No reason to fear bubonic plague, except . . .

Relax. Breathe deeply. There's no reason to panic.

Everybody knows that the bubonic plague wiped out roughly one-third of the population of Europe in the Middle Ages, but that was hundreds of years ago.

Right? Right?

So there's no reason to panic after we heard recently that fleas tested positive for the bubonic plague in Arizona because . . .

Wait.

What?

The bubonic plague in Arizona?

THE BUBONIC PLAGUE WAS FOUND IN ARIZONA!

OK. Calm down.

There's no real reason to panic, they say. People rarely die from bubonic plague, they say.

But further investigation into this news reveals how officials discovered the disease: Prairie dogs began dropping dead.

Prairie dogs! Dead! Immediately! The cute little prairie dogs keeled over, dead.

From the bubonic plague.

In Arizona!

But it was OK. Officials reacted swiftly: Residents were warned to "take precautions to reduce the risk of exposure to serious disease, which can be present in fleas, rodents, rabbits and predators that feed upon these animals," according to a statement from the Navajo County Health Department.

Seems simple enough. Just don't allow fleas, rodents or anything that comes into contact with them to get near you.

In other words, live in a bubble, like the character John Travolta played in that awesome 1970s TV movie.

Common sense suggests it's likely that the bubonic plague won't affect people . . . except three people in New Mexico tested positive for the disease in June.

In June!

In case you're worried, here are the symptoms: A sudden onset of fever, headache, chills, weakness and tender lymph nodes.

I would write more, but I got the chills and a slight headache while writing that last sentence.

Oh. Em. Gee.

There is no reason to panic.

According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, about seven cases of the plague are reported each year in the United States, an "average" belied by the fact that there were four cases in 2012, four in 2013, 10 in 2014 and 16 in 2015 . . . which means the bubonic plague is on pace to wipe us all out by about 2100. Or faster.

The World Health Organization says there are roughly 300 cases a year on Earth, which is what that organization would have said in 1346 had it existed. Ditto my ancestor Percival Stanhope, one of the leading fishmongers in his village. Just a few years later, 75 million people were dead from the black death, including most of Percival's clients.

That 1347 outbreak resulted in not only mass death, but a breakdown in social order. It was seen as God's judgment against a sinful world. Jews and other minorities became scapegoats and thousands were burned alive in retaliation.

A major health disaster that leads to the basic breakdown of society? That seems dangerously close, even without a "black death" event.

But there's no reason to panic. My research revealed that the last urban outbreak was in 1924 in Los Angeles and most human infections occur "in the southwest and near California, southern Oregon and western Nevada," which is nice because . . . wait . . .

If you drew lines from western Nevada and southern Oregon, they would intersect right about . . . HERE.

WHAT?

I just got a headache and weakness.

What's in a (book's) name? Everything!

People who say there are no shortcuts are always late to meetings, right?

They're also wrong.

Of course there are shortcuts. Otherwise, why are there back roads to avoid the traffic on Interstate 80? Why is there a 10-items-or-less line at the supermarket?

Shortcuts are awesome and I found one.

It's almost like a license to print money: Piggy-back on the success of others.

That's the secret. That's the shortcut.

Today, I announce the launch of my new series of novels, which will actually be the same novel I published a few years ago (look me up on Amazon!), but under different titles. Rather than trying to write something new, I'm going to use the success of others to reach readers who might not otherwise read the brilliantly titled "Not Quite Camelot."

I may adjust the plot slightly so that the new title makes sense. Maybe.

Seem silly? You won't think so when you see "Hairy Potter: Book 8" at the top of The New York Times' best-seller list! It will have a minor character who is covered with body hair and makes ceramic pots. See? He's a hairy potter and he would fit in "Not Quite Camelot."

If you think people won't fall for it, you're mistaken. Because people watched both "Diff'rent Strokes" and "Webster." They watched both "The Addams Family" and "The Munsters."

The original can be copied and improved. My idea isn't to "steal" other people's ideas, because it's my idea. My novel. The titles will just be like others.

Notice that I put the word steal in quotation marks in the previous sentence, which means that if this ever goes to trial, I'll deny everything. It was in quotation marks!

My plan doesn't stop at "Hairy Potter." I have several other titles under which I plan to release NQC (we authors often refer to our books by their initials, except for something like "Case Review: Andrew Peterson," for obvious reasons).

I will release a book called "The Da Vinci Core," because I'll add a scene where the protagonist finds an apple core that's shaped like Leonardo Da Vinci. It's the Da Vinci core.

For readers who love the classics, there will be a version called "A Tale of Three Cities," which people may misconstrue as a sequel to the Charles Dickens classic. That's not my fault. The fact that the main character in my novel lives in three cities during the course of the plot seems like a great reason for that title.

Some readers may be intrigued by the version of the novel called "Loleta," which perhaps brings to mind the novel "Lolita" by Vladimir Nabokov. Again, not my fault. My novel will include a brief passage where the characters are in the small farming city of Loleta in Humboldt County. An honest mistake . . . by the reader who buys my novel!

Of course, the end game is to move into territory owned by the best-selling, most-owned book in history.

One version will be called "Brad's Interesting Book, Literary Excellence."

The fact that it will be called "BIBLE" on the front isn't my fault. Maybe the reader should have looked inside before spending hard-earned money!

Don't blame the author. Celebrate the author! He wrote the BIBLE!

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Solano County's secret tomato history

The 26th annual Fairfield Tomato Festival kicks off this week, a celebration of Solano County's No. 4 cash crop (in 2016, but No. 1 for the previous two years). It's also our favorite salad item and the main ingredient in our best-selling hotdog condiment.

Yes: Tomatoes!

While all those facts are reason to celebrate the tomato, there is another, less obvious explanation: Tomatoes played a key role in nearly every major event in Solano County history.

Yes, Solano County has a SECRET TOMATO HISTORY, partly the subject of urban legends, partly the cause of our greatest problems, partly the secret ingredient to what makes this place so special.

Let's take a look inside Solano's SECRET TOMATO HISTORY:

Ancient history: Archaeologists dates settlement in Solano County back thousands of years – artifacts have been found in Green Valley that date back to 2000 B.C. (they're early golf clubs, which suggests that Green Valley has long been a center of upper-crust economics). What's most interesting for tomatophiles? Rockville Hills Park reportedly has cave drawings that portray early man using ketchup on Solano buffalo, suggesting that 4,000 years ago, tomatoes were already thriving here. Buffaloes, too.

Modern settlement: In 1835, the government of Mexico commissioned Gen. Mariano Guadalupe Vallejo to colonize the areas north of the San Francisco Bay as a buffer against the Russians (Russians! Or was it 19th century fake news?) and to protect settlers from "hostile Indian attacks."

That government lasted until 1846, when the California Republic was briefly established before California became part of the United States. Historians say the key moment may have come when Vallejo tried to raise the Mexican flag above his compound and the flag was pelted by residents who threw tomatoes at it. Solano County tomatoes led to California joining the United States!

Founding Fairfield: In 1903, Fairfield became the final of seven towns in the county incorporated into cities, becoming the county seat. There was talk of adding an additional city – including discussions about Green Valley, Birds Landing and Elmira. That discussion ended when a descendant of Fairfield founder Capt. Robert Waterman stood up at a town meeting and shouted, "I don't think there should be eight!"

The speaker was drinking a tomato-based concoction and some residents mistakenly thought he said "V8." In an act of rebellion, they lobbied the Campbell's Soup Company to begin making the No. 1 vegetable juice in America: V8, with a main ingredient of tomatoes.

Travis Air Force Base: During World War II, the U.S. Army established the Fairfield-Suisun Army Air Base east of town, beginning the history of the most important organization in city history. In 1951, it was renamed Travis Air Force Base, after the death in a plane crash of Gen. Robert Travis.

Throughout the Cold War, Travis Air Force Base was a stronghold, anchoring missions all over the world. Unbeknownst to most people, Travis personnel had a secret motto during those dark hours: Travis Overpowers Multiple Attack Terror Options.

Yes, TOMATO.

There's more: The real secret to the Nut Tree, the event that brought us Lake Berryessa, the property on which the Solano mall is built and more.

But that's for another time, since this is about the Solano County's SECRET TOMATO HISTORY and to tell everything would give away the secret.

So next weekend, enjoy your time at the Tomato Festival. Listen to the music, buy some food, go into the tents. But more than anything, remember this: The tomato isn't just one of our leading agricultural products.

The Solanum lycopersicum (seriously! It almost has "Solano" in its name!) is our history.

And our destiny.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

How I keep Mrs. Brad awake when she wants to sleep

What you think about while trying to fall asleep says a lot about you.

Count sheep? Maybe you're a type-A personality who keeps track of everything.

Re-live unhappy social exchanges? Maybe you're too self-critical.

Worry about the future? Maybe you're trying to control things that you can't.

What Mrs. Brad told me she thought about while laying awake on a recent camping trip is probably reason for concern – for me. Or worse.

First, self-revelation. I occasionally struggle to fall asleep and inevitably, I end up making sports lists in my overactive brain (it's overactive at that moment, not in general): The 10 best Giants of all time. The Mount Rushmore of 49ers. The all-time Warriors team. A Giants team made up of two players from each of the past five decades. The greatest duos in music history.

You get the point. It is meaningless and probably doesn't help me fall asleep. But it's what I've been doing since I was a teenager, falling asleep listening to baseball games on the radio.

That's me.

Mrs. Brad? Apparently a little different.

The story begins with a recent camping trip at Lake Almanor near Lassen National Park in northeastern California. It's a beautiful site, with rivers, the big lake and nearby Lassen National Park, with its Yellowstone-like geysers and Mount Lassen.

Our trip highlight was a group hike up the mountain, going from the parking lot at 8,400 feet to the peak at about 10,500 feet – through late-July snow, up steep inclines and along scenic trails. It's a challenge, but not as difficult as you might think, although I now claim that I ascended the peak of the second-tallest volcano in Northern California.

The afternoon following our successful ascent of the peak (sounds more dramatic that way, right?), Mrs. Brad and I discussed how tired we were. As with seemingly every camping trip, the first night didn't include much sleep (we weren't alone – almost no one in our 15-person group slept well), partly because of unfamiliarity with the area, partly because of cold weather, partly because of strange noises.

"I was laying there and I had to force myself not to laugh," she told me.

"What was so funny?"

"I was just thinking of all the stupid things you've done. I didn't want to start laughing, because I wouldn't be able to stop and it would wake you up."

Hah hah hah.

Hah.

I reacted with outrage and questions.

"Stupid? What stupid things?"

Mrs. Brad is smart. She saw what was happening. "Not really stupid, just silly. Silly things. You know."

"What silly things?"

Apparently she presumed I would know what she meant. She wasn't prepared to list the things.

"Just silly things. You know."

I didn't know. Then she shifted the conversation to the highlights of the hike and I didn't get an answer.

But there's this. I now know that while I lay awake, wondering whether I should take the 2000s version of Barry Bonds (with Tim Lincecum, but excluding Rich Aurilia) so that I can have the 1990s versions of Will Clark and Jeff Kent on my two-players-per-decade Giants team, Mrs. Brad is possibly thinking of the stupid/silly things I've done.

And trying not to laugh.

That wasn't on the list of things I thought I brought to our marriage.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.