There's a new island and it could be paradise with the right plan

Are you interested in oceanfront property? Privacy? A cozy spot in the South Pacific?

Allow me to tell you about an island near Tonga, about 5,300 miles from Fairfield. Surrounded by beautiful ocean water, it's 8 acres–although that size is a bit fluid. The island 50 feet above sea level, which is higher than Suisun City or Fairfield, so no worry about flooding. And it's a new property!

Very new. Weeks old, as a matter of fact.

New! Room to grow! Cute fixer-upper! The real estate terms flow for the world's latest island.

The new island emerged after a volcano on the Home Reef seamount erupted Sept. 10. Within a day, an unnamed island (more on that later) emerged and began to grow. Soon it was an acre. Then 8 acres.

The island – technically, it's an atoll, but let's call it an island – isn't unique. Smart people point out that islands have been produced during previous submarine volcanoes in that region, the most recent in 2006. Many of the islands gradually disappear, but not all. Some remain. A nearby island lasted from 1995 until 2020, which of course was the year when everything in the world went bad.

But still.

A new island. Eight acres of waterfront land. South Pacific. Near Tonga (to help out, Tonga is between Hawaii and New Zealand. It's southwest of American Samoa, southeast of Fiji. Tonga is actually 170 islands, so maybe the new island could be added without much hassle. Tonga has has about 100,000 residents).

Think of living there! You could build a temporary shelter (I suspect you'd need to bring your own wood), then build a permanent home (again, you probably need to import wood to the new, middle-of-water island). But you've got a house, but then consider this option: You build a small port and begin promoting your island as "the newest landmass on Earth" and "the new Pacific paradise."

This is where the name comes in. If you want to be isolated and don't like tourists, the name doesn't matter. Name the island after yourself or after your favorite musical group ("Welcome to Van Halen," "Welcome to Rascal Flatts").

But . . .  if you plan to build it as the world's newest land mass and a holiday dream spot, consider the possibilities.

What about Paradise Island? How about Shangri-La? How about Utopia?

People would flock to your island. It's an island in the Pacific!

Another option is to give it a name that sounds like an existing vacation dream spot. You could call it Mowie. Or Taheetee. Or Cancoon.

Granted, there will be some challenges to this plan. Starting with the soil. It's not sandy. It's not even dirty. It's something else, according to an article in The Washington Post.

“It’s more like a large layer of ash, steam and pumice over the ocean,” Rennie Vaiomounga, a geologist at Tonga Geological Services, told The Post. Apparently,  you can't even walk on the island (will you sink in? Fall through? I'm not sure), but it's likely that if and when the island sticks around, it will solidify and you'll be able to walk on it.

Forget all that. This may be the opportunity of a lifetime! A private island in the South Pacific. I'm not sure who owns it, but I suspect you may be able to simply stake a claim if no one is there (I'm not clear on international law, but I've watched old movies), then build paradise for tourists.

One last thought: Stanhope Island sounds good, right? Give me credit for the idea.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

 

 

Mobile phones are so much better than landlines, except . . .

It's been about 15 years since Mrs. Brad and I got rid of our landline telephone due to persistent telemarketers and our realization that no one would call us on it.

We'd been using our cell phones for years when we literally pulled the plug on our home phone.

Like 99% of Americans, we don't miss landlines, but sometimes, when I get particularly wistful, I think back to the days way before mobile phones and realize there is some romance to the old landline days. The old landline days, before persistent telemarketers became a thing.

It may be a misty water-colored memory, but there are some things that we've lost with the switch to 100% mobile phones.

Mysterious callers. I never had caller ID on my landline (for much of my life, caller ID didn't exist). The result was a mystery that is probably inconceivable to Gen Z: The phone would ring and you wouldn't know who it was. Maybe one of your friends? Maybe (in my case) one of your sisters' friends? Maybe your school? In a house with multiple children (four in my case), there was always a rush to answer the phone to see who it was. A mystery!

Knowing people's numbers. How many phone numbers do you know? For me, the answer is zero, because, like you, everyone I call is listed in my contacts. If not, I punch in their number once, then add them to my contacts.  But I bet you can recite your home phone number from when you were a child. You still know it! Think of all the phone numbers you remember from when you had to dial them. When I was a sports editor, there were probably 100 phone numbers (from family members to friends to coaches to random sources) I could dial from memory. Now? There are zero. All that memory space is now taken up by passwords.

Deciding how long to wait before hanging up. This was particularly true before answering machines. You call someone's house and the phone rings. And rings. And rings. Do you hang up after five rings? Eight? Ten? I was taught to hang up after four, which seems impatient. Now it's not an issue. You go to voicemail after the number of rings the person picked.

Dialing challenges. Comedian Louis CK has a bit in which he jokes about how much he used to dislike people who had an 8, 9 or 0 in their phone number because you had to dial them and it took too long. A dial! You had to put your finger in a hole and spin it, then let it return before dialing the next number.

Wrong numbers. You occasionally get the wrong numbers now, but it's almost always because someone changed their number. In the old days, you'd dial the wrong number and someone would tell you, "You have the wrong number." Occasionally you'd dial it again because you thought you may have misdialed and you'd get the same person, who would be irritated that you'd called again. Oh, the golden days of random wrong numbers.

Now we don't have to remember any numbers or dial our phones. We rarely get the wrong numbers. We always know who is calling us.

It's a much better world and we wouldn't go back. But you have to admit: Phone dials were a pretty interesting technology.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

 

It's time for the Toy Hall of Fame to honor legendary Nerf

This is Nerf's year.

There hasn't been an easier slam dunk for the National Toy Hall of Fame since that uncontested dunk I made on my bedroom Nerfoop in eighth grade (That's what it was called, not Nerf Hoop.). There hasn't been an easier choice since I decided to fire the original Nerf ball at my older sister when she walked into the living room so I could make her flinch.

This is Nerf's year.

The National Toy Hall of Fame announced the 12 nominees for this year's class last month, including the collective "Nerf Toys." It's been more than 20 years since the second-greatest honor for toys began (honor No. 1: A key role in a "Toy Story" movie) and Nerf isn't in. Ridiculous.

If you ask me, the original Nerf ball should be in the Hall of Fame, as should Nerfoop, the Nerf football and the various Nerf guns.

This year, the entire Nerf family is up for a spot. Come on.

Think about how Nerf changed the toy game. It was like how recordings changed the music business or how mobile phones changed communication. Thanks to Nerf, you could suddenly throw balls indoors (original advertising slogan: "Throw it indoors; you can't damage lamps or break windows. You can't hurt babies or old people." Their advertising included that you can't hurt old people. Brilliant.).

Thanks to Nerf, you could put a hoop on any door and shoot baskets (in my first apartment, shared with three friends, we had a huge kitchen, so we put Nerfoops on opposite ends and played full-court basketball).

Thanks to Nerf, any 8-year-old could grip a football and throw it to their friends. And except for when it got so wet that the Nerf football turned into a sponge, it was easy to catch.

This year's 12 nominees include Lite-Brite, the magical art tool that allowed you to make your own pictures (or write dirty words) on a screen; Spirograph, the cool shape-making art toy; Bingo, the game beloved by everyone from age 4 to 104; Pound Puppies, the cause of mall fights between 1980s parents at Christmas time; Pinata, which really is more of a food source than a toy; Top, which has amused children for millennia; and Masters of the Universe action figures. There are others, but who cares? Only three will make the Hall

An educated guess is that voters will lean toward younger toys and induct Masters of the Universe. Either Bingo or the Top should be in for longevity. But the dead-certain, it's-not-a-Hall-of-Fame-Without-It toy is Nerf.

That the Toy Hall of Fame has inducted 78 toys since 1998 and left out Nerf is like the Baseball Hall of Fame inducting 78 members and leaving out Lou Gehrig.

Nerf is the Lou Gehrig of toys. Durable, honorable, consistent. OK, a little too much baseball there, but you get the point.

As someone who had countless Nerfoop dunks and free throws, who played with Nerf footballs after neighborhood dogs tore out a piece and who threw the O.G. Nerf ball at all three of my sisters repeatedly, I say it's time. This is the year to put Nerf next to the legends of toys, making it a Hall of Famer alongside Barbie, Jump Rope, Checkers, the Skateboard, Puppet and the other mainstay of my childhood, the Wiffle Ball.

Dear  Toy Hall of Fame voters: It's time for Nerf. Don't make me fire one at you so you flinch like my sisters did.

Repeatedly.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Comparison to goldfish attention span seems like a . . .

It's been several years since Microsoft famously quoted a study that said the attention span of humans had dropped to nine seconds, less than the attention span of a goldfish.

(Side point: I'm not sure how they determined the attention span of a goldfish. And even if they did, what is competing for the attention of a goldfish? They don't even use social media and they don't have Netflix. Back to the column . . .)

That famed data point . . . that our attention span is nine seconds, shorter than a goldfish, has been updated. Unfortunately, it's bad news: Our attention span is now reportedly 8.25 seconds. It's dropping fast.

(Side point: The world record for the 100-meter dash is 9.58 seconds, set by Usain Bolt in 2009. That record has stood for 13 years, the longest period without a new record since it stood at 9.95 seconds from 1968 to 1983. So our attention span is going down faster than the world record in the 100. Back to the column . . .)

The fact that our attention span is shrinking (and doing so quickly) is a reason for concern. Real concern, because this isn't the first drop. In fact, a 2000 study set the period at 12 seconds, meaning it's dropped by nearly one-third in just 22 years.

(Side point: The greatest athletes to wear No. 22 are Emmitt Smith, Clayton Kershaw and Clyde Drexler. That's a surprisingly short list for a common number, right? Giants fans, of course, will point out Will Clark was No. 22.  Alas, he's not as great as Kershaw. Back to the column . . .)

When you hear that our attention span is getting shorter, there's no shortage of things to blame. For instance, the average American looks at their phone 344 times a day.

(Side point: This is presumably the mean number for Americans. Remember mean, mode and median from math? Mean is what we usually call "average," median is the number with an equal number more and less and mode is the number that occurs most frequently. I think those are correct. If not, take the median of my answers. Get it? Back to the column . . .)

Of course, any study of our attention span comes with some caveats. First of all, skeptics point out flaws in the study. Also, scientists point out that "attention span" isn't something that can be measured with a single figure, since we pay attention differently to different things. We may focus clearly and for a long time on an important conversation and not keep focus while viewing YouTube.

(Side point: Think of how much Google and YouTube have changed our culture. Here's some perspective: Google launched as a search engine in 1998. YouTube launched in 2005. Neither has been around 25 years, but nearly 100% of our population knows what they are. Back to the column . . .)

It turns out that the first "study" about what we'll now call "the goldfish myth" was done by a marketing company. The purpose was to encourage short bursts of information. Bulleted lists. Quick videos. They had a reason to emphasize humans having a short attention span: It was a marketing ploy!

(Side point: Remember when categories of food did marketing campaigns? "The other white meat" and "Got milk?" Do any food types market themselves anymore? Does the squash industry promote itself as "the other yellow vegetable?" Back to the column . . .)

So next time you hear that humans have a shorter attention span than goldfish, correct the person who says it. It was a marketing campaign and what could possibly distract a goldfish?

(Side point: Try to stay focused while doing so).

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

 

We're outnumbered by ants and it's not even remotely close

In what will come as no surprise to Solano County residents, there are a lot of ants in the world.

A lot.

An estimated 20 quadrillion. Seriously. That's the estimate of the number of ants by a group of scientists from the University of Hong Kong (which locals presumably call UHK) in a paper on the subject recently released by the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.

Here's how 20 quadrillion looks in digits: 20,000,000,000,000,000. That's 20,000 trillion, or more than the number of Wade brothers who have their columns published in the Daily Republic.

In the study, the scientists looked at nearly 500 studies. They concluded that the total mass of ants on Earth was 12 megatons of dry carbon, which is apparently how scientists measure animals' biomass.

Do you understand dry carbon megatons? Me neither, but here's how that was explained: If all the living ants were plucked from the ground and put on a scale, they would outweigh all the wild birds and mammals. Combined. Remember, blue whales are mammals. So are elephants and the person who sat in the middle seat next to you the last time you flew. Combined, all the mammals and birds on Earth weigh less than all the ants.

For anyone who has endured an invasion of ants – around this region, it seems to most frequently happen during a heat wave or during the rainiest times (or, frankly, anytime) – that number is high but not outrageous. Recently, Mrs. Brad and I endured a two-front war with the ants at Casa de Stanhope, as the bug invaded the kitchen and a bedroom. They just kept coming and coming, like a zombie apocalypse. We tried to kill the explorers, but it didn't matter. More ants explored, ultimately leading their six-legged friends on a march through our house.

I had a curious realization: The ants I'm most likely to personally kill (using my fingers to squash them) are the explorers. They're the Lewis and Clark ants who set out to determine where the rest of their community should go. Once the mass of ants comes, it's overwhelming and I either spray them or we put out poison they allegedly take back to their colony.

But I respect the hustle of the Lewis and Clark ants (by the way, I call them that not because of 19th-century explorers Lewis and Clark, but after Darren Lewis and Will Clark, two mainstays of the late-1980s Giants). Really, my vengeance should be targeted against the zombies who follow them and swarm our garbage can or anything left on a counter.

But back to the ant census. While 20 quadrillion ants or 12 megatons of dry carbon are obviously huge numbers, they don't really mean anything to us. A better way was presented in their study: There are 2.5 million ants for every person on earth.

Two point five million per person. That means you can multiply the number of people in your household by 2.5 million and . . . realize you're fighting a losing battle.

The realization that we're outnumbered (and by outnumbered, I mean it's not even close) is offset by the recognition that ants perform a valuable service. They aerate the ground. They pull seeds underground, where they can sprout. They eat dead wood in forests to keep those areas healthy. They serve as food for countless other animals.

Ants form the backbone of Earth. It's worth remembering.

Because even if it weren't true, we're not winning this war. The ants have us outnumbered.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.