Scientists take big leap in inevitable transition to monkeys ruling the world

I've watched the "Planet of the Apes" movies a lot lately – and not so much for entertainment.

I'm preparing for the future.

I realized the need to review those movies a few weeks ago when I read an article that described how Japanese and German researchers injected a human gene into the dark matter of monkey fetuses. Fine, right? Good for research, right?

Well, the gene they injected is the gene that directs stem cells in the human brain. The result was . . .

(Take a deep breath.)

THE MONKEY BRAINS BECAME MORE HUMAN-LIKE.

Monkey fetus brains doubled in size. The growth was in the areas that control cognition and language–growth, according to a news release from last summer, that happened by the 100th day of gestation.

Scientists fooled around with genes . . . and created super-monkeys who could speak and read!

According to the report, scientists aborted the monkey fetuses due to "unforeseeable consequences."

That's where I stop believing them, because I've watched enough movies to know while research companies may say they have things under control, but there is always a rogue scientist who is making really bad decisions.

Also, I don't think the consequences are "unforeseeable."

The inevitable consequences of this are fourfold:

• Monkeys will gradually realize they are equal to humans.
• Monkeys will gradually realize they are more powerful than humans.
• Monkeys will take over.
• Charlton Heston will wind up in a cage.

We all know it. We all realize that monkeys – all non-human primates – are better suited to be at the top of the food chain. We all realize that given the chance, they will enslave us.

Why would scientists even consider helping them get there? What possible benefit is there to experiments to see whether monkeys can make the evolutionary leap to join us as the world's most powerful species?

Listen, I like monkeys. I've long shared my dream scenario of having a monkey "butler" who wears a tuxedo, greets me with a drink on a platter and sleeps in a hammock in my living room.

As a child, I'd stand in line at my hometown zoo to watch chimpanzees Bill and Ziggy poop in their hands and throw it at us.

I enjoyed the work of Davy Jones, Peter Tork, Mike Nesmith and Micky Dolenz.

But I know that given the chance, monkeys will take over, enslave us and we'll wind up trying to keep our history alive by sharing stories during quiet chats at night in the cages.

This may seem like science fiction, but let me remind you: We now have Dick Tracy-like mobile phones where you can see the person with whom you're talking, we have electric cars, we sent a man to the moon and Betty White has been given some sort of elixir that allows her to live forever.

What seems insane to a previous generation often becomes normal to the next.

So prepare for what's coming.

Watch the "Planet of the Apes" movies with me and have a plan.

And since reading is among the skills that the monkeys kept by the presumed rogue scientists will develop, let me add this (humans can stop reading now): I'm willing to help you monkeys! I can be a useful spy. I know where bananas are kept at the store. Let me know if you need me.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Brand names discussion turns into a Dumpster fire

I told Mrs. Brad I had an idea that stuck to me like Velcro: That she and I should stop using brand names to describe generic products.

We should respect the brands.

"You mean a 'hook and loop fastener?' she asked. "Velcro is a brand name."

"You got me!" I shouted with enthusiasm. "I'll write that down on a Post-In note with a Sharpie so I won't forget."

"You mean 'sticky note' and 'permanent marker,' right?" she asked.

I laughed. She was right. I had a problem saying brand names. "I wish I could use some Wite-Out on things I say," I mumbled.

"It's 'correction fluid,'" she said. "Wite-Out is a brand name,  you nitwit."

Ain't love grand? We have pet names for each other: I call her "Sweetheart," she calls me "nitwit." She doesn't even capitalize nitwit!

However, this was getting ugly. "Don't get mad at me," I said. "I know you can stew on these things like a Crock-Pot!"

"It's a 'slow cooker,'" she said. "Crock-Pot is a brand name."

I laughed again because that's what I do when I don't know what to say.

"Can  you give me a break?" I asked. "I didn't come here for verbal ping-pong."

Mrs. Brad shook her head in frustration. "You mean 'table tennis?'"

That went too far. Mrs. Brad and I rarely argue. It was almost like I was making up the entire argument inside my head. When we started dating decades ago and I was working at a Laundromat, we never argued.

"It's a coin-operated laundry," she said, lending credibility to the idea that despite the fact it was all inside my head, she could read my mind. Is this something that happens when you're married for 35 years? I needed to Google it.

"Google is a specific search engine," she told me, still apparently reading my thoughts.

"You're giving me a headache," I said, this time aloud. "I need to take aspirin."

"Brand name, nitwit," she said. "It's acetylsalicylic acid. Bayer calls their acetylsalicylic acid pill 'aspirin.'"

This had gone off the rails. I came into the house excited to propose a new rule for us and now she was giving me a verbal Powerpoint presentation on what I didn't know.

"It's a 'slide presentation program,'" she said, apparently reading my thoughts again. "Powerpoint is Microsoft's version. There are others."

I'd had enough from this know-it-all.

"Listen, this whole thing was my idea. I know that Sanka is a brand of decaffeinated coffee, for instance," I said.

"Sanka?" she asked. "Are you a time traveler from 1975? Really? Your example is Sanka?"

"This whole conversation is making me nervous," I told her. "It's turning my legs to Jell-o."

"It's 'gelatin dessert,'" she shouted. "Everybody knows that. Kleenex is a brand name for facial tissue. Frisbee is a brand name for a flying disk. Get it right!"

This was the angriest I'd seen her since that time that a guy on "The Bachelor" was really mean. "Woah, back off!" I said. "You've really drunk the brand-name Kool-Aid, haven't you?"

"Kool-Aid is a brand name, Brad," she said. "It's a flavored drink mix. And Band-Aid is an adhesive bandage. Any other questions?"

She was angry. I didn't want to make things worse.

"Sorry I angered you so much," I said, backing away. "I guess this is turned into a real Dumpster fire, didn't it?"

"Large garbage tote."

I walked out, thinking it would be nice if we had a Jacuzzi where we could both relax.

Don't say it!

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

I haven't tried Tab in years, by the teen version of me is mourning

You know that feeling you get when you hear about an aging musician or actor dying? You haven't thought about them for years, but it makes you sad to know that they're gone? That you associate them with your youth?

That's how I felt when the Coca-Cola Co. announced last month that it was discontinuing Tab.

It was kind of like when Charlie Daniels and Lyle Waggoner died this year. My first reaction was, "He was still alive?" My second reaction was, "Bummer."

When I heard Tab was discontinued, my first reaction was "It was still being made?" My second reaction was, "Bummer."

Tab and I have a unique relationship. As a kid I didn't drink much soda (I was too dumb to realize that drinking it fast would make bubbles go up into my nose somehow. I repeatedly made that mistake and swore off soda).

At age 14, I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. That was around the same time I learned how to correctly drink soda (I was slow).

When I was initially diagnosed, I was sick, so I spent a week in the hospital. That's when I learned how to give myself shots as the medical experts figured out how much insulin I needed. It was tough: Wild swings in my blood sugar, bad headaches, frequent urination and the requisite middle-of-the-night wakeups to test everything.

The only two highlights were my friend Dana visiting me to watch the baseball All-Star Game and my dad taking me out to play nine holes of golf. The only things I could drink were water and what was then called Sugar Free 7-Up (which later became Diet 7-Up), both out of Styrofoam cups.

I've never embraced Diet 7-Up because it reminds me of bad times.

At 14, there were, as far as I knew, three diet sodas: Sugar Free 7-Up, Fresca and Tab. (Research indicates Diet Rite also existed, but I was blissfully ignorant of that.)

Since I resented Diet 7-Up, my choices were Fresca and Tab and there was no comparison: Citrus-flavored Fresca was OK, but Tab was a cola. It was Diet Coke before Diet Coke existed. For a teenage diabetic, Tab was the only soda worth drinking.

It was my only cool soda.

I drank a fair amount, then other diet sodas emerged (or I became aware of them).

Diet Coke and Diet Pepsi became things.

Knockoff brands (Shasta, Cragmont, etc.) had diet sodas.

Ultimately, I was OK with most diet drinks. Now I drink whatever brand is available (I may be the only living person without an opinion in the Coke vs. Pepsi debate).

I haven't had a Tab for years. I presumed it had been discontinued and replaced by the multiple iterations of Diet Coke. I hadn't thought of Tab for years.

When I saw that Tab was being discontinued, I remembered that Tab existed, then I was sad that it's leaving, despite the fact that I've paid zero dollars to purchase Tab in the past 35 years.

I don't drink Tab.

I wouldn't drink Tab in the coming years if it was still around.

But inside me is a 14-year-old, newly diagnosed diabetic who thinks Tab is pretty special.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

 

Worst days of the year, LA sports titles, squeeze mayonnaise and more

Emptying out my virtual columnist's notebook with thoughts, questions, answers and dumb jokes – including naming the saddest day of the year: The first Sunday in November.

That was a week ago, when we returned to standard time.

I've written plenty about the daylight saving time vs. standard time debate and my stance is clear (daylight saving time should be year-round). However, this is more about what the return to standard time signifies than the merits of changing our clocks twice a year.

The end of daylight saving time is really the official beginning of winter. Days are getting shorter and that change makes it more dramatic. Sure, the holidays are coming, but they're inexorably linked with short days and cold, wet weather. Warm-weather activities – hanging around outside, watching baseball, enjoying the sun – are over. The start of standard time is the saddest day of the year.

Here are the other days in my top-five list of saddest days:

5. Black Friday. Many people love the official kickoff of Christmas shopping season, but even more people dread it. If you get that day off from work, it often feels wasted, since it comes after Thanksgiving and really isn't good for doing fun things.

4. Valentine's Day. I don't know what is worse: Seeing people share mushy thoughts on social media or seeing others talk about how much they hate it. If you love Valentine's Day, you're under attack. If you hate Valentine's Day, you're under attack. It's a bad day.

3. The second day of school (pre-pandemic). For kids, the first day of school is exciting. The second day is when it sets in: This is going to be a long year.

2. Dec. 26. The day after Christmas kicks off several weeks of winter with only a smattering of holidays included.

1. The start of standard time. See above.

• • •

Bad news for Bay Areas sports fans: The Los Angeles Lakers and Los Angeles Dodgers won championships in the past month.

Good news for Bay Area sports fans: We'll forever be able to dismiss those championships as tainted by being played in seasons changed by the pandemic.

I guess everyone wins.

• • •

Putting mayonnaise in squeeze bottles – like ketchup companies did a generation earlier – is one of the greatest technological advances of the past decade. Name something better.

• • •

I don't trust book recommendations from people who read only on mobile devices, because I secretly think they don't read books.

But if you say you read books on mobile devices and have recommended a book to me, I don't mean you, of course.

• • •

This might make me appear old, but every time I see those Burger King commercials where they rave about getting two burgers for $5, I think that sounds about right for a fast-food burger: $2.50 per burger.

Then again, I still have a Hotmail email address, so I am old.

• • •

I think I speak for the majority when I say I'm exhausted from waiting for election results.

Finally, Thursday, we knew: Baby Nancy, sidewalk chalk and Jenga were inducted into the Toy Hall of Fame in Rochester, N.Y.

Like you, I spent most of the morning hitting refresh on my browser, waiting to see if we finally had a winner.

I can't imagine there is any recent election-related as dramatic as that.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

When I embarrassed myself at an election editorial board meeting

The worst election experience of my life occurred in a conference room with several candidates for the Fairfield-Suisun school board.

As we prepare for Election Day 2020, let me take you back in time. To 2011 or 2012.

I had recently returned to the Daily Republic as news editor after a three-year hiatus. Most of my previous tenure was as sports editor, so I was concerned that people aware of my history wouldn't take me seriously when it came to covering and editing hard news. Things like City Council articles. Investigative pieces. Business articles.

I never received real criticism of me for that – it was insecurity, I guess – but I was aware that it could happen.

When election time came, I was partly responsible for coordinating our coverage, which was fine. I was also part of the four-member editorial board that interviewed candidates and made the Daily Republic's endorsements. The editorial board included me, Glen Faison (the managing editor), the publisher and assistant publisher. We would interview candidates as a group, meet and settle on our endorsements.

I felt a little nervous going into the interviews, but I also knew that my position in life helped. I had lived in Suisun City for 25 years. My kids were in local schools. I worked in town. I knew a lot of people. Heck, I knew some of the candidates, at least casually.

The school board race had several candidates: I think there were eight people running for four spots. We all gathered in the Daily Republic conference room, crowded around the big table with a few candidates sitting behind others.

The publisher took the lead in the meeting. He was no-nonsense, asking very direct questions and keeping things moving. Some of the candidates were articulate and answered clearly. Some seemed overwhelmed by the situation. Some had no idea what he was asking.

I waited, with a couple of questions to ask that would show I belonged. I listened and took notes.

Suddenly, there was a noise. A phone ring tone.

"Oh no, someone brought in their phone and didn't turn it off," I thought, shaking my head. "How embarrassing. And what a time for it to happen."

Everyone else noticed, too.

No one moved.

The ringtone was a song: The theme from "Sanford and Son."

"Wow," I thought. "The person who didn't turn off their phone has the same ringtone as me. Weird."

The meeting stopped. Still, no one moved. It was uncomfortable. The song played on. Wasn't the dummy who owned the phone going to turn it off?

I realized people were looking at . . . me.

My phone was vibrating in my pocket as the "Sanford and Son" theme song continued.

Oh no!

What the heck? I always left my phone at my desk! No one ever called me! How did this happen?

Slowly, cheeks burning, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the phone. The song got louder since it was no longer muffled. Everyone watched as I turned it off, then returned it to my pocket.

"Sorry," I muttered.

I don't remember the rest of the meeting. I don't remember who we endorsed. I don't remember anyone acknowledging my misstep, although I'm sure all of my bosses wanted to do so.

I've voted in 11 presidential elections and at least twice that many local elections. I remember very few voting experiences.

But when the "Sanford and Son" theme played when I was pretending to be a serious journalist? That's burned in my memory.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.