived there for a year.

Really. It was epic.

The story of Kenny and the treehouse is actually much bigger than that. Kenny lived life large – sometimes unwisely – in those years. But memorably. He resided in more than a dozen homes and drove more than a dozen cars in the first few years out of high school. He and his girlfriend ran off to San Diego, then came back. He left a job at the post office to sell Kirby vacuum cleaners. I lived with Kenny longer than anyone outside my family and remain close friends with him after decades.

And there's always this: He lived in a treehouse in our hometown of Eureka.

It's a story that I told to amuse and amaze my sons as they grew up, since living in a treehouse is a common childhood fantasy.

Kenny's domicile was in the backyard of his parent's house, a few blocks from where my parents lived. The home's previous owners, who ran a construction company, built the home between three redwood trees and ran electricity to it.

After Kenny finished high school, he reached an agreement (probably with few options) to move into the treehouse and pay his parents $100 a month rent ($300 in today's dollars). He became a legend among his friends.

"You're living in the treehouse?" we would ask. "Awesome!" (Because we called everything "awesome." And because it was.)

When Kenny took residence, he did some construction – installing items important to an 18-year-old. He added a small refrigerator and a gas stove top, for which he planned to pipe gas (but never did). He bought a microwave. He also did the seemingly miraculous – running water (into a treehouse!) for a toilet that worked and a shower he never finished.

As he said in an email recently, "I had a refrigerator, microwave and toilet – which was great for beer, popcorn and the aftermath thereof."

Kenny lived in a treehouse with a fridge, toilet, electricity and bed.

For a year. When we were 18.

When I asked Kenny about it recently, he remembered physical details about the treehouse, as well as the experience of hearing sirens and shots fired from his elevated, thinly insulated home. He recalled windy nights when the trees would slam into the side of his home, making him wonder if it would plummet.

He remembers that, but here's what I remember: How cool it was that he lived in a treehouse, where his girlfriend would visit and they would hang out in his top-floor bedroom and listen to Eagles albums. How he had his own refrigerator and a toilet that was 10 feet in the air.

He moved out only when two other friends joined the two of us in a flat above a local supermarket, a building we thrashed in the six months we lived there before Kenny and I relocated to a duplex across town.

Here's my only takeaway: Before the era of tiny houses and off-the-grid houses and all other variations, my friend Kenny lived for a year in a treehouse.

It still is mind-blowing.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Extinction news causes fear, loathing, confusion

News about extinction is rarely good. This was no exception.

Scientists recently reported that Earth is entering a mass-extinction event, with the likelihood that three-quarters of all species could disappear in the coming centuries.

It wouldn't bother me as much if we were talking only about mosquitoes, raccoons, house flies and rats. But it's worse.

"What is at stake is really the state of humanity," said Gerardo Ceballos, co-author of the study "Biological annihilation via the ongoing sixth mass extinction signaled by vertebrate population losses and declines."

I would call it, "You'll miss us when we're gone!" for marketing purposes. But that's just my opinion.

According to the report, issued in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences (similarly a terrible name for a magazine, in my opinion), nearly one-third of land-based mammal, bird, amphibian and reptile species are shrinking in both their numbers and territorial range.

That leads scientists to declare that we're in the sixth mass-extinction event in Earth history, which is concerning because it still trails the number of films in the Harry Potter, Star Wars and Fast and Furious franchises. Maybe extinctions can catch up.

The sixth mass-extinction event! If you're not a historian, here are some of the things lost in the previous extinction events:

• Dinosaurs.
• Vaudeville.
• Two-hour baseball games.
• Manual transmissions.
• Black-and-white movies.
• Life magazine.

There are many who are concerned that the next one may take cable and satellite television with it, which would have a significant effect on you if you haven't cut the cord. Also at risk: landline telephones, owner-operated hardware stores and televised bowling.

Catastrophic, indeed.

But back to what the scientists think. One scientist said that we've wiped out half of Earth's wildlife in the past 40 years and says, "if we keep cutting by half every 40 years, there's going to be nothing left," a point that would be debunked by mathematicians, who would point out that if you keep halving things, it never goes to zero.

But that's just the old science vs. math argument. (Which gets amplified when scientists refer to math as "arithmetic," which math experts consider a demeaning term for some reason.)

The report's authors highlight several animals that are rapidly disappearing, including African elephants, jaguars and barn swallows.

And the report includes something that was previously unknown to me, namely, that there is an ongoing dispute about whether Earth's six mass extinction has already begun.

Those suggesting it has point to such factors as the extreme drop in many animal populations, the reduction in forests or other habitats, the return of "rat tail" haircuts for men and the advent of the "YouTube celebrity."

Ceballos said that regardless of where you stand on the issue of whether the extinction event has already begun, there is urgency. He said, though, that there is reason for optimism.

"The good news is we still have time . . . the window of opportunity is small, but we can still do something to save species and populations," he said.

My proposal: Let's not follow the lead of brachiopods, elpistostegalians, archosaurs and Crystal Pepsi, all of which were eliminated in previous mass extinctions.

Let's do something!

For starters, let's limit the number of movies you can make in one franchise. We'll figure out the rest later.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Column on homophones lax the write frays

Is the right word homonym or homophone?

The two words mean the same thing, which is ironic in a way – because that meaning is to use different spellings to describe sound-alike words that mean different things.

So homonyms and homophones are certainly not homonyms or homophones.

It might be the most ironic word issue outside of the word "phonics."

Homonym or homophone? Which is wright? Witch should I yews?

There is sum significance to it, because misusing words is common. I think of it every time I see someone say, "It's good to be apart of this family," which means actually being apart from the family.

But misusing words is understandable.

I, for instance, can except that I can use the language wrong sometimes, accept I don't always do so publicly.

I thought about this the other mourning, while I sat down with a boll of serial. My job requires me to work with words, both in this space and in my normal job.

The day felt like one of those daze when you due what you can to get bye to urn a living. I wasn't sure if my attitude was something permanent or just a faze. But I was unphased.

Regardless, it was bazaar.

Was it OK to except mistakes like that? Who nose?

The homonym-homophone conundrum (if that's what it is) was either a Sirius problem or was insignificant. Which was it?

On the day in question, I chose to ignore the issue, get dressed and go to work.

I looked for my new pair of genes, but couldn't fined what I needed. So I grabbed an old pare, put on some moose, then brushed my hare and left.

The question kept nagging me. Is it homophone or homonym? Is it a serious issue or knot?

I side, deeply. This was turning into sum day.

The problem of word mistakes is common to writers. I hoped to avoid it for my whole career, but I new I would eventually make a mistake, because it's not aloud.

The first time I did it and saw it published, it made me so sad that I bald my eyes out while I listened to an album by the Little River Banned.

Finally, I decided to settle the issue. I looked it up and found that technically, homonyms are words that are both spelled and pronounced the same, but mean different things. What I was considering was a homophone. Not knowing the difference is a serious mistake, baste on what I know.

Then I re-read this column and knew the truth: I mist again.

I told myself the danger of trying to address this type of issue: You always make the mistake mentioned.

Perhaps, I told myself, yule learn sometime.

I put it aside and ignored it. Later, I'll address it.

Same thyme, next year?

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Stop using dad slur to describe hats!

The day after the Golden State Warriors won the NBA championship, a work friend purchased four official NBA champion caps from a Warriors team store – for herself, her husband, her father and her father-in-law.

Nice, right? But when another co-worker – who buys a lot of sports gear – came by our cubicles to see it, he responded with disdain.

"It's a dad hat."

A dad hat?

A dad hat?!?

My friend who bought the hat agreed. But she defended the choice, because among the recipients were her father and her father-in-law.

A dad hat? I was flabbergasted, like a father on an old TV sitcom.

I asked my co-workers – both (no surprise) younger than me – what they meant. Not what they meant by "dad hat" (I get that it means the kind of hat a dad would wear), but what made it so.

The answer? The rounded brim and the fact that it was a snapback, which allows the user to adjust it. Their contempt was obvious. Only a dad would wear something like that.

I snapped.

"I just want to let you know that I am offended that you use the term 'dad' as a slur," I said, voice rising. "We members of the fatherhood community don't consider it appropriate for you to degrade something by using the term 'dad’ as a derogatory term. Dad isn't a negative word."

They stammered and looked for a way to soften the blow. No need to give the old man a stroke or give him the vapors, they probably thought.

I was just getting started.

"I have been a dad for nearly half my life," I said. "And anyway . . . who wears hats with flat bills? They look stupid!"

Both co-workers looked away in embarrassment. I was acting like . . . a dad, I guess. All that was missing was a demand that they go to their rooms.

I'm right, though. About the cap (no need for discussion) and the use of "dad" as a pejorative term.

You hear it all the time now. Dad jokes. Dad shorts. A dad cap. And strangely, the idea that some women are attracted to a "dad body."

Dad jokes? Meaning, I presume clever wordplay that requires intelligence to understand. Or, perhaps, a gag about bodily functions. Those are dumb?

Dad shorts? Cargo shorts, I guess. Which are handy if you have things that you need to store in all those pockets.

And the "dad body" concept is perhaps most irritating. Oh, sure, it's sometimes presented as something that women somehow desire – a soft, doughy, out-of-shape man.

First of all, that premise seems unlikely. Secondly, it's always presented with a sense of irony: How about this? Women like a dad body! And thirdly . . . why is that a dad body?

Arnold Schwarzenegger is a dad. Vin Diesel is a dad. Dwayne Johnson is a dad.

But "dad body" is used as a slur. Like dad hat, dad shorts and dad jokes (example: Our wedding was so emotional, even the cake was in tiers." Get it?), it is offensive to those of us in the life.

Stop using dad as a slur.

Or you'll be on restriction!

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Food discussion leaves me feeling empty

Has food always been this significant a topic of conversation?

It doesn't seem like it to me, but I may be ignorant (don't reply to that!).

In a nation where we have multiple 24-hour food TV channels and more styles of food than clothing, nearly every group conversation gets around to food.

The best restaurants. The best ingredients. Opinions about ingredients. How to follow specific diets.

It doesn't bother me, it just confuses me – because I don't remember this from most of my life. I also have nothing to contribute to the conversation.

Take a recent gathering of Mrs. Brad's extended family. We were discussing something interesting (sports? music?) when suddenly the conversation switched to food. People talked about items in a salad and what flavors they liked.

I didn't understand any of it. I know chef salad and green salad. Oh, taco salad.

Someone mentioned capers, which I presumed was some sort of seafood (it turns out to be some sort of seasoning).

Everyone at the table had opinions and knew what was being discussed. Except me. It was like waking up to a discussion being held in Russian.

The same thing happened a few days earlier with work friends. They started talking about styles of food that were mysteries to me. Not only did everyone else know about the food, they all knew restaurants where that type of food was served, whether it was done well and whether they liked it.

They might as well have been talking about the foreign policy of 16th century Poland. I didn't know anything.

Here's what I thought: "So this is what it's like when I talk about sports around people who don't know it. They aren't offended, they just can't contribute."

So to reiterate, is this something new?

My knee-jerk response is yes. This is the next step in a progression that went off the ledge when people started identifying themselves as "foodies." As if the fact that they liked food made them different than those of us who like pizza, corn dogs and toasted cheese sandwiches.

Aren't we all foodies, since we need food to . . . you know . . . live? In my darkest moments, I've told Mrs. Brad, “When people say they're a 'foodie,' do they really just mean 'glutton?’ ” But that's my darkest moment and I regret saying that. Sometimes.

I also must consider another possibility: That people have always had this knowledge about and this level of desire for discussion about food. Maybe people have always opined on which restaurants are good and which are bad. Perhaps people have always considered trends in food and shared thoughts on ingredients.

Maybe I'm just out of the loop.

An indication came several years ago when I was the associate editor at the Daily Republic. We had "story conferences" every day to decide what should go on the front page. During this period, a huge amount of scallions were recalled due to some sort of poisoning. It was important news for several days in a row.

I presumed scallions were some sort of fish.

Turns out, scallions are those little green onions. Everyone else knew.

Therefore, I return to my initial question: Have people always talked about food like they do now?

Regardless of the answer, I'm an outsider in the discussions.

At least now I know capers and scallions. Which is all I can contribute to the discussion: "Well . . . my favorite onions are scallions!"

Then I'll go back to resenting people who call themselves "foodies."

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.