Mrs. Brad drives faster than me, but it's (allegedly) not her fault

I've had issues with speeding.

I received 10 speeding tickets by the time I was in my early 30s, a rate of about one every 18 months. I was once pulled over by a highway patrolman in Arizona who told me he wouldn't have ticketed me had I slowed down during any of the 10 minutes he was following me. My young sons once debated in the backseat whether the Fairfield police officer who pulled me over was the same one "who did last time," while Mrs. Brad fumed and fidgeted in the front seat. I took pride in the fact that until about my eighth speeding ticket, I'd never been ticketed twice in the same jurisdiction.

I've had issues with speeding.

But that's in the past and I rarely (if ever) speed anymore, thanks mostly to cruise control. It helped me reset my view of appropriate speed after I used it to force me to drive the speed limit consistently for a few years, whether around town or on the freeway.

This an ironic column, because Mrs. Brad drives faster than me, likely because of cruise control.

A report by Insurance Institute for Highway Safety found that adaptive cruise control makes drivers 24% more likely to speed. Mrs. Brad's vehicle has adaptive cruise control – a system that uses radar to adjust your speed and keep you a safe difference from the car in front of you. You can set adaptive cruise control on the freeway and it keeps you in the flow of traffic, sounding an alarm if you're approaching anything too fast.

It's kind of magical. And it makes you drive faster.

First the magic. My 16-year-old Prius has standard cruise control, which is handy, but still requires the driver to be 100% engaged (well, maybe 95% engaged, depending on what you're listening to while driving). Mrs. Brad's 9-year-old Prius has the adaptive cruise control, which allows you to relax and steer while it keeps your spacing correct. For example: We once drove from Portland to the Interstate 505 turnoff (which takes you to Vacaville) on Interstate 5. It was nine hours of steering, which was so much easier than braking and accelerating constantly.

However . . .

Over the past decade or so, I realized that Mrs. Brad drives faster than me, which is opposite our personalities: She's much more relaxed and quiet while I'm always in a hurry. Something led to this divergence and I prefer to think it's not that I'm an old man who drives 45 mph on the freeway.

Now I think I know why.

Adaptive cruise control.

To be clear: The Insurance Institute for Highway Safety study found that 77% of drivers without adaptive cruise control were guilty of speeding, while 95% of those with adaptive cruise control were speeders. So it's not like it turns people who drive below the speed limit into Mario Andretti (Hey! A 50-year-old pop culture reference!). It's more like adding sprinkles to ice cream: It exaggerates what's already there. Hello, Mrs. Brad!

I now feel better. After having to explain myriad speeding tickets ("they caught me on the speed trap on the Texas Street corner by Armijo," "an airplane used radar to track me on Highway 101," "the cop asked me why I was trying to illegally pass and I told him I was actually falling asleep"), I feel superior. She drives faster. She speeds more.

That it's not her fault is no more a defense than the fact that I was caught by an airplane on Highway 101 made it not my fault.

Trust me. I went to court and lost that one.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

The crazy, tragic tale of Tiger, the Brady Bunch family dog

 

Dogs get little respect on TV, but this isn't about disrespect. This is about an outrage.

Dogs aren't people, so they're largely taken for granted on the big or small screen. Even Lassie, the biggest canine star in TV history, was played by a series of dogs without any official announcements of changes.

Compare that to the attention each new James Bond receives.

Anyway, I was recently discussing Brady Bunch power rankings with a co-worker, something that I presume happens in offices across our great nation. My rankings don't have Cindy in the top 12. She ranks behind her sisters, brothers, parents, Cousin Oliver, Sam, Alice, Buddy Hinton (who mocked Cindy before being punched by Peter) and even Tiger, the Brady's dog.

What happened next brought the outrage: I Googled "Tiger" to make sure that was indeed the dog's name and found that . . .

Tiger appeared in four episodes, then was hit by a car and died.

What?

WHAT?

It turns out that Tiger was the James Dean of dogs – a brilliant actor struck down at the dawn of a legendary career. But nobody knows it.

At least I didn't, because the people who ran the Brady Bunch empire kept it under wraps. In fact, after the fatality, they replaced Tiger (that was the dog's real name. Tiger played a character named Tiger. Maybe Tiger is the Tony Danza of dogs.) with a lookalike dog that wasn't as good an actor. Tiger No. 2 was fired by the show during the second season and disappeared from the storyline.

Tiger Brady appeared in 10 episodes (four featuring the original Tiger, six with the replacement Tiger), then went away. The family conveniently ignored that they had a dog, in the Mike and Carol  ignored the existence of their first spouses. The Brady family was very good at pretending bad things didn't happen.

But. But . . .

How is the fate of Tiger Brady not one of the biggest scandals in TV history? Tiger died in a car wreck, then the producers found an imitation Tiger, whom they fired.

This ranks with the weird departure of Chuck, Richie's older brother on "Happy Days." (A theory: Chuck was a Soviet spy. The Cunninghams lived in Wisconsin, the home state of red-baiting Sen. Joseph McCarthy. Chuck's parents found out about his work for the USSR and he "disappeared." To give Richie and Joanie a chance in life, they pretended Chuck didn't exist. Prove me wrong!)

But people talk and joke about Chuck Cunningham. No one mentions Tiger Brady.

Tiger was on pace to be one of the greatest canine characters in TV history. His performance in the pilot episode, when he chased Fluffy, the girls' cat (who also disappeared from the series) was worthy of an Emmy. Then Tiger died and his replacement ruined the role. Tragedy? Scandal?

Maybe both, but don't ignore the fact that for the rest of the series, the Brady family kept Tiger's doghouse in the backyard.

Did they think he'd return? Did Mike and Carol tell the kids Tiger "went to a farm" and the kids were waiting for his return? Was the doghouse a message to the Brady kids that they'd never escape the clutches of Mike and Carol and they could get hit by a car, too?

I don't know. All I know is that the James Dean of TV dogs never got proper respect because the producers tried to cover up his death.

Tiger deserved better.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

 

 

 

Eight facts to explain why daylight saving time is glorious

Sunday was one of the best days of the year: Daylight saving time started.

Long-time readers of this column are familiar with my views on this issue: Daylight saving time is better than the badly misnamed standard time.

From Sunday through Nov. 7 – 34 weeks – our clocks will be correct. The sun will rise a little later in the day, but the evening hours will be brighter. Then we'll go back to standard time – which constitutes 35% of the year.

It's absurd. But enough about math.

Allow me to take the opportunity to educate you about daylight saving time. Here are eight important daylight saving time facts:

• The term is "daylight saving time." Not "daylights." Not "savings." And letters are capitalized only at the start of a sentence. It's daylight saving time.
• We don't actually save time when we "spring forward." What happens is we stop wasting daylight, which is what happens from the first Sunday in November through the second Sunday in March. Smart people know that if we insist on continuing to split the year this way, the time from November through early March should be called "daylight wasting time" and the rest should be called "the glorious sunshine-honoring period of joy."
• The Uniform Time Act of 1966 normalized the way we keep time in America, making federal what was previously was a local decision. The 1966 legislation set DST at six months, then it was extended in 1986 and 2005 to its current eight months.
• Inexplicably, states can opt-out of DST, but must observe standard time. Several states – including California – have expressed a desire to go to DST permanently, but the federal government doesn't allow it. Big Brother, indeed.
• Georgia recently passed a bill to opt-out of DST. Related note: Georgia also has a law against keeping a donkey in a bathtub. The people who oppose DST also like unbathed donkeys.
• During the energy crisis of the mid-1970s, the U.S. went to year-round DST from January 1974 through April 1975. During that time, Richard Nixon peacefully left the presidency, "Sweet Home Alabama" was released, Mel Brooks released both "Blazing Saddles" and "Young Frankenstein," Hank Aaron broke Babe Ruth's career home run record and the Oakland A's won their third straight World Series. Also, Leonardo DiCaprio, Amy Adams, Joaquin Phoenix, Olivia Colman, Bradley Cooper,  Derek Jeter and Steve Nash were born. Are you telling me that's a coincidence? That might be the most productive 16-month period in American history.
• According to a 2019 survey, 40% of Americans favored dropping DST, 30% favored permanent DST and 30% like things the way they are. My research shows that the 40% of the population that wants permanent standard time also can't figure out how to change the clock setting on their microwave ovens or in their cars.
• Canada was the first country that allowed cities to adjust to daylight saving time. Canada also is responsible for more good comedians per capita than any country in the world. Coincidence?

The sun set at 7:15 p.m. Sunday, adding a glorious additional hour of sunlight late in the day. While the sunrise moves back an hour, too, it will be rising before 6 a.m. by mid-April.

Join me in celebrating one of the great days of the year. And let the unbathed-donkey-loving, microwave-clock-stumped people grumble and complain.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com

 

 

If only there were a real-life version of the check-engine light

Someone recently stole the catalytic converter from my 2005 Toyota Prius, an act of thievery that caused me to pay more than the Kelley Blue Book value of the car for a new part.

The first sign that I had been victimized was when my check-engine light came on. The second was when the Prius engine sounded like a dragster.

In this case, I didn't really need the check-engine light, but that light is pretty handy. For most of us, at least – even though it causes anxiety.

Sometimes the anxiety is the "I need to make sure my gas cap is on tight" way. Other times it's the "I need to get my car to the shop before it breaks down on Interstate 80 during a rainstorm" way. Other times it confirms that you're not paranoid, your car is running weird.

Anyway, the check-engine light generally helps. And while the I-work-on-my-own-car guys complain about it, that light is helpful to those of us who aren't handy with the wrench (in my case, "not handy" means "I don't know which end to hold.")

Which got me thinking . . . wouldn't it be useful if there was a check-life light? A light that goes on (maybe in our brain, where only we can see it  to remind us to check ourselves. Our attitude or words or decision-making. A check-life light.

For instance, wouldn't it be handy if you were sharing a frank opinion about a co-worker and your check-life light came on to inform you that the person was standing behind you or that you were talking with their best friend?

That would be helpful.

Wouldn't it be handy to have a check-life light that would alert you that the two-day-old fish you were heating in the microwave had gone bad?

That would be helpful.

How about a check-life light that reminded you to stop and consider the repercussions before you answer when your girlfriend or wife (or husband or boyfriend) asks you how the dinner tastes or how the new outfit looks?

That would be helpful.

How about a check-life light to remind you that it's been 20 years since you last bungee-jumped and this one might not turn out so well?

That would be helpful.

Or a check-life light to remind you that the police had been watching for speeders the past few times you drove through a neighborhood.

It would also be handy to have a check-life light to give you a heads up that you're choosing the wrong time to demand a raise . . . or that it's a mistake to accept something less than you deserve. A check-life light to assist in negotiations for a job or a car or a home, letting you know when you overstep your bounds or fail to recognize that the person with whom you're negotiating is willing to keep talking.

That would be helpful.

Here's a really good one: It would be cool to have a check-life light to let me know that I could spend a few hundred dollars for a shield over the catalytic converter on my car, making it difficult for thieves to steal a part that costs thousands to replace.

That would be helpful. A check-life light like that would eliminate one incident that required a check-engine light.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

 

 

When writing a correction was anything but simple

 

(Editor's note: Two of the rarest skills in journalism are writing a good editor's note and write a good correction. In light of that, the Daily Republic is not responsible for the events discussed in this column.)

When I was a young sports editor in the late 1980s, a local baseball fan who was also a pretty good writer made a proposal before he went to baseball spring training: If I got him press credentials, he would write a series of articles for the Daily Republic about his experience. He would write an outsider's view of being a sports writer.

It was a great idea.

(Editor's note: Brad should have consulted newspaper management over liability issues for this decision.)

Things went well. The guy went to Arizona, came back, filed a series of articles about his experiences and we published them over several days. Everything went as planned.

Until about two months later.

That's when the man who covered the Giants for the San Francisco Examiner newspaper called and complained. According to our reporter's article, the reporter had arrived at spring training and was greeted by a kiss on the cheek from Giants manager Roger Craig.

Ummm . . . that didn't happen.

What did?

Well, the reporter had a name that could be either a man or a woman (let's call him "Kelly Jones," which is not his real name). What really happened was that female columnist from the Bay Area showed up and Roger Craig kissed her on the cheek – at least according to our man in Arizona. He grabbed a copy of the next day's newspaper, presumed "Kelly Jones" was a woman and presented it as such.

(Editor's note: That incident should have been eliminated in the editing. Who cares?)

"Kelly Jones" called, demanded a correction and had a point. We did a sloppy job reporting. We said the Giants manager kissed "Kelly Jones" upon arrival at spring training, which implied a closer relationship between the manager and reporter than existed. It was a silly mistake, but I needed to write a correction, which as I mentioned earlier, required some skill.

(Editor's note: Brad could have asked for help, but if you've read this far, you realize that was unlikely.)

The problem was that every way I tried to write it, it sounded wrong. I started with "'Kelly Jones' was misidentified as a woman. He is a man." No.

Then, "Roger Craig didn't kiss 'Kelly Jones' during spring training." That created more questions than answers. The first goal of editor's notes and corrections is to get facts correct. The second goal is to not make things worse.

The more I thought about it, the worse it got. Nothing was simple. I second-guessed myself.

Why did we allow that guy to represent us? Why hadn't I realized that "Kelly Jones" wouldn't get a kiss on the cheek from Roger Craig? Maybe more than anything, how did "Kelly Jones" find out about the article, months later? How angry was "Kelly Jones?" Would this mistake ruin any chance I had of ultimately working for the San Francisco Examiner?

(Editor's note: Of course it did.)

Finally, I figured it out. With some help from the managing editor, we simplified it. "'Kelly Jones' was misidentified in an article about baseball spring training in March."

(Editor's note: If he wanted help, he needed an editor.)

The lessons? Be careful who you trust to represent your organization.

Never guess names.

Ask an editor for help when you need it.

And who wanted to work at the San Francisco Examiner, anyway?

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.