You are significantly cooler than Abe Lincoln

You are cooler than your great grandparents.  You are also cooler than Abraham Lincoln and Ulysses Grant.

Partly because you like better music and you can quote popular movies. Your haircuts are better, your sunglasses look sharper and your social media profile is better. You don't wear a goofy stovepipe hat (I'm talking about your great-grandmother, not Lincoln!).

But the main reason you are cooler is because you are literally cooler.

The normal body temperature for humans has dropped more than 1 degree over the past 150 years.

Seriously.

Pretty soon we'll be as cool as the other side of the pillow. And we'll continue to get cooler, presumably.

Remember when you learned that the normal body temperature is 98.6 degrees? That was an immutable fact, like that water boils at 212 degrees, water freezes at 32 degrees, bad-tasting medicine is good for you and the Dodgers lose in October.

Facts. Especially the facts about the freezing temperature of water and the Dodgers in October.

However, Stanford University researchers recently discovered that the average body temperature for humans is 97.5 degrees.

It's fallen by more than 1 degree!

The 98.6 standard is so 19th century. If someone tells you that's the normal temperature, I hope they're riding in a stagecoach, planting crops at  their homestead and worrying about getting consumption.

The 98.6-degree standard, which seemed set in stone, came from a 1851 study, when German doctor Carl Wunderlich studied the average armpit temperature of 25,000 patients. (That 25,000 Germans were willing to let a doctor stick a foot-long mercury-filled thermometer in their armpit for 20 minutes in 1851 might go a long way toward explaining a World War I and World War II, right?)

Wunderlich published a study on his findings in 1868. Modern researchers reviewed his work, then studied data from subsequent studies.  While they couldn't vouch for all the specifics of the earlier studies, nothing jumped out as an outlier. The studies seemed legitimate.

People in 1851 did have an average temperature of 98.6 degrees.

But over time, humans cooled down. Now the average temperature of  97.5 degrees.

Our temperature is dropping.

Of course, as all doctors will tell you when pressed, there's no "normal" temperature. Just like there's no "normal" childhood, "normal" hair or "normal" obsession about 1970s and 1980s pop culture and sports. (The last may have been something I've said to myself.)

There's no normal, but there's an average.

Here's something else you might not know: Our temperature varies over the course of a day.

A 1992 study found that people's temperature varied, starting lower and hitting a peak in the late afternoon. That, by the way, is remarkably similar to summer days.

But the big news here is that human temperatures have dropped.

Scientists suggest several possible reasons. We now spend more time in climate-controlled settings. We get fewer infectious diseases (at least until this year). We have better clothing. Our bodies can literally chill, compared to those of our 1851 ancestors.

As our society has progressed, our bodies have cooled.

As we continue through the strangest year of our lives, threatened by a worldwide pandemic, we can take comfort in some good news.

We are cooler than our great grandmothers. We are likely cooler than our grandfathers.

There may have been some cool people in the 1800s and early 1900s, but we're cooler than them.

But let me make this much clear: If your normal body temperature is 97.5, mine is probably 97.1.

Because I'm cooler than Abraham Lincoln. And I'm cooler than you.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Intergalactic radio bursts create possible new programming

In what could be the greatest thing since the 11-year-old version of me fell asleep every night listening to baseball, basketball and football games (and tennis matches) from up and down the West Coast, astronomers have detected a pattern in a fast radio burst from space.

I'm not sure what a "fast radio burst" means, but I suspect it means more radio stations!

Radio from space. Today's hits, yesterday's favorite. Hot talk. Traffic and weather on the eights. Giants games.

I don't know all the details, but here's what was announced: Earlier this year, astronomers identified two distinct fast radio burst patterns. First, they found a pattern that repeated in a weird sequence: Broadcasting (my term) once or twice an hour for four days, then silent for 12 days.

Later, they found a burst that "broadcasts" for 90 days, then is silent for 67 days.

A pretty solid broadcasting schedule. Predictable, at least.

Now that we know the schedule, the next question is what is being broadcast. Sure, the scientists identify the information as "radio bursts," rather than programming, but we've all been around long enough to know that "radio bursts" means "radio format."

Classic rock? Sports talk? Some new format?

Growing up in Humboldt County, my AM radio could pick up stations up and down the Pacific coast and across the western United States. I mostly listened to sports, so I could hear dozens of games a night. From stations in Seattle, Portland, the Bay Area, Los Angeles, even Salt Lake City and Denver. I also listened to stations that featured countdowns of the most popular songs, talk radio or even occasional radio dramas.

It was great because it made my world feel so much bigger than Humboldt County.

Of course, the 11-year-old me didn't realize that there were stations in distant galaxies that were also broadcasting. Do they have sports? Music (by Ringo Starr, Jefferson Starship, Bill Haley and the Comets)? Maybe talk radio (callers talking about threats from other galaxies and demonizing the inhabitants)?

Had I known, I would have asked for a more powerful radio for my 12th birthday.

Back to the programming. Scientists have plenty of theories about what's behind the bursts and the patterns.

Some researchers think the bursts could be due to the orbit of a huge star. Or a black hole. Or a dense neutron star. Researchers hope to find more repeating fast radio bursts and see if they have patterns. They also hope to discover if patterns change over time.

My observation: Of course the patterns will change. Radio formats always change. The former top-40 station becomes a classic rock station and then a country station and then a talk radio station. Maybe later it switches to religious programming or becomes a Spanish-language station.

Terrestrial radio stations are always flipping formats. Why wouldn't an intergalactic station?

However, one bit of advice to the operators of the intergalactic radio stations: Beware of fast video bursts.

Radio got knocked down when TV came in the 1950s. When music videos arrived in the 1980s. When the internet arrived in the 1990s.

As any student of history will tell you, video killed the radio star.

The question now is whether video will kill the star radio.

I just hope I can get my cool new receiver before that happens.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Have a problem? Today you can ask Dad

It's Father's Day! The 24-hour period when we recognize the role of the man who had a minority interest in the partnership that created and raised us: Dads.

As is traditional in this space, Father's Day is a time to turn the keys of this column over to a father to provide advice, in the tradition of Dear Annie, Miss Manners and Sister Golden Hair (one of those doesn't fit).

Following are real letters from fictitious readers who pretend to live in the Daily Republic's circulation area, seeking advice from a dad.

Dear Dad: Since the pandemic started, my controlling sister has insisted on Zoom calls every week. I don't mind them, since they give me a chance to see my parents and other members of my extended family – including my sister's children – but she dominates the conversation. When other people talk, she interrupts. She changes the subject to what interests her. And since she's in charge of the call, she determines when it ends. Am I wrong to just want to stop being part of these calls?

Frustrated in Fairfield

Dear FIF: It's not surprising that a stressful time brings up strong emotions in you. It reminds me of when I was a sophomore in high school and decided to play football. The old-school coach loved to see his players suffer, so he made us run sprints over and over and over. Before long, a lot of the bigger guys were throwing up, but the coach kept going, apparently wanting to make everyone throw up.

My best friend, Tony Rogers, realized that people who vomited didn't have to keep running, so we pretended to be sick so we could stop. It worked.

Last time I heard, Tony was in Southern California working for state or something. Man, he was really a character.

Dear Dad: I was a senior in high school this year and the shelter-in-place orders meant that I didn't get to experience any of the normal end-of-school highlights. No prom. No grad night. No graduation ceremony. I asked my parents if they would pay for a weekend away with me and my friends this summer, but they say it's not safe. I reminded them I'm 18 and out of high school and they didn't have to pay for a lot of things they normally would. Am I being unreasonable?

Vacaville Senior

Dear VS: You know what's unreasonable? How someone could have an entire meal, get all the dirty dishes and then leave them on the counter and not put them in the dishwasher. Is it asking too much when I say to put the dishes in the dishwasher? Do you think they'll magically walk into the dishwasher if you put them on the counter? You are not a child anymore. Please pick up after yourself or start buying paper plates for your food – although my guess is you'd leave them out, too!

Dear Dad: My husband and I sent our grandson a very nice gift for his birthday this year, but never heard back from him or his mother. Amazon indicated the gift was delivered, but how can we be sure if my grandson and his parents don't acknowledge it? Should we call and ask? Please don't answer with a dumb "dad joke."

Suisun City Grandma

Dear SCG: Your situation reminds me of this book I was reading. It was the autobiography of the guy who invented "smart" front doors that could sense when someone is approaching and alert the home's residents.

I heard he won the no-bell prize.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Time to rip the mask off American racism

Imagine a world in which the COVID-19 pandemic has been going on for centuries and you don't have a mask. You can't get one.

Your parents couldn't get a mask. Your grandparents couldn't get a mask. Their grandparents couldn't get a mask. As far back as anyone knows, no one in your family could get a mask. It wasn't allowed.

And all the while – also for as long as people remember – those without masks were treated differently. Hostility. They had fewer rights because they don't wear masks.

About 12 to 15 percent of the population don't have masks and can't get masks. You and people like you will never have a mask. 

You don't have the coronavirus. You can't infect anyone. In fact, in this scenario, virtually no one is at risk, but those with masks still fear you. They still consider you different. Lesser.

You can't disguise it: You don't wear a mask. You can't wear a mask and people with masks don't trust you.

Mask-wearing people are in power. During your childhood, you had few, if any, no-mask teachers. Even now, most police officers and judges and jailers and bosses wear masks. Most elected officials wear masks. Wearing masks is the unofficial uniform of power.

When the residents of your town feel danger, they often blame it on those  without masks. When law enforcement members stop those of you without masks, they are more suspicious and aggressive than they are when they stop people wearing masks.

You grew up hearing how people like you – people who didn't and couldn't wear masks – were mistreated. How you were enslaved by the mask-wearers until 150 years ago. How there were laws allowing discrimination against no-mask people until about 50 years ago.

You know the statistics: Those without masks receive less schooling, make less money and go to prison at a far greater rate than those with masks. In fact, nearly 20 percent of non-masked men have been in federal or state prison, while only 3 percent of men wearing masks have suffered the same fate. Masked people say that's because people without masks commit more crimes, but that difference – nearly seven times as many non-masked men spent time in prison – makes that explanation ridiculous.

You are angry. Then you see videos – again and again – of non-masked people being abused by powerful people in masks. It happens over and over.

Decade after decade.

In city after city.

How can those with masks not see how the system is set up against those without masks? Are they willingly blind? Do they secretly (or not secretly) hate people without masks?

In this scenario, would you be content? Would you be OK with mask-wearers telling you how fair the system is, how much better it is than it used to be, how they have friends and even bosses who didn't wear masks? Obviously, there's no discrimination against people without masks!

Of course you wouldn't think that was OK.

If you're black in America, you don't have a mask.

Of course in 2020, we wear masks because of a pandemic that will someday be over. After three month, it feels like it's gone on forever. We demand action to find a cure.

The pandemic of American racism is more than 300 years old and as a white, middle-aged male, I'm one of the mask-wearing people in this illustration.

People like me need to care as much about racism as we do about a virus that will likely be eradicated.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

An updated version of the SAT to get you into college

The Scholastic Aptitude Test is struggling, which seems only fair: The SAT has caused students to struggle for decades.

The standardized test, taken by millions of college-bound students every year, was an early victim of COVID-19. Students could no longer sit in a crowded lunchroom at their high school and pore over the three-hour test.

Lucky for them.

The SAT people tried to adjust, switching to an at-home test. Of course, that brought it's own set of issues – most notably the fact that it required three hours of uninterrupted internet access, which is no guarantee. (Also presumably an issue: The use of a smartphone to check answers.)

Colleges have historically required students to take the SAT or the rival American College Testing (ACT) exam – they are the Giants and Dodgers of college-board tests – for admission. The better you score on the test, the better your chances for admission–assuming you have good grades, your parents know someone in admissions or your family can pay someone to create a fictitious resume to get you in the school.

But now, after years of criticism that the ACT and SAT had cultural biases that made them unreliable, the pandemic finally sidelined the SAT – and the University of California system announced it would phase out the ACT and SAT.

So what to do? Is there an answer? How can we determine whether students are ready for college?

I have the solution. As a college graduate (Electoral College, Class of '86; University of Hard Knocks, Class of '89), I prepared an exam to test potential college students. It's Stanhope Aptitude Test (New SAT), so decrease (or possibly increase) confusion.

The beauty of the New SAT is it takes just a few minutes to complete.

You're on the honor system, so please don't check your phone unless you really need to do so. A perfect score is 2,000 points.

Feel free to take the test, then ask the questions of a 17-year-old.

• Math: There are three cars with a total of 15 passengers. If one car has four more passengers than either of the other two, what was the name of the character who was the manager on "The Partridge Family?"
• Geography: Washington is the westernmost state in the continental United States  and is the home of Mount St. Helens. If Mount St. Helens erupted again, like it did in 1980, would Michael Jordan or LeBron James be the greatest player in NBA history?
• English: Write a sentence of five words or more that describes your favorite type of pizza and then state whether you think thin crust or thick crust is better.
• History: The Declaration of Independence was signed in 1776 and the Constitution was signed in 1789, a 13-year gap. With that in mind, what is your favorite TV streaming service?
• Science: If water freezes at 32 degrees Fahrenheit and turns to a gas at 212 degrees Fahrenheit, can you come up with a single good reason, other than the box office, that they made the third Hunger Games book into two movies? Especially since the book was clearly the worst of the three.

Thank you for taking the New SAT. Be sure to provide a copy of this column with your score as you submit  your college application.

Read Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

What is the greatest kitchen appliance? Cooking up answers

It's one of life's great questions, along with "What is the meaning of life?" "Why is there evil?" "What our our inalienable rights?" and "Who let the dogs out?"

Today's question: What is the most important kitchen appliance?

In other words, if you could keep just one kitchen appliance, which would you pick?

Shaped by 11 weeks of working 10 feet from my kitchen, I'm prepared issue the official power rankings for appliances.

As with all my rankings – greatest generations, greatest modern inventions, greatest punctuation marks, greatest days of the week, greatest minor holidays – I use a strict mathematical formula that includes . . . uh . . . my opinion.

Feel free to disagree. The Constitution guarantees us the right to disagree about the most important kitchen appliances and I suspect the Supreme Court will rule that it applies beyond the kitchen, which may come in handy if this pandemic goes on long enough. I'm working on a power rankings for the closet, but we'll see.

Anyway, I've ranked the top five kitchen appliances. Obviously,  there are more than five appliances in most kitchens. If you're interested, three fell just outside the rankings: Dishwasher (convenient, but there's clear backup), blender (Mrs. Brad uses ours, I've never used it.), trash compactor (listed for my amusement. Do they still exist?).

But let's move to the top five kitchen appliances, in reverse order:

5. Toaster. For straight-up utility, this is a remarkable tool that hasn't been improved much since it took its current form in the early 1900s. The arrival of the "toaster oven" improved utility, but this appliance still operates largely like it did in 1910: Turn it on and bread becomes toast. The offensive lineman of kitchen appliances. Reliable.

4. Coffee maker. This ranks high because the panic that ensues if you think your coffee maker is broken. A few months ago, my coffee machine didn't start. I almost hyperventilated, wondering how I could make coffee, until I realized a breaker had been thrown.

3. Oven/stove. Crucial for virtually all cooking. Lose this appliance and you lose the ability to make many significant meals. Of course, you'd also lose the ability to scar your hand – either on the burner that you forgot was turned on or a hot rack in the oven.

2. Refrigerator. Imagine a time traveler from 100 years ago visiting your kitchen. The thing that would amaze them the most is that we can keep food cold without having to have the ice man (a real job, not legendary NBA star George Gervin) come by every couple of days. Lose the fridge and you lose a lot, but  if it went away, you could have a solution: The ice man cometh (which was a great gag on Broadway in 1946. Trust me.).

1. Microwave. Four decades ago, this was exotic (I remember game shows, where people would compete for the "Amana Radarange,") but now it's essential–both for being able to cook or reheat most of our meals, but also because it's the backup for most other appliances. Did your oven break down? Use the microwave. Coffee maker? Use the microwave. Refrigerator? Well, not quite. But you get the point. If I had to keep just one appliance in my kitchen, it would be my microwave.

The microwave oven is the Michael Jordan of kitchen appliances.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Will post-pandemic sports be a relief or reminder?

I miss sports, terribly, but I’m not convinced their return will be much of a diversion.

Maybe. Maybe not.

We’re 10 weeks into a world without sports (and movie theaters and church gatherings and sit-down restaurant dinners and going to the gym and everything else). This sports vacation is the longest such stretch since spectator sports became a major draw in late-19th century America (and probably the longest stretch since whenever people started watching others fight or race or hunt). Some sports started returning in the past few weeks–mixed-martial arts, NASCAR races, German soccer leagues. All without fans.

This weekend the absence is stronger, because Memorial Day weekend is big weekend for sports: The NBA and NHL playoffs are usually in full swing, the baseball pennant races are shaping up, the Indy 500 is held and we’re two-thirds of the way through horse racing’s triple crown.

None of those are happening. Most of the sports world froze in mid-March and remains on ice (except the NHL, of course!).

There’s some good news: Major league baseball hopes to return around July 4, the NBA is talking about resuming its season in mid-July, the NHL is similarly looking at a summertime resumption and the NFL expects to play this fall.

Other sports – minor-league baseball, most college sports and more – are done for the foreseeable future. They financially rely on fans at events rather than TV contracts. In a world without large gatherings, that’s impossible.


That includes the Pacific Association of Professional Baseball, which includes the Vallejo Admirals. It’s possible, of course, that the league could choose to play and rely on fans maintaining social distancing protocol, but it’s  a huge hurdle until there is a vaccine for the coronavirus.

So major sports could come back soon.

Even looking at the potential return of baseball, basketball football and hockey, the question how it will feel to watch sports contested in empty arenas and stadiums. How will it be to see players wearing masks on the sidelines and sitting in the stands to maintain distance? How will it be to see everything being sanitized over and over. How will it be when an athlete or coach or official tests positive for COVID-19 and the league plays on?

Will sports be a diversion from regular life or a reminder?

The NFL – likely the last to return — will probably fare the best of the major sports, with TV networks using more cameras and additional technology (microphones and cameras on players? New camera ideas?) to bring us close. Baseball will seem strange, played in empty ballparks. Hockey and basketball will be the most affected, due to how roaring crowds affect our enjoyment and excitement.

What will it be like to see an NBA team win a championship in an empty gym, with only the players and coaches celebrating? How will we be affected when we see a champion crowned in baseball or hockey and watch the post-game interviews with everyone wearing masks and gloves, avoiding each other.

Will it be an escape from reality or a harsh reminder of life in 2020?

I love and miss sports and I’ll watch.

But man, it’s going to be weird.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Older generations owe an explanation for nickname choices

The Social Security Administration delayed something that I consider a birthright (pun intended), due to the pandemic: The annual list of the most popular names for babies.

That announcement is usually made around this time of year, giving me a chance to make fun of infants and their parents:  "Maverick is a top-100 name now? And Axel? What happened to normal names . . . like Bradley (which is 247th)?"

Ha ha ha.

Really, it's all in fun. I don't quibble with the fact that Liam and Emma are the most popular names. They are fine names and the names of my generation – Michael, David and John were the most popular names for boys for the decade in which I was born; Lisa, Mary and Susan were the most popular girls' names – are now associated with old people.

Times change.

So what to do? Without the annual list to inspire cheap jokes at the expense of nervous young parents and their infant children, I turn to a related issue: How did we get some of the nicknames for members of the Greatest Generation?

I mean, I understand how Samuel becomes Sam or Sammy. I get how Francis becomes Frank. I even grasp how Dorothy becomes Dot. Derivative nicknames make sense. My name is Bradley, but everyone calls me Brad.

But . . .

How did Richard get shortened to Dick? Shortening Richard to Rick is a little bit of a stretch – there's no "k" in Richard. Would advocates of the Richard-Rick scheme also approve of calling someone named Blanche, "Blank?" Not likely. Shortening Richard to Dick is even more baffling. Different first and last letters!

Dick isn't alone. How did we get "Bill" from William? Liam, the most popular boys' name of 2018, is short for William (something I realized about six months ago, when I Googled "where did we get the name Liam?"). So is Will. But Bill? There is no B in William. How does the nickname start with a B? That's like me going by Wrad. ("My name is Bradley, but you can call me Wrad. All my friends do.")

It's nonsense.

You know what else is crazy? That Peggy is a nickname for Margaret. How did that happen? Did someone sit down and say, "Hmm, Margaret is a long name and has too many syllables. How about we shorten it? Maybe to something that sounds nothing like it. How about Joan? No, maybe Peggy? That's it! Brilliant!"

Dick. Bill. Peggy. Everyone in my parents' generation had a nickname that made no sense. James became Jim. Charles was Chuck. Edward was Ted.

And then, the most mystifying: Jack.

Jack, of course, is the nickname for John. There are plenty of people named Jack because that's on their birth certificate (from 2011-2018, John was the 27th most popular name, Jack was 41st. In the 1930s, John was third, Jack was 18th).

There's a long history of people  named John. There's a long history of people named Jack. And inexplicably, there's a long history of people named John who are called Jack.

Jack shares one letter with John. Jack has the same number of letters as John. Jack has the same number of syllables as John.

Yet we have Jack Kennedy. Jack Nicholson. Jack Lemmon. All guys actually named John.

We can all laugh at the names that young parents give their babies and chuckle about how things were different in our day. However, my generation and those who came before me have to answer for the shortened nicknames.

How did we get Dick? Peggy? Bill?

It's like we didn't know Jack.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Germophobes take a victory lap with COVID-19 pandemic

The worst part of the COVID-19 pandemic is the enormous loss of life.

The second-worst part is all the people who were made sick and the third-worst is the incalculable damage it has done to our economy.

The fourth-worst? Germophobes will now take a victory lap.

By that I don't mean the real germophobes – people who have a diagnosed phobia about germs, often related to obsessive-compulsive disorder. I mean others, who have fully embraced the idea that the world is a filthy place and that anyone who disagrees with them is wrong.

For years, they've refused to touch the doors in restrooms. For years, they've lamented how filthy hotel rooms or restaurants or offices are, while the rest of us don't notice.

Over the past few decades, they've included their children in their philosophy, constantly wiping the little ones' hands, anguishing when their child goes to the park or to a neighbor's house or eats food that dropped on the kitchen floor. All the while, they also criticized the rest of us. Sometimes outwardly, always inwardly. (Editor's note: Brad may be exhibiting paranoia about germophobes.)

For germophobes, COVID-19 is like winning the Super Bowl. Now everyone is constantly washing their hands, fretting about whether their groceries have a virus on them, keeping their children at home. Those restaurants and hotels are closed, because they finally have to admit they can't keep things germ-free. Finally everyone agrees: The world is a dangerous, filthy place and the only approach is to fear the germs and constantly clean things.

The germophobes won.

For now.

In 2020, the world looks to the rest of us like it always has to them: dangerous, unpredictable. There are invisible enemies that are out to get us. We need to go wash our hands – in fact, let's make sure we wash our hands in hot water for 20 seconds. We need to wear masks in public. We will never shake hands or hug someone – they might have bugs on them!

I've spent the better part of my adulthood mocking those who fear germs (again, not people with a real condition, but those who rush to embrace the fear). I've talked about drinking out of toilet tanks and of rubbing my hands all over restaurant tables.

Now I'm wrong. Those things aren't funny. The COVID-19 pandemic changed everything. Germophobes are on top of the world. They're right.

Except . . . this doesn't last forever.

Let me remind the germophobes that at one time, we all agreed that blood-letting was the cure for almost everything.

We agreed that smoking menthol cigarettes was healthy.

We agreed that Bill Cosby was America's father.

We agreed that the Internet would make us all smarter and more informed.

When COVID-19 ends –whether it's by herd immunity or a vaccination or an act of God – the world will be different. People will be less likely to shake hands. People will wash their hands more. People will be nervous about gathering in large groups.

But once we're reassured we're safe, here's what I will do: I will touch bathroom doors. I will wash my hands only when needed. I will not fear germs.

COVID-19 can change the world, but it won't make me into a germophobe.

Maybe it should, but this is where I draw the line.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com. But wash your hands first.

The strange story of Lil' Moon, our tiny second natural satellite

Here's how crazy 2020 is: It's May and the fact that we had a small moon circle the Earth and then depart isn't the wackiest story of the year.

You read that correctly: A second moon orbited the Earth, then left. Now its just a footnote, because of a worldwide pandemic.

A second moon? Yes.

Astronomers announced the presence of a miniature moon (which we'll call Lil' Moon) in February, informing us that Lil' Moon (also called 2020 CD3) had circled the Earth for at least a year before they discovered it.

Lil' Moon was there for a long time before anyone noticed, like that extra kid in the family down the street.

It was a miniature moon by any standard: Lil' Moon was described as "about the size of a compact car," which is a significant contrast to the regular moon, which is the size of a stretch limousine or a minivan (I didn't check that, but I think  I'm right).

Earth had a new next-door neighbor, a miniature version of what was historically described as our only natural satellite. We suddenly had two natural satellites.

It should have been cause for celebration. The number of moons orbiting us was up 100 percent!

Then came the bad news.

In early March, the moon left us to instead circle around the sun, leaving Earth to feel like Richard Burton when Liz Taylor left him for John Warner (a 45-year-old pop-culture reference!).

Scientists say Lil' Moon was was drawn by the superior gravity of the sun (to be fair, the sun has more gravity, but the weather there is way too hot).

We barely knew Lil' Moon. It made a living circling the Earth for more than a year, but as soon as we discovered it, it left. Kind of like Jim Croce's music career (another 45-year-old pop-culture reference!).

An article in The Atlantic explains the whole phenomenon, including why Lil' Moon didn't stick around: While our regular moon has a predictable orbit, Lil' Moon was unstable, conducting a rotation like a little kid learning how to ride a bike – veering from one side to the other and wobbling. It finally wandered off to orbit the sun.

This isn't the first time this happened. Nearly 20 years ago, a discarded rocket booster from Apollo 12 (which was launched more than 30 years earlier) looped the earth several times. Presumably there have been other rocks that have done likewise, since the Earth has a good gravitational pull and there are many, many rocks floating in space.

But Lil' Moon was different, partly because we don't know what it is.

Is it a chunk that broke away from our moon?

Is it a random space rock?

Is it cheese?

Here's the one thing we know: It left us and headed for the sun.

Bill Gray, an astronomy-software developer who was the key source for article in The Atlantic, said Lil' Moon left our orbit around March 7. Within 10 days, most of the U.S. was on lockdown and we had forgotten our former satellite – if we ever knew it was there.

Lil' Moon is gone, but not forgotten – at least by me.  Even if it's now circling the sun, I'd like to take the opportunity to say something I should have said nearly two months ago.

Goodnight, Lil' Moon.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.