When worlds collide: Is our galactic collision avoidable?

So we may avert disaster.

Whew!

For the past 112 years – give or take, depending on when you became aware of it – we've had a feeling of impending doom. Disaster was coming. It was just a matter of time.

Since 1912 (the same year the Titanic sunk and Fenway Park opened in Boston), astronomers believed Andromeda and our Milky Way galaxy were on a collision course. It would be a terrible crash, like when Scott Cousins ran over Buster Posey in 2011 and ended Posey's second season.

They didn't have a precise timeline for the collision, just that it would happen in the next several billion years. But, like global warming, colonoscopies and Raiders fans being irrationally confident about their team, this had a sense of inevitability.

One day we'd be living our lives and BAM! We'd slam into Andromeda. Or vice-versa.

The anxiety of that could be called the Andromeda Strain, if that wasn't already been the name of a book by Michael Crichton that was made into a movie starring Arthur Hill as Dr. Jeremy Stone.

But enough about that. According to an article on Science.org, we've known about the coming collision since, "(astronomer) Vesto Slipher noted that (Andromeda's) light is blue-shifted – squashed toward shorter wavelengths by the Doppler effect, in the same way that an oncoming ambulance siren whines with a higher pitch."

Great description, presumably. Apparently that signaled a collision with the Milky Way, a possibility that became more terrifying when we (by that, I mean Vesto Slipher and I) discovered that Andromeda is actually a galaxy, not an expansion franchise in the Milky Way. Stated simply, Andromeda is not the astronomy equivalent of the Miami Marlins.

After 1912, things continued to change. A 2008 study suggested that the collision between the galaxies would happen in the next 5 billion years. That collision would create a bigger galaxy, but with some stars (possibly including our sun) spinning off and out into space, like when Google buys a competing tech company and becomes bigger, but cuts loose thousands of employees. Sort of. (I don't understand business or astronomy.) The study suggested Earth and the sun would be absorbed by the new galaxy, the kind of optimism that those Google-purchased employees would have shortly before discovering their key cards no longer work.

I know what you're thinking. 

Well, other than, "That guy sure doesn't know much about business or astronomy." You're wondering how likely the collision is, because you have plans for 6 billion years from now and want to know if it's worth adding them to your calendar.

Well, the new study finds that several factors (the motion and mass of the galaxies, the inclusion of a third galaxy, late money coming in on the Raiders) dropped the odds of a collision from overwhelmingly likely to about 50-50 and pushed the potential date of the collision to 8 billion years from now.

Good news: You can add that event that's 6 million years from now to your calendar, you can rest for another 8 billion years, you can drop the name "Vesto Slipher" into casual conversation and most importantly, you get some bonus news.

Should Andromeda and the Milky Way collide and create a new galaxy, astronomers already have a name: Milkomeda.

So we've got that going for us. And by "us," I mean you, me and Vesto Slipher.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Offsides, QB1, nickel defense: Understanding dumb football terms

I'm old enough to remember when I knew what offsides meant in football: Virtually everything.

I don't mean it was that valuable. Back in the day, "offsides" had varied meanings that covered a variety of circumstances. Back then, football penalties had simple descriptions. Now, the officials sound like scientists when they describe a penalty.

America's most popular sport returns this week. We'll have NFL games every Thursday, Sunday and Monday (with some Fridays, Saturdays and even one Wednesday – Christmas! – thrown in) until late January. And we'll hear officials and broadcasters use terms that would confuse a time traveler from the 1970s or 1980s.

Some examples:

• Offsides. When I was a kid (when Red Grange was running wild through defenses before the launch of the NFL), "offsides" was the call if the offensive or defensive player was ever on the wrong side of the line of scrimmage. Now we have a series of different calls that you'll hear an official make:
• Neutral zone infraction. This is when a defensive player lines up in the area paralell to the ball. In other words, offsides.
• Encroachment. This is when a defensive player lunges past the line of scrimmage before the ball is snapped. In other words, offsides.
• Unabated to the quarterback. This is when a defensive player gets past the offensive line before the ball is snapped and has a clear shot at the quarterback. In other words, offsides.
• False start. This is the opposite of the three previous examples: This is when the offensive player (usually an offensive lineman, although it can be someone else) starts forward before the ball is snapped. In other words, offsides.
• QB1, QB2. This is the starting quarterback and backup quarterback. I suspect this comes from fantasy football, where people look at their roster with their first and second quarterback. It's not clear why QB1 is a better phrase than "starting quarterback" or QB2 is better than "backup quarterback," but it's also not clear why , the best solution to an electronic device not working is still to unplug it, count to 10 and plug it back in. Somethings are not for us to understand.
• Nickel defense, dime defense. This isn't new, but still confusing. A nickel defense is when a defensive team brings in a fifth defensive back (they usually play four). It's the fifth, so it's a nickel, get it? A dime defense, therefore, should be when they bring in 10 defensive backs, right? But that would leave only one other player, so it's not true. A dime defense is when there's two extra defensive backs . . . or two nickels, which makes it a dime. Hmm.
• Mike, Sam, Will. In the old days (before we said QB1 and QB2), we called the three linebackers in a standard defense the middle linebacker (self-explanatory), strong-side linebacker (lines up on the side that the offense has a tight end, which is the offense's "strong side") and weak-side linebacker (the side without a tight end). Now we use words that start with the letters that begin middle, strongside and weakside. You can figure them out. I'm not sure why they're better than "strong," "weakside" and "middle."
• Hook-and-ladder play. OK, this is a personal choice. People call it a "hook-and-ladder" play when a wide receiver runs a button-hook pattern (runs out and quickly turns around, like a button hook), catches the pass and then laterals the ball to another player. If you read that, you should see the problem: It's a hook-and-lateral play, not a hook-and-ladder. There is no ladder on this play, there is a lateral. 

The takeaway: Feel free to correct your friends the next time they say "hook and ladder." It will bring joy to someone who still wants the refs to say "offsides" for when someone is offsides.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Locking up merchandise makes retail problem worse

All I needed was some AA-sized batteries. Simple, right?

Except at my grocery store, those batteries were locked up like crown jewels. Or R. Kelly. To get batteries, I needed to get help. A sign said so – I needed someone from the store to open the battery case as they sat there, taunting me from behind the clear plastic like the most valuable cylinders in history.

I looked around. Even if I found someone, they'd probably take a few minutes. After they opened the case, I'd have to point to what I wanted, like I was getting a diamond ring. Or a donut.

I just wanted some batteries so I decided I'd buy them at another store, where I could grab them off the diplay case and take them to the cash register.

The same thing happened when I needed laundry soap. Again, it was locked up, in case someone wanted to steal a $10 or $15 container of laundry soap. It seemed ridiculous.

Actually, it is ridiculous because it's probably unneccessary.

As reported in a recent news article by Bloomberg News, the "average shrink" – the retail term that describes how much inventory is lost for any reason – has been about 1.5% for years. Average shrink also describes things damaged or lost in transit or returned or mistakes made by checkers. That rate was about 1.5% 10 years ago. It was still about 1.5% a few years ago when there was a flood of stories about the insane amount of shoplifting in the post-pandemic months. Remember that?

It was 1.5% then.

It's 1.5% now.

Which means there wasn't an insane amount of shoplifting in 2021. Instead, there was high-profile shoplifting and scared social media jabber about it. This caused a reaction by many stores, which began locking up things. Like batteries. And laundry soap. And underwear. And deodorant. And toothbrushes.

Unsurprisingly, there were unintended consequences. 

The first is that the things that get locked up see a drop in sales. If we have to ask a clerk to unlock deodorant or batteries or underwear or toothpaste, we often go elsewhere. It's a hassle; we can get the product at another store or order it on Amazon.

The lock-up-everything strategy also damages the store brand. I think less of a store that makes me work harder to get something basic. It also makes me wonder if it's safe. If customers steal laundry soap or deodorant, what kind of monsters are my fellow shoppers? Is that grandmother shuffling behind the shopping cart really an insane woman who will steal a toothbrush?

Yet another unintended consequence is that people interested in stealing large amounts of products simply began stealing them while in transit. Rather than stealing from a store (again, just 1.5% general average shrink), they steal it from a truck hauling it around. One report said such theft was up nearly 50% in the first quarter of 2024 after a 10% increase in the fourth quarter of 2023.

That's the real mass looting. But it comes when criminals steal boxes of underwear off trucks that are parked at a restaurant while the driver gets a burger and fries.

When stores decide that theft is out of control (which may be true in some stores. But not widely true), management often locks up merchandise. Their customers then think the store is dangerous, they choose to buy elsewhere and the odds increase that some organized group will just steal the merchandise off a truck before it gets to the store.

The real average shrink is the frequency with which we'll buy locked-up, low-price items at our stores.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

'Free Bird?' 'American Pie?' They're short compared to this song

If you think "Free Bird" (album version: 9 minutes, 8 seconds) or "Stairway to Heaven" (7:55) or "American Pie" (8:42) are long songs, just wait until you hear about "Organ2/ASLSP."

But first, a confession: The few times I've been to formal music performances (and by "formal," I mean just that: Performances where you have to dress formally; things that involve orchestras or even musicals), I convince myself that I'll sit and enjoy it.

I soon find myself sneaking looks at my watch, determining how much longer until it's over. Telling myself, "OK, two more songs until the intermission, which is always past the halfway point."

I'm not proud of that. I should have enjoyed "Phantom of the Opera" more. I should like it when great musicians play songs that inspire others. And by "others," I mean the people who don't sneak glances at their watch to calculate how long until it's over.

If you're not like me – if you wish the symphony would play longer or that the opera would continue or that Lynard Skynard would have another guitar solo –you should go to Halberstadt, Germany, and listen to a performance of the aforementioned Organ2/ASLSP, written by American composer John Cage.

As you likely don't know, ASLSP stands for "as slowly and softly as possible" (Don't ask me about the extra L. Seems to me it should be either ASASAP or ASSP.).

Want to know what Organ2/ASLSP is like? Think of a slow song. Then think of something much slower. Then multiply that by 10. Then think of something that would be much, much longer than that and you have the performance in Halberstadt of Organ2/ASLSP.

The song began Sept. 5, 2001 (six days before a day that would entirely overshadow the launching of Organ2/ASLSP). The song will end in 2640.

Yeah, the performance of a single song is scheduled to last 639 years. Even Keith Richards wouldn't be able to do that.

There's a fascinating story behind it. 

Cage, who wrote the song in 1985 and died in 1992, never said how long his song should last, but a group of experts realized that an organ can (theoretically) play a note forever. Since Cage designed the song to be played "as slowly and softly as possible," those experts elected to make it last those 639 years (settling on the amount of time from 1361, when the world's first 12-tone Gothic organ was built in Halberstadt until Jan. 1, 2000. Which is a specific time frame but also is a very Halberstadt, Germany-focused time frame).

Once they made that decision, it was a matter of determining how long each note should last. Since the piece starts with silence, the performance began with 17 months of silence (Hello darkness my old friend, indeed!). Since then, a series of notes have been played. The most recent – the 17th note – began Feb. 4 this year and will be played until Aug. 5, 2026.

There has already been a mistake. Remember that 17-month period of silence? It turns out it should have lasted 28 months, so the next note was the equivalent of starting to sing "Papa Was a Rolling Stone" (12:04) only 2:20 in instead of 3:52 in. Outrageous!

When the song finishes, 616 years from now, few will likely remember it. In fact, few will remember the first part, which consists of 65 sections, the last of which ends in 2071. When that happens, there will still be 569 years of the song left, the equivalent of the 39-second mark in Bohemian Rhapsody (5:55) – which is when Freddie Mercury first sings "any way the wind blows . . . "

Ultimately, the mistakes don't really matter. Because, like the free bird in the song by Lynard Skynard, this song is one you cannot change. Even while you check your watch.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Overdue appreciation for women who cared for me when Mom died

Sometimes you only recognize extreme kindness in the rear-view mirror.

My mom died of breast cancer a month before my eighth birthday, which is obviously a watershed moment in my life.

In retrospect.

At the time, I was too busy processing it, adjusting to life without her, recognizing things were going a little crazy in my family and beginning third grade.

And really, is any soon-to-be-8-year-old ready to process such a thing?

My sisters, older than me, "processed it" (and some of the chaos in our family) in their own ways. But at 13 and 10, can you fully process such a thing? No.

My mother's death – and subsequent events in my life, including my dad remarrying (bringing the addition of my stepsister Jana) – affected me in ways that I've only unpacked in adulthood. One clear result was a feeling as a kid that anything can happen at any time, which led to my attraction of the Christian faith (where I know that ultimately, regardless of what's happening, God is in control). There are many other results, too – including many things that I've probably not unpacked yet and may never do.

However, I recently reflected on some unsung heroes in my life that 7- and 8-year-old Brad couldn't recognize: The women who recognized that I'd lost my mother and stepped in, however they could.

My teacher that year undoubtedly had a soft spot for me. Mom died on the Saturday of the first week of school, so my teacher knew she had a damaged little boy in her classroom. I don't remember anything special, but all of my memories of Mrs. Zwiefelhofer (real name!) are good. No other teacher in my lifetime gets a 100% passing grade, but every memory I have of her was that she was nice and gentle and kind.

I recognize now that she probably took care of me in ways that a third-grader doesn't recognize as special.

That was also the year I started Cub Scouts. I was a terrible Scout, partly because my dad wasn't an outdoorsman, partly because it just didn't fit: I couldn't whittle or start a fire or even tie knots (except for a necktie. My dad taught me how to tie a single and double-Windsor knot, skills I retain).

However, the two women who were my pack leaders in third and fourth grades – the mothers of my friends Jeff Stone and Todd Coleman – made me feel comfortable and paid attention to me in a way that probably reflected the fact that they knew my mom had died recently.

I don't know for sure that they were aware of my mom's death, although I suspect the early 1970s communication systems made them aware that one of their son's schoolmates had lost a mother. But I know that Pat Stone and Alice Coleman were kind and helpful and never made me feel bad for the fact that I couldn't do any of the traditional scout things.

Decades later, I look back on the loss of my mom and feel bad for the lost memories (after my dad's remarriage, we never really talked about my mom). Sadly, I have few memories of my mom. It's clear that a childhood incident (like one or more that likely occurred in your life: Maybe a divorce or another major disappointment) had sweeping impact on the rest of my life.

But I also realize that people like Mrs. Zwiefelhofer, Pat Stone, Alice Coleman (and others in my life) were adults who helped a little boy navigate what to them (and to me) probably seemed like an unimaginable tragedy.

Losing my mom was terrible and it unleashed a season of chaos and dysfunction in my family that my sisters and I are still processing. But part of the chaos was mitigated because of some women who had their own children and were invested in others – and somehow made the third-grade version of me feel better.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Being 'known for' something is a mixed, incomplete bag

My friend Nate recently told me about a woman who "flashed" the camera at a major league baseball game. Nate felt bad for her, saying that might be her legacy: A dumb decision in the heat of the moment that led to viral "fame."

I suggested it might be the legacy she wanted, although later in life she'd likely want change it. Right now, she's known for something.

It's a common refrain when a famous person does something scandalous: "That will be in the first sentence of their obituary."

Maybe it's not a common refrain for people who never wrote the occasional obituary for the Daily Republic. Still, when you think of how someone is perceived, it often comes down to one thing that others use to define them.

It might be perception, not reality. Someone can be "known" for being generous when they're just self-promoting. Or for being harsh when they're privately tender. They can be known for being warm when they're cold to those closest to them.

But enough about my family of origin. Ha ha. You don't know whether to laugh or feel pity for me because I might either be making something up or making an inappropriate joke, something I'm somewhat known for doing (just ask the 1991 Fairfield High Scarlett Brigade Band or people offended by my dumb jokes about the Malaysian Airliner that disappeared in 2014. You probably don't remember those things, but I a few people do).

But back to the main point. Events can define people: Consider how the perception of O.J. Simpson changed in 1994. Consider how Donald Trump's public perception changed in 2016. Consider how Bill Cosby's reputation went from loveable everyman to creepy rapist.

But let's make it simpler and more striking: For what are you known?

To many of my co-workers, I'm the former sports writer who was also a pastor for a while. I'm more than that, but those are true.

Are you the woman who is always friendly and willing to help others? Are you the nice neighbor who welcomes people when they move in? Are you the guy who flies off the handle when the pressure increases at work? Are you the boring person who doesn't pick up cues when others don't want to hear a detailed story of your vacation when you were 18?

Most of us object when someone tries to identify us by how we're known by their associates. "Oh, you're Bob's friend who always borrows money," or "Aren't you the woman who cried in the office that one time?" or "That's right, you're the Little League coach." Even if the identity is flattering, we know that we're more than how they just described us. We're not just a worker or a parent or a child or a coach or a neighbor or a bad driver or a sibling of someone.

We're all those things. One thing doesn't define us. If we're a parent, we're also someone's child and probably someone's sibling. If we're an employee or a boss, we're also someone who has hobbies and friends and likes a certain kind of music. If we're quiet, we know that we sometimes are louder or wish someone would ask our opinion.

We know all those things about ourselves. Still, when asked about someone we barely know, we think of them in two-dimensional ways: Oh, he's the guy at work who steals other people's lunches. Or she's the woman at church who remembers my name. Or they're the couple that never mows their lawn.

Then we think others should know us as multi-leveled, multi-tiered people who are many things.

If we only remembered the truth: Most people think of us as two-dimensional figures about 1% of the time. The other 99%? We're nowhere in their thoughts.

So now there's something else I can be known for: I'm the guy who writes rambling columns that end up in a different place than they started. Although the truth is I'm a two-dimensional figure (literally, if you can see my photo with this column) who will leave your thoughts within the next few minutes.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

If you're terrible at navigating, it's not necessarily your fault

Mrs. Brad and I spent a week in a rented condo in Portland a few years ago.

Each day, we'd walk around, exploring the city. Each day, I'd leave the condo and immediately head out, convinced I was going in the correct direction. Each day – every single day – I was wrong.

What I thought was north was south.

What I thought was east was west.

Every. Single. Time.

That is still true. When someone tells me to "head north," I only know which way to go if I'm within sight of the North Pole (Which I presume is a large pole with the word "North" written on it).

If someone says to go west, I can confidently head that way only if I'm on the West Coast and can see the ocean (which may be part of my problem: I grew up in a town where I could always see the Pacific Ocean, so I always knew "west," which oriented me).

I'm directionally challenged. I can navigate by map, but not by nature. And I'm not alone. 

Researchers know that's common. Many of us just can't get directions right.

An article in Knowable Magazine says that scientists sometimes measure navigational ability by asking someone to point toward an out-of-sight location – or, more challenging, to imagine they are someplace else and point in the direction of a third location – and it’s immediately obvious that some people are much, much better at it than others.

It appears to be partly nature, partly nurture (unless you can see the Pacific Ocean from your childhood front yard). The nurture part makes sense. The more you have to naturally navigate, the better you get. People who live in rural areas are better at naturally navigating than city folk, because they don't have constant street signs and major intersections.

The city residents who are best at navigating tend to live in cities with chaotic street designs – as opposed to a perfect grid, where all streets are parallel or perpendicular. Chaotic cities create better navigation skills.

But there's more to it than that.

Part of the cause may be – and the words "may be" carry a lot of weight in this sentence because researchers aren't settled on the "why" of navigation abilities – the ability to make a mental map of a place, using landmarks. If you're one of those natural navigators, you have a mental picture of where you are and where you're going in relation to other places. Those people (Mrs. Brad is one) have a feel for where things are because they picture them in their head, while the rest of us (like me) just guess, or say things aloud to help us remember ("A couple of blocks from home, there should be that big green building on the left side.")

The point? Like a lot of things, nature and nurture combine to make us good or bad at naturally navigating.

You're not great at it because you're better, you're great at it because of how your mind works and your experiences.

And if you're bad at it, it's not because you're dumb, it's because of nature and the fact that the stupid people who designed Portland put the front door of your rented condo and the streets in a way to confuse you and, by the way, why does your wife make fun of you when you head the wrong way?

It would obviously be easier to navigate if one of two things happened:

• We all could make a mental map of where we are, even without seeing a physical map, or
• There were huge towers with "North," "South," "East" and "West" written on them visible from everywhere.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Five ways to enjoy the Olympics as much as during the Cold War

The Olympics aren't what they used to be.

A generation or two ago, the Olympics were our only chance to watch many sports (gymnastics, swimming, volleyball). They were also our only chance to watch great non-American athletes in familiar sports.

Even more, the Olympics were a chance for us to show that the United States was better than any nation on earth because we had faster runners and better boxers. If Americans weren't contenders in a sport, that sport was dumb – except when the rare American did well, in which case it showed how great America was, after all. The Cold War was important. It gave us a passionate rooting interest in international sports!

Don't look for logic. It's not there. But in those days, before we had 1,000 entertainment options, the Olympic Games were a shared cultural event.

The Paris Olympics (which will probably be called the "Games of the 33rd Olympiad" by NBC Sports) run Friday through Aug. 11 (although a few events begin Wednesday). It's unlikely that anything like the Bruce Jenner decathlon win or the Carl Lewis four-gold-medal performance or the U.S. women's soccer team's gold-medal-winning overtime game or the Mary Lou Retton gold medal will happen, because we don't view the sports that way. 

Want to rediscover the passion? Here are five ways to get more enjoyment out of the Paris Olympics.

1. Embrace jingoism.

This is normally a negative (and maybe jingoism is the wrong term. Let's call it "patriotism"), but this is an opportunity to be on the same side as your neighbor who supports a different political candidate. Even better, you can finally root for the same team as that guy at the office who is a fan of the Dodgers, Lakers and Cowboys. Embrace this. Cheer for Americans. Call the team "us," because this time it's appropriate. Chant "U-S-A!" when an American wins an event you don't understand.

2. Root local.

One exception to the jingoistic rule: root local. As detailed by the Daily Republic's Matt Miller, 2017 Armijo High School graduate Luis Grijalva is running the 5,000-meter race for Guatemala. Grijavala enters the Olympics with the sixth-fastest time, which means he's a medal contender after finishing 12th at the last summer Olympics. The trials for the 5,000 are on Peacock Aug. 7 beginning at 2:10 a.m. PT and the finals are on Peacock Aug. 10 at 11 a.m. Both will likely be aired again in NBC's prime time show (and Peacock has an on-demand function). Grijalva is attempting to be the first graduate of a Fairfield high school to medal since Fairfield High grad Keisha Baker won a gold as part of the women's 4x400 relay team in the 2012 Olympics in London.

3. Watch a variety of sports.

If you subscribe to the aforementioned Peacock, you can watch anything from the Olympics. If you don't have Peacock but you have a satellite dish, cable or a streaming system with multiple channels, you can still watch multiple NBC networks. The Olympics will be on NBC, Peacock, USA Network, E, CNBC, Telemundo, Universo and something called Paris Extra. If you told me the Olympics were also on networks called NBC LOL and NBC Xtreme TV, I'd believe you, even though those networks don't exist (yet). If it's too confusing, the nightly prime time show on NBC will have all the main events, although most will be recorded. Take the time this summer to watch table tennis or judo or archery or surfing (and root for the American!). Special tip: Watch breaking (break dancing in the Olympics!) or sports climbing, so you can proclaim you've seen every Olympic gold medalist in the history of that sport. Both are new this year.

4. Complain that the Olympics aren't what they used to be.

If you get more joy out of negativity, ignore the fact that we now get about 1,000 times more live coverage of the events than back in the day. Focus on how much better it was when we cared more because of the Cold War. The good old days, when we could feel good about rooting for the failure of a Soviet runner and about proclaiming that Sugar Ray Leonard's gold medal proved that America is the greatest nation on Earth.

5. Get a cheap laugh.

Here's one that I've been using for decades: Every time someone from Switzerland is shown, their nation in the graphic is shortened to "Sui," providing the chance to yell, "Hey, it's someone from Suisun City!" Mrs. Brad and my sons never tired of that. Trust me. It will enhance your Olympics experience.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

'Rules' for behavior on video calls vary with your age

Older Americans think it's wrong to wear pajamas for a video meeting. Young people don't.

Those are among the results of a survey on what Americans think is acceptable for video meetings, both personal and business. Some opinions are consistent: In the survey by YouGov, more than 70% of all respondents, regardless of age, considered playing music or a TV in the background of a video call to be unacceptable, along with vaping or smoking and having an alcoholic drink. Those are inappropriate for any type of meeting.

On the flip side, more than half of us think it's OK to leave the room during a call, have a pet sit on our lap or eat a snack during such a meeting – apparently never having sat through a Zoom or Teams meeting where a work colleague is snacking after neglecting to mute their microphone while they chew loudly.

Video calls – particularly professional video meetings – are common, which might have shocked the 2000 version of you. The explosion of such meetings for business purposes during the COVID-19 pandemic never slowed. In many work scenarios, video meetings are the default.

If you're on such a call with colleagues who are 30 or older and you're wearing pajamas, realize that statistically, the majority are irritated by you. If it's a bunch of 18- to 29-year-olds, the YouGov survey says that only 40% of them think it's wrong, likely because they're wearing pajamas while they eat avocado toast into an open microphone while somehow blaming you for their student debt.

Of the 22 behaviors included in the survey, the oldest respondents – those age 65 and older – were the most likely to think every type of questionable behavior was unacceptable, including turning off the camera (if they knew how) or wearing a hat (fedora? Now I'm stereotyping people who are barely older than me!).

Respondents who are 18 to 29 were the least critical of weird video-meeting behavior (the majority think it's OK to eat a meal, leave the room and even wear sunglasses on camera). Of course, young people are more forgiving and less bound by tradition. They grew up in a world where suits and ties were rare. They called adults by their first names when they were children. They've never lived in a world without the internet or cell phones.

Also, they've been making video calls far longer than the rest of us, so they've seen their friends in pajamas and eating meals and they've taken a call while wearing sunglasses indoors and realized it didn't ruin things.

How you handle video calls probably says something about you. If you're concerned about how others see you, you're likely to minimize questionable behavior. If you don't care or if you are under 30, you probably are fine with almost anything.

The takeaway? We all have personal rules for what's appropriate for a video call and many of us have workplace rules. But like everything, how we should behave on video is a moving target.

A moving target like the person who wanders around the room in their pajamas while eating on a video group call.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Leftover thoughts on the best meals on Day 2

I'll pass on eating leftover sandwiches. They're almost always bad.

It's not a fear of food poisoning or anything like that. It's more that leftover sandwiches aren't very good, because something about Day 2 bread doesn't work. I guess that "something" is sogginess. Most sandwiches – even great ones, like those from Joe's Buffet in Downtown Fairfield – lose their spunk on the second day because the bread spent 24 hours soaking up the condiments.

Reheat the leftover sandwich? Not good. Eat it cold? Not good. Best plan? Eat your entire sandwich the day you get it. It's a leftover failure.

Sandwiches aren't alone as other foods that don't work as leftovers. Consider with burritos and other wraps.

I guess that tortillas often have the same problem as sandwiches. They're just extremely thin bread, right? (Don't check me. Trust me.) A second-day burrito or taco or wrap doesn't work well.

So what does work? Glad you asked. Because the real purpose of this column is to identify the best leftover foods. These are the seven best foods for Day 2, counting down:

7. Casseroles. I'm not a fan (I grew up with some sort of tuna casserole nearly every week in my 1970s family), but give them this: They're as good on Day 2 as they are Day 1, which gets them on this list. Sometimes being steadily mediocre is enough. If you can consistently hit .260, you can have a long major league baseball career.

6. Turkey. I only know this because of Thanksgiving leftovers, which is the main time I eat turkey. It's good in late November, so it would be presumably good other times, too. 

5. Italian food. This generalization excludes most pasta (see below). It includes lasagna. Ravioli. Arancini (not really. I looked up Italian foods and that was included. I'd never heard the word. What the heck is arancini?). It is possible that the Italians invented leftovers because their food was so good on Day 2. If so, did an Italian also invent the microwave, which makes second-day food so good?

4. Enchiladas. The Mexican version of lasagna, really. Or vice-versa. This is the exception to the rule that tortilla-wrapped food doesn't play well on Day 2 because enchiladas are delicious when reheated.

3. Pasta. I suspect some pasta doesn't hold up well for Day 2, but I can't think of any. A pasta salad may be better on the second day, due to marinating. Spaghetti is at least 90% as good on Day 2 as Day 1 and in some cases, it's better (does it marinate in the spaghetti sauce?). Is macaroni and cheese considered a pasta? If so, it fits, because it's good on the second day, too.

2. Fried chicken. Most meat doesn't play as well on Day 2, partly because of the possibility that microwaving it just further cooks it. But chicken? If turkey is good, chicken is great. Microwave it and it's good. Eat it cold and it's good. If you like fried chicken, you like leftover fried chicken.

1. Pizza. Arguably the greatest food of all time, pizza generally holds up for Day 2. At least pizza parlor pizza does. Frozen pizza and take-and-bake pizzas fall short, but pizza made by a professional pizza maker? It's a 10 out of 10 on Day 1 and a 9.5 out of 10 on Day 2. I could eat pizza for the rest of my life and would be fine if it was always Day 2 pizza.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.