Trip to the dentist teaches me about SLR

Do you remember when you found out about SLR? I found out when a dental assistant told me I suffered from it.

It was during my recent trip to the dentist, the semiannual torture during which I sweat through a T-shirt and try to act like it doesn't make me anxious.

"Are you all right, Brad?" the dental assistant always asks, reminding me that I'm not skilled at hiding my anxiety. "Let me know if it gets to be too much."

I think: "And what? What will you do then?" It's not the pain. It's the anticipation of pain, even though there's generally not any.

But this trip was different, because I learned I have SLR.

"Your teeth look pretty good except this one spot," the dental assistant told me through two masks and a face guard. I think she said that. It was muffled. And I had a mild chill, from my sweaty T-shirt. And my pupils were probably dilated, too. She continued: "Are you left-handed?"

"Mnmnmno," I said, struggling to speak with metal tools and that inefficient spit-sucker in my mouth. I hoped she realized that meant that I'm not a lefty.

"Well, that's interesting," she said. "Usually . . . wait. Oh, now I see. You have strong lip reflex. Has anyone ever told you that?"

What?

What?

Has anyone told me I had strong lip reflex? Not only had I not been told that, I had never heard that phrase.

Strong lip reflex? What the heck? Now in addition to having Type 1 diabetes, a dearth of hair on my legs and lower-than-normal ears, I have something else?

I answered her question: "No."

"Well, you do. Particularly here on the left side. See?" She pulled out my lip. It felt like someone was pulling out my lip. "That probably makes it tougher to get this spot. I'd recommend you pull your lip out when you brush. Do you use an electric brush?"

"Mnmnyes." The spit-sucker was falling behind again. I meant yes, but I didn't want to drown.

"If you pull your lip you, you'll see. It's a strong lip reflex."

Wait a minute.

She had me in a position of weakness. I was laying prone, there were sharp metal objects in my mouth, a suction device falling behind as she shot water into my mouth to combine with my overactive salivary glands. But seriously? If I pull out my lip, I'll see how strong the reflex is?

Compared to what? How could I tell? These are the only lips I've ever owned. When I pull them out, they feel LIKE I AM PULLING OUT MY LIPS.

How is that supposed to show me that my lips have a strong reflex? I didn't argue, though. You know, the sharp metal object and all.

Finally it ended. My appointment finished, I staggered to my car, exhausted from the tension of anticipating pain that never came (and almost never does), relieved that I don't need to go back for another six months.

I survived metal picks poking around my teeth. I survived gallons of water being shot into my mouth while a tiny hose sucked out a fraction of it. I survived discussion with a talkative dental assistant wearing two masks and a faceguard.

But I emerged with new knowledge. I am one of the few. I am part of a small community in America and the world.

I am someone with strong lip reflex.

If only there was a way I could test it.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

 

I know this much is true: Music transcends time

The song was "Wasted on the Way," by Crosby, Stills and Nash.

It was nothing special to me, except for a memory.

"This reminds me of delivering pizzas," I told Mrs. Brad.

She's heard that before, when I've heard "Rosanna," by Toto. "Eye in the Sky," by the Alan Parsons Project. "True," by Spandau Ballet. "What's Love Got to Do With It," by Tina Turner.

None of them are special songs for me, other than being pizza delivery songs. I don't love them, I don't hate them. They were the soundtrack of that time of my life, indelibly linked to driving around my hometown in a Volkswagen Rabbit, dropping off family-sized pepperoni pizzas for a 75-cent delivery charge and (hopefully) a $3 tip.

"Jump," by Van Halen. "How 'Bout Us," by Champaign. "Queen of Hearts," by Juice Newton.

That's the power of music, I guess. We all have songs that take us back to a specific time. Every generation has specific songs that they identify with fun times in high school. Or heartbreak in high school. Or alienation or self-realization or one specific weekend. Or a special friend or a first girlfriend or boyfriend.

There are songs we associate with specific moments. The song that played at a wedding. Our mom's or dad's favorite tune that they would turn up when we were in the car.

Those are magical songs.

"Wasted on the Way" isn't at that level for me. Nor is "Queen of Hearts," nor even "All Those Years Ago," by George Harrison.

They are tunes I associate with a stage of life. Working at a pizza parlor at night. Going to college during the day. Working with teenagers at church. Dating Mrs. Brad before she was Mrs. Brad. During that era, I spent hours and hours in my car, taking pizzas to homes and motels and workplaces. I spent hours and hours in the pizza parlor, with the radio turned on in the background.

Always a top-40 station. A mix of the Rolling Stones and Sheena Easton and Chicago and Air Supply and Loverboy.

There were artists that I loved in that era: The Commodores and Earth Wind and Fire. Billy Joel. Huey Lewis and the News. Their music doesn't remind me of delivering pizza. When I hear those songs, I think of MTV and dating Mrs. Brad and hanging with my friends.

Not background music. Foreground music. But the rest? Still memorable.

You may well have music that has similar associations for you. Maybe it's the music that played at your workplace. Or in car where you were a passenger. Maybe it's the music that you listened to while commuting or walking around wearing ear buds.

"Wasted on the Way," is a fine song that sounds a lot like other Crosby, Stills and Nash songs. If it was popular at any other time, I'd probably know it, but not remember it. But it was popular during a time I spent hours and hours every week driving around town, listening to top-40 music and not worrying about much.

It wasn't a special song, it was just a memorable song.

And I guess that's what makes music special. Even songs that aren't magic for us retain a level of magic in our memories.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

 

Kongonaphon kely changes our view of dinosaurs

 

It's "Jurassic Park" meets the "The Borrowers:" A fossil found in Madagascar is of a 237-million-year-old dinosaur that was 4 inches tall.

Four inches tall! That's shorter than Tom Cruise! Hiyo!

The dinosaur is known as Kongonaphon kely (K. kely), which means “tiny bug slayer." (Coincidentally, that was the title of the song on the flip side of "Tiny Dancer" by Elton John in 1972.)

By dinosaur standards – or really any standards – K. kely was tiny. It was so small that when it rained, the K. kely was the last to know. That's tiny! Hiyo!

(I'm preparing for my standup comedy routine when the pandemic ends.)

The discover of the little dinosaur grabbed headlines because it was different than the stereotype of a dinosaur.

The articles I read about it used a classic journalism trick, comparing the size of K. kely to something familiar. Instead of "a ship that's the size of four football fields" or "hail the size of golf balls," K. kely was described in one article as "the size of a mobile phone" and in another as "the size of a coffee cup."

Both descriptions work for me, since they're the first two things I grab every morning.

The K. kely skeleton was found in 1998. Actually, that's not true: The bones were dug up in 1998, but there were so many bones mixed together, it took a while to realize this was a dinosaur.

That makes sense because K. kely was so tiny, it would use a toothpick as a pool cue in the dinosaur billiards tournaments. That's tiny! Hiyo!

Finding tiny versions of big things are fascinating. Discovering a mobile-phone-sized dinosaur is like finding out that there are microscopic 747 airliners or miniature giraffes. Or that there's a 3-foot-5 Shaquille O'Neal clone.

Impossible, right?

Scientists needed to find out how K. kely survived. Well, K. kely ate insects, so it wasn't a competitor with its larger cousins. Scientists knew this by looking at its teeth, which is a level of dedication beyond me.

Scientists think it's possible the K. kely adapted its small frame as an evolutionary advantage, allowing the mini dinosaur to go to places other dinosaurs couldn't. That could mean K. kely helped advance other traits that were important to dinosaurs, such as bipedal movement, fluff to warm their bodies, the beginning of flight and how to chase people in "Jurassic Park" movies.

For a little dinosaur, K. kely had a big impact. And it was small. In fact, it was so small that its driver's license photo showed it head to foot! That's tiny! Hiyo!

The good news from this discovery is twofold: First, we're still learning from the past. The fact that we can still be surprised by science (and history. And math. And anything.) means we're still learning and advancing as people.

The other good news is further proof that you can make an impact regardless of size. K. kely was small – in fact, it was so small that other dinosaurs would ask him how the weather was down there (hiyo!) – but still played an important role. More than 2 million years later, we're talking about K. kely.

That's good news.

The bad news?

In 237 million years, we've gone from K. kely to R. Kelly. That's not an advance, right?

The fun-sized dinosaur was much better.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

 

Seven secrets to writing a column

When I speak to young people about writing columns, I generally tell them the No. 1 secret: Don't be afraid to use a made-up story as your opening paragraph. Readers don't know it's not true.

For instance: Pretend that "young people" care enough about what you do to ask about it, let alone want to know your "secrets."

Bingo bango.

Which is the No. 2 secret to writing a column: Have a catch phrase.

All great columnists have them. Herb Caen called San Francisco "Baghdad by the Bay." Tony Wade always writes, "me like Raiders very much." I'm sure Mike Royko, Jimmy Breslin and Maureen Dowd had catch phrases, even though I don't know what they were. Catch phrases are crucial to keeping your readers connected.

Bingo bango!

I've been writing columns for the Daily Republic since 1986. Seriously. To make it clear how long ago that was, 1986 was closer to Korean War than it is to today. More practically, it was so long ago that the Dodgers have won a World Series title since then! (Column secret 3: have ongoing inside jokes in which you insult rival sports franchises.) During that time, I moved from the young, idealistic sports writer to the sarcastic sports editor to the ridiculous "humor" writer to the old man who writes about column tricks.

That's column secret No. 4: Have self-references within a column. Allow your column to be self-aware and make jokes that readers think they get because they're insiders. If you don't believe me, bingo bango! Get it?

Secret No. 4 is a little more sensitive: Be fully aware of controversies before you wade in with a dumb joke. Unfortunately, that's something I've done a few times – and then blamed editors for not warning me.

For instance, there was the time when the local high school band (Editor's note: Rest of sentence deleted) and the time when the Malaysian Airlines plane (Editor's note: Rest of sentence deleted). Boy! Lesson learned. Especially when I discovered that readers weren't amused when I compared Gilligan's Island to (Editor's note: Rest of sentence deleted).

Which is secret No. 5: Use ancient pop-culture references, which allow readers to either laugh along with you or feel sorry for you. The winning side of that is the ability to look down on young people for not getting your jokes. Sure, they can make Tik-Tok videos, but they don't get Gilligan's Island references!

But perhaps the best lesson – one I've taken to my non-newspaper jobs, so it holds up outside of traditional journalism – is how to end a column.

A former boss used to occasionally call me over to help her finish her columns, because she knew it was perhaps my only area of expertise. I never told her the secret (which is No. 6: Protect your job by keeping secrets from your boss), but it was simple: Just rewrite the first sentence in a different way. Readers will think you've gone completed the circle, even if you haven't.

So that's the seventh secret: Circle back.

Which is what I always tell young people who ask me about my column.

Bingo bango!

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

20 thoughts from 20 weeks of COVID-19 life

Monday marks 20 weeks since this COVID-19 thing got serious, 20 weeks since March 16, when most Bay Area counties issued a shelter-in-place order. Two days later, Solano County joined the order.

Over the past 20 weeks, we've endured a lockdown, flattening of the COVID curve, a reopening, the expansion of the pandemic and more.

Sports stopped. Theaters, restaurants and most retail stores closed. Schools and churches shut down.

We wear masks in public. We hoard toilet paper. We drive less. We stay home more. We argue about every issue.

Twenty weeks.

Here are 20 of my weekly thoughts from the pandemic.

Week 1: Is the world ending? Going to my office to get equipment so I can work from home feels like I'm in an apocalyptic movie.

Week 2: A Facebook friend (who previously only posted memes about food) cites an obscure scientific website that insists COVID-19 is like the flu.

Week 3: Sports stopped three weeks ago and it's agonizing. No March Madness, no baseball, no NBA playoffs. I created a putt-putt course in my home.

Week 4: The shelter-in-place order was extended. The mask Mrs. Brad made me works, but I'd like something more comfortable. Off to Amazon!

Week 5: When will the toilet paper shortage end? Ridiculous.

Week 6: My Facebook friend claims COVID-19 is a plot by the deep-state government to control us. How shutting down businesses benefits the government is unclear.

Week 7: Things are stable. I'd make a "flattening the curve" joke, except they've all been said.

Week 8: It doesn't seem so weird to go to the grocery store with a mask. We're ordering to-go food from restaurants. They're talking about opening up again, but we'll see.

Week 9: My Facebook friend calls people who don't see a conspiracy, "sheeple." He cites obscure data that more people will from a recession than COVID-19.

Week 10: Mrs. Brad is now my barber. Unfortunately for her, I can't cut women's hair, so she's on her own. I haven't thought about sports much lately.

Week 11: Demonstrations are sweeping the nation. I stopped wearing gloves while grocery shopping, but boarded-up windows due to looting makes it feels apocalyptic again.

Week 12:  My Facebook friend insists that the political demonstrations prove that COVID-19 is a political scam and cites a report on an obscure website that Dr. Anthony Fauci is a fraud.

Week 13: Sports have been gone so long that I don't really remember what it was like to have them. Will their return be good news?

Week 14: Zoom fatigue continues. Video calls seemed good for a while, but now they just make me weary. My unstable WiFi doesn't help.

Week 15: My Facebook friend says that the fact that the Center for Disease Control's changing approach on masks proves that the government doesn't know what it's doing. He won't wear a mask.

Week 16: Schools may reopen. Or not. With no school-age kids, I feel for both sides: Parents forced to teach and teachers who don't feel safe. There's no easy answer.

Week 17: My Facebook friend cites a study about the low death rate of COVID-19 among younger people and says we should just treat it like the flu. It's not that dangerous.

Week 18: Baseball returns this week! How did I live without baseball?

Week 19: The Miami Marlins had a COVID-19 outbreak, but the NBA returns this week! How did I live without basketball?

Week 20: Will this be over in 2020? Will we get a vaccine? Will sports continue? My Facebook friend says . . .

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.