Discover of more moons makes Saturn the Rickey Henderson of planets

Underpromise and overdeliver.

As always, Saturn is living up to its motto. And by "Saturn," I mean the planet, not the former car company from which I purchased a 1994 vehicle that I drove until it went to the junkyard. That included an incident where I thought bungee cords would hold down the hood after the latch was broken, leading to a wild few moments on Interstate 80 between Fairfield and Vacaville when the hood popped open, shattered my windshield and blocked my view at 60 mph.

But enough about that (also: That's a future column topic). This is about the planet.

A team of astronomers at Mauna Kea in Hawaii recently discovered 128 additional moons for Saturn, extending its hold on the record for most moons in the solar system. One hundred twenty-eight. That's not a small increase, like finding out that what we thought was one moon was actually two, or that four moons were in the bathroom when the moon picture was taken.

This is a huge increase. Saturn now has 274 moons.

Of course, as all Saturn fans are aware, Saturn was previously credited with 146 moons (official motto of the Saturn Fan Club: "If you're not a fan of Saturn, you've obviously got your head up Uranus." It's a motto that's hilarious if you're a 13-year-old boy. Or any male, I guess). 

Saturn surpassed Jupiter's 95 moons long ago (really long ago, I guess. Having undiscovered moons means they were there, we just didn't know about them. Kind of like North America to the 14th-century Europeans or Peter Frampton to my friends before the "Frampton Comes Alive" album). 

This discovery makes Saturn the undisputed king of moons in our solar system. Saturn has more moons than all the other planets combined and if my math is correct, the fact that Saturn has 274 moons means it has (let me get my calculator and punch in some numbers . . . OK, hold on . . .) 274 times as many moons as Earth.

Saturn has more moons than the Unification Church (hey! Another 1970s joke!).

To be fair to other planets, some of Saturn's moons are rather unimpressive. They are blurry chunks of rocks, seen only in photos. They're likely the result of comets colliding with existing moons, breaking them into smaller bits, like how the Beatles breaking up meant four solo careers (but in this case, none of the moons are John Lennon or Paul McCartney. However, Saturn does have ring(o)s, get it?).

Anyway, there remains debate about this subject because there's no agreed-upon definition of when a rock becomes a moon, just like there's some dispute about what constitutes a planet (Pluto, of course, lost planethood when it was declared a "dwarf planet," which seems like a slur. "Little planet" seems more appropriate, but I can't make that point to experts because I've been banned from astronomy conferences due to my steady stream of "Uranus" jokes).

Scientists think there may be more Saturn moons to be discovered, so it's highly likely that the planet will remain the king of moons in our solar system. Jupiter remains a distant second, like Lou Brock (938) to Rickey Henderson (1,406) in baseball's list of stolen base leaders.

Saturn is way above Jupiter in moons, which is why we in the Saturn Fan Club always say, "If you really love Jupiter, you couldn't be stupider." And then someone mentions something about Uranus and we all laugh.

Astronomy can be fun.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Why superhero movies don't seem interesting to me

It happens every couple of months.

Someone at my office or at church or online will be excited. Perhaps I'll see a news item about it. Or will overhear someone else talking about it in the grocery store.

"I can't wait! The new Green Salamander movie is coming out next month!"

Or, "Finally, they're making a 'Fishman' movie. I hope it's true to the real story."

People love superhero movies from Marvel or DC. (I think. Other superhero comic companies may exist, and Marvel and DC may be the names of insurance companies.)

People love superheroes. They love the comic books and they especially love the movies. Superhero movies (by this, I include fantasy movies that seem superheroish to me) dominate the box office every summer. Black Panther. Spider-Man (why the hyphen?). Deadpool. Wolverine. Batman. Dr. Strange. (Superhero? Seems superheroish to me).

Here's where I'm an outlier. I don't love superheroes, I don't care about them, I've never read superhero comic books and I haven't seen a superhero movie since the 1978 Superman with Christopher Reeve (which I didn't like and contributed to my not returning to the genre).

This makes me strange, the same way not liking Star Wars does. (I don't hate Star Wars, I just don't care about it. I think of Star Wars in the same way I think of the Orlando Magic or raisins or AC-DC. I don't have strong feelings one way or the other.)

But superheroes. People love superheroes and I remain slightly baffled.

Perhaps it comes from my childhood, which didn't include superheroes. Oh, I read comic books. But the comic books I read were Archie or Richie Rich or Sad Sack or Donald Duck.

Superheroes seemed like something little boys should like, although it's not true. There's an entire genre of literature devoted to such things: The graphic novel (confession: The first several times I heard the term "graphic novel," I presumed it applied to novels that were explicitly sexual in nature. You know, graphic).

Adults buy and read graphic novels. They like the superheroes.

The same thing is true with manga, the Japanese graphic novel genre (another confession: I presumed manga was a fruit since I never heard anyone say manga and mango in the same sentence).

There are plenty of reasons people like superhero movies. There's long-form storytelling (people follow characters through development). There's a sense of justice or injustice. There's the opportunity for extensive backstories on secondary characters.

There's nothing wrong with superheroes. In fact, I kind of like the fact that people get so excited about the new movie about the Grape Bucket or Fat Cat (not real characters. I think.). But it's a culture in which I'm an outsider.

In fact, when the first Black Panther movie came out, I expected it to be about Huey Newton and Bobby Seale and the late 1960s political movement. Nope.

So keep watching the superhero movies (and manga and Star Wars). Just realize that some of us (I presume I'm not alone) don't know the Green Salamander or Grape Bucket. We're waiting for the next (first?) movie about Jughead, Archie's goofball friend.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Marching into the bronze medal spot among month rankings

The old proverb says March comes "in like a lion, out like a lamb," which suggests it's an interesting month. It is. There's a lot happening in March. There's wild weather, significant sports events and one of our last remaining ethnic-focused holidays.

Yet March ranks third out of the months – in quality, as well as where it falls on our calendar.

My mildly scientific, extremely subjective ranking of our 12 months lists the third month in the bronze medal position among its cohort. How? Well, based on weather, attitude, sports and culture, here are the months, ranked from last to first. I don't hate any month. I just like some months more.

12. January: It starts with a bang as New Year's Day ends the "holiday season." January includes most of the college football and NFL playoff games and network TV series (remember them?) restart. But it's dark and cold and long and dark and cold and long and . . . the 31 days of January take about three months.

11. February: The shortest month, thank goodness. There are some good things – the Super Bowl, the Grammys, Valentine's Day (questionable whether it's good), Presidents' Day. But after enduring January, the dreary February days are a test of patience. There's a glimpse of spring, but it's still far off.

10. November: The end of daylight-saving time, the beginning of rainy days and cold mornings. The NBA season gets in full swing, although most people are watching football. The highlight? Thanksgiving is in November and it's arguably our best holiday. But there's definitely a sense of foreboding. Winter is coming.

9. December: It's the holiday month, which rescues it from the bottom three. However, the weather and the length of time until spring brings it down. Winter doesn't officially begin until Dec. 21, but the whole month feels wintery, with intermittent holiday cheer. December is fun with a sense of pending January.

8. August: Summer starts to drag out a bit. You're two months into hot weather (which is fine by me, but I understand if you don't like it) and still nowhere near autumn. School starts and the last half of the month is a weird mix of summer with kids going to school. And NFL training camps are rolling, a further hint that fall is coming. Eventually.

7. April: After March provides a hint of spring, April is often a month in purgatory, waiting for the promised nice weather. However, it really is getting warmer, the is more daylight and it's usually the month of Easter.

6. October: Early in the month feels like summer and the end is Halloween, with cold weather and possible rain. This is the transition month, moving from warmth and light to cold and darkness. But the darkness is not here yet, so it holds up.

5. September: Mrs. Brad and I have a longstanding joke that people say, "you know, the best weather of the year here is in September and October," as if that's unique to their location. That's true everywhere. September is a great mix of heat waves and cooling nights. It's baseball pennant races, the start of the football season, the launch of fall TV (remember network TV?).

4. July: Midsummer. The Fourth of July and fireworks. The Fairfield parade. Waterfront in Suisun City. This is the month you go camping or go to a baseball game or take a vacation. It's also a month that might have a few 100-plus-degree days. If you're a kid, it's a full month off school.

3. March: The first hint of life returning. A few sunny days and the calendar tells us April . . . and May! . . . are coming! Baseball spring training is in full swing, a further suggestion of nice weather. College basketball's March Madness makes it fun. And . . . daylight-saving time returns. A really solid month.

2. May: A month of anticipation. School is almost out. Summer is almost here. The weather is almost great. If May were a condiment, it would be thick catsup: A wait that you're confident is worth it, but one that takes a long time.

1. June: School's out, the NBA Finals and Stanley Cup Final (weird that the NBA puts an "s" at the end of final and the NHL doesn't) are held, baseball is in full swing. The weather is warmer, but usually not super hot yet. It has the day with the most daylight of the year!

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Technology ruins another treasured tradition: Changing clocks for DST

Technology has ruined another great day. At least for me.

For decades, I've been a leading advocate for daylight saving time, which begins today ("leading advocate" means I've written more than 10 columns in which I describe my love for DST).

I love sunlight into the evening. I love how DST makes it feel like summer is near. The dark mornings are worth it.

I love – or I loved – having a skill that seemed special.

Mrs. Brad is the handy person at our house. By that, I mean she does approximately 105% of all repairs. She's the person who speaks to anyone who does work at our house. The toolbox is hers and nearly every "handyman" duty I do (primarily demolition) is done under her supervision.

She's an engineer who is fascinated with how things work, who loves construction and who is always figuring how to make things better. I'm a writer who wishes things would never break and then figures it's easier to work around them than to fix them.

Anyway, in a nearly 40-year marriage that included raising two sons, she's done the handyman work except one duty that I generously include in that category: Changing the clocks when daylight saving time begins and ends.

In that, I'm the king!

On the second Sunday of March and the first Sunday of November (I have an unnecessary knowledge about the DST schedule), it's my job to change all the clocks: The clock on the stove. The clock on the microwave. The clock on the thermostat. The clocks hanging on the walls. The clocks in the cars.

After spending 363 days watching Mrs. Brad fix things (typical exchange for us: Mrs. Brad asks me to bring her an adjustable wrench. I bring her a tool and ask, "Is this a wrench?" She answers, "That's a screwdriver. Never mind, I'll get it."), the start and end of daylight saving time gives me a chance to shine.

On the day time changed through the 1980s, 1990s and 2000s, I would rub my hands together eagerly and bring an empty suitcase that I set down on a nearby counter (to look like a toolbox) while I did my work. "Let me see," I'd say, loud enough for my sons to hear me, "we've just got to move this clock forward an hour. Remember the old saying, "Lefty loosey, righty tighty, spring forward, fall back." Then I'd adjust the clock, announce it "fixed" and move on to the next clock. The clock on the wall in the living room. The alarm clock in our bedroom. On and on.

It was a tradition, but about 15 hours ago, it began to change. Smart technology allowed our principal timekeeping devices to update automatically. Suddenly, no one forgot that the time changed, because everything on which they kept time changed automatically. Worse yet, the number of clocks I needed to change plunged. And none of them are that important.

Our phones, watches and other key devices automatically update.

So today, I'll change some clocks. Our microwave and stove clocks are not smart, so I'll update them. The big clock on our living room wall needs my work.

Alas, the thrill of doing major changes is gone. The clocks I update are unimportant and my skill is no longer one that's really needed. Mrs. Brad generally changes the clock in her car now (I presume new cars update automatically. Our newest car – which still makes me feel like I'm driving the space shuttle – is 13 years old).

My main "handyman" skill (I realize most people wouldn't define this as a handyman skill. I don't care) is not needed.

Daylight saving time is still great. I still support it and I'll still get out a suitcase and pretend today.

The only remaining thrill is that we get daylight later in the day.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Asteroid could hit Solano County in 2032, but there's no reason to panic

There's no reason to panic. Barring something else happening, the odds are that you'll survive to see Christmas 2032.

Probably. Maybe. Or at least you probably won't die three days earlier when an asteroid hits Solano County. Probably won't.

In case you missed it, astronomers are now tracking a small asteroid (small = size of a strip mall) that could possibly hit the Earth Dec. 22, 2032.

Again, it seems unlikely. The latest odds are that it has a less than 1% chance of happening. Of course, previously, it was 2% and then 3% and now between 0% and 1%, so it's as unlikely as the U.S. men's hockey team beating the Soviet Union in the 1980 Olympics or someone winning $100 million in a lottery or maybe even someone having twins.

Wait a second! All of those things happened! I know multiple twins. Oh nooooooooooooooo.

Well, the asteroid, called 2024 YR4 (another reason to worry. The last time we named something after a year, it was COVID-19), is apparently going to come close to Earth in just under eight years.

That's the key. It's supposed to be close. Not to actually hit us.

History suggests that an asteroid colliding with Earth is unlikely. For instance, the most famous asteroid hit the Earth 66 million years ago. It crashed into the planet and caused a mass extinction that eliminated 75% of all species on Earth.

Scientists say something like that happens only every 50 million years or so, so . . . wait, it's been 66 million years since the last one, so we're 16 million years overdue? Oh nooooooooooo.

Well, never mind that. Let's look at more recent history. The most recent significant asteroid to hit Earth was 119 years ago, when one landed (landed = crashed into) a sparsely populated area of Russia, leveling more than 800 square miles of trees. Since Solano County is 900 square miles, that means . . . oh nooooooooooooooooooo.

The asteroid is estimated to be a few hundred feet wide, so it will just be like a gymnasium hitting the Earth. Or a small hospital (which would be convenient if it remained in service after the collision). Listen, it's unlikely this thing will hit the Earth and even more unlikely that it will hit Solano County. I'd say it's around the same odds as Buster Douglas knocking out heavyweight champion Mike Tyson in 1990.

Wait. That happened.

Well, consider this: The asteroid could be made out of rock, metal or some combination. Unfortunately, it's unlikely to be made out of Nerf, which would just make it fun. But metal is the biggest risk and what are the odds that it's made out of metal. Maybe 50%? Something like that?

So . . . 

Umm, there's some good news. Really. Scientists tell us that 2024 YR4 will again approach Earth in late 2028. Astronomers will be able to get a better estimate of whether it could hit, with the expectation that they can guess within 100 miles or so. I'm sure we're fine. And the fact that they've daily changed the odds of the asteroid striking us shouldn't shake our confidence in them, right?

Right?

After 2028, we'll have more certainty.

This is new territory. The asteroid collision 66 million years ago obviously came as a surprise to whatever was living then (Dick Van Dyke's grandfather?). The one in Russia in 1908 was a shocker.

This time, we could be ready.

I'm going to buy a helmet this year, just to be sure. And hope for a Nerf-filled asteroid in 2032.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

I can (maybe) run faster than a 3-million-year-old woman

I've never been a fast runner.

Now, running begins with a slow lean back, a slight pitch forward and then a trot. Which maybe turns into a fast trot. Sprints are rare.

Back in the day, if I needed to run, I'd just go. Now, I see a break in traffic and want to cross the street quickly, I lean back, roll into a run and trot across the street.

You know what it's like.

I'm slower than I used to be, but I'd still beat Lucy in a race. And so would you.

Eat our dust, Lucy!

If you're wondering whether I mean Lucille Ball or a modern Lucy, it's neither (modern means post-1960. Lucy Liu? Lucy Lawless?).

It's the original Lucy, a hominin whose skeleton was found in the 1970s. (Hominin means "a group of bipedal apes that includes modern humans, extinct human species and their ancestors." I thought it meant a word that sounds like another word but is spelled differently.)

Lucy's origin was traced back about 3 million years and she is considered the earliest human ancestor, older than Keith Richards, Tom Brady and Dick Van Dyke.

How do I know I could outrun Lucy? Well, other than my irrational confidence, it's based on research.

Curious about how Lucy – and others like her – could run, scientists, musculoskeletal specialists and evolutionary biologists in the United Kingdom recently formed a dream team to create simulations of Lucy running. It's not clear why, but perhaps it was to inspire this column.

As reported in a paper titled "Running performance in Australopithecus afarensis" (talk about clickbait!), researchers studied whether Lucy and her contemporaries could run on two legs (I don't know their names, but I'd like to think they are Ricky, Fred and Ethel, a joke that makes sense if you are a contemporary of the original Lucy). If so, how fast?

They found that she could run on two legs, but here's how fast: Slower than me. They found that she could run upright but that she was much slower than modern humans.

I'm a modern human (I own a smartphone! I drive a hybrid! I go to Starbucks!), so I'd run right past Lucy.

My 40-yard time might be slow, but it's probably Refrigerator Perry slow, not Lucy slow.

To study Lucy's running speed, researchers created a simulator and added what they knew about her muscular and skeletal systems. Crucially, Lucy lacked the long Achilles tendon that modern humans have. She also didn't have shorter muscle fibers in her legs, muscle fibers that help with endurance running (according to an article I read. I don't understand any of this).

The most important conclusion was that running would be so taxing on Lucy that she would only do so when required. Lucy, like most of us, was in no hurry to run.

However, researchers found that at her top speed (with some adjustments of modern muscles), Lucy could run about 11 mph. That's much slower than the top speed of 17 mph for modern humans.

Which means . . . 

Umm . . .

Wait a second. I probably can't run 11 mph. That seems kind of fast. Maybe Lucy was faster than me after all.

Well, I bet I can type faster than Lucy. I bet I can look up things on Google faster than she could.

We're better.

Eat my dust, old woman!

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Is that mysterious door-knocker a friendly face or a horror movie character?

You're sitting at home, relaxed, and someone knocks on your front door.

What do you do? Get up and answer it? Ignore it and hope it goes away?

How do you feel? Interested? Excited? Anxious? Terrified?

Well, based on a survey by the folks at YouGov, the older you are, the more curious you are and the more likely you are to answer the door. The younger you are, the more fearful and annoyed you are.

All because of someone knocking at your door.

It's a generational litmus test: Do you think it might be the late Ed McMahon or Dick Clark, bringing you an oversized check for winning the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes? Or do you think it's a horror movie character (a clown? Someone in a weird mask?), waiting to slash you open?

For many of us, the first reaction is confusion. Besides the occasional delivery person alerting you that they dropped something off, when does someone knock on our front door? When was the last time you surprised someone by knocking on their door? When was the last time someone surprisingly knocked on your door?

It rarely happens. The days of door-to-door salesmen are largely over. It's been a long time since a Jehovah's Witness knocked on my door. Neighborhood kids rarely sell candy or magazine subscriptions door to door, instead relying on their parents to do so. A knock on the door likely means Amazon or another delivery service dropped something off.

But . . .

The surprise door-knocker still brings some interest and warmth to those in the Silent Generation (born in 1928-1945). More than two-thirds (68%) of respondents from that generation say they'd answer the mysterious door knock and 51% say their reaction is curiosity. ("Oh, let me answer the door. It's probably the Avon lady," is my presumption.)

Compare that to Millennials (born 1981-1996) and members of Generation Z (born 1997 or later): Combined, those folks (44 years old and younger) are equally likely to ignore the surprised door-knocker as they are to answer the door. The youngest respondents are also the most fearful of the door knocker, perhaps conditioned by scary movies (or the anxiety that the person will actually be an Avon or Fuller Brush representative and the Gen Z person will have no idea what they are or how to get rid of them).

In musical terms, younger people are more Dave Edmunds ("I hear you knocking, but you can't come in. I hear you knocking, go back where you been.") than Tony Orlando and Dawn ("Knock three times on the ceiling if you want me."). That comparison largely slips past anyone born in 1981 or later, so it won't help.

Our reaction to a surprise visitor is likely a window into how we view society. As we become more reliant on technology and social media for interactions, actual person-to-person contact like someone knocking on our door becomes more irritating or scary.

It's not surprising that members of the oldest generation, who spent most of their life with the telephone being the only way you could "talk" to someone without being face-to-face, are still interested in who is at the door. It's not surprising that the youngest generations are more anxious and avoidant.

There's no right way to react to a surprise door knock, I guess. I just assume that it's a package that Mrs. Brad ordered through Amazon and ignore it.

Which is bad for the Avon Lady or the Fuller Brush salesman making their way through my neighborhood.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

10 Reasons to Root For Eagles, Chiefs in Super Bowl

Today is Super Bowl Sunday, America's greatest secular holiday. We will watch a lot of commercials, eat a lot of food and see history made. Unfortunately, today's game involves teams that are unpopular outside their metropolitan areas: The two-time defending champion Kansas City Chiefs and the Philadelphia Eagles.

For most football fans this is a disappointment. While the Super Bowl teams have the two greatest offensive players in the NFL (Kansas City's Patrick Mahomes and Philadelphia's Saquon Barkley), most of us were rooting for these teams to lose before the Super Bowl.

However, here we are. Whether you're a big fan or someone who will watch today's game for the commercials and food, I am here to serve you with information to help you navigate the 50% of the time that involves an actual game. Presumably, you want to cheer for someone, so here are 10 reasons to root for (or against) each team.

Philadelphia Eagles

1. Eagles fans are passionate. They sing "Fly Eagles Fly" after touchdowns and victories. They hate the Dallas Cowboys even more than 49ers fans. Eagles fans wear their passion proudly.

2. Barkley is the NFL's most exciting running back, a guy the New York Giants allowed to leave last year. He signed with their rivals and led the NFL in rushing yards.

3. Although they are often mocked, the Eagles remain one of the greatest bands in music history. "Hotel California." "Take it Easy." "Desperado." "Lyin' Eyes." "New Kid in Town."

4. The Chiefs are the luckiest team in the world. Want proof? There will be at least one play today where they get a surprising call from the refs or the Eagles make an inexplicable mistake. A team shouldn't keep winning that way.

5. Mahomes is overexposed. He's on too many commercials, as is his coach, Andy Reid.

6. Kansas City isn't even in Kansas, it's in Missouri, which is dumb.

7. Chiefs fans do that terrible tomahawk chop chant. Whether or not you think it's racist, it's absolutely irritating.

8. Taylor Swift goes to games because her boyfriend is on the Chiefs and the TV people keep showing her in the luxury suite. Who cares?

9. The Chiefs won the past two Super Bowls and three of the past five. They've won enough.

10. If you're a Raiders fan, the Chiefs are your biggest rival. If you're a 49ers fan, the Chiefs beat you twice in the Super Bowl. This is a rare moment where 49ers and Raiders fans can agree.

Kansas City Chiefs

1. Mahomes is the NFL's version of Steph Curry, an incredible playmaker who is a joy to watch. He'll do at least one thing today that you've never seen.

2. While the Chiefs are going for their third straight Super Bowl title and fourth in six years, this franchise had only one title in its first 59 years – yet the fans stayed loyal.

3. Chiefs football is the biggest thing in the western Missouri-Kansas region and beyond. Second place is probably eating big steaks, but it's not close.

4. Eagles fans once famously booed Santa Claus. And they're proud of it! Eagles fans are psychos.

5. The Eagles may have had a lot of famous songs ("Hotel California." "Take it Easy." "Desperado." "Lyin' Eyes." "New Kid in Town."), but they lacked an edge and are the perfect example of the soft-rock 1970s.

6. Philadelphia makes a big deal about the Liberty Bell, the cracked symbol of American independence. In reality, it's a broken bell that's about three feet wide. It's just a little bell!

7. Andy Reid coached in Philadelphia for 14 years and never won a Super Bowl. But now, along with Mahomes, he's winning. Blame Philadelphia.

8. Eagles fans are so obnoxious it's impossible to ignore them. Being an Eagles fan ranks No. 1 on the list of how every fan of the Eagles self-identifies.

9. Carrot Top is an Eagles fan.

10. Taylor Swift is a Chiefs fan! How could you root for anyone else, girl?

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Talking turkey: How AI may help us understand animal speech

I don't like artificial intelligence language models.

While they're effective for helping people write emails or memos – particularly those who are uncomfortable writing – they create an opportunity for the rapid spread of misinformation. That's because such programs as ChatGPT and Copilot lack human skepticism, which means they often believe anything that appears on the internet. In that, they're like your aunt.

AI language models also threaten people like me: They will increasingly be used to "report" news and write informative reports. That threatens the value of news gathering, which is vital to an informed citizenry. Great reporters and writers can't be replaced by a computer without some loss of value.

However, there is a valuable potential use for such AI language models with a fascinating – albeit suspicious – purpose: Using AI to understand how animals communicate.

Yes. You may someday use AI to understand what your dog or cat says. You may be able to understand a mouse in your wall or a fly that's buzzing in front of your TV screen.

A company called Earth Species Project has an AI language model called NatureLM that it claims can already identify the species of an animal that's "speaking," determine the animal's approximate age and identify whether it's in distress or playing.

The language model is trained by human language, environmental sounds and other data. Earth Species Project recently announced that it had received nearly $20 million in grant funding. 

According to an article on Axios, researchers already know that birds make different sounds while singing songs (most often "Freebird" or "When Doves Cry") and sounding a warning call. Researchers also say that many species have individual names for one another (most common names among ants: Ant and Bugsy) and some, like prairie dogs, have a system of nouns and adjectives to describe predators ("big ugly squealer" for coyotes).

Today's treat for Daily Republic readers: I came into possession of a bootleg version of NatureLM, recorded animals near me and will share what I heard.

A neighbor's dog, on a walk: "Heya, heya, heya. Wanna play? Wanna play? Heya, heya, heya."

Two wild turkeys, in my neighborhood: "Hey Larry, Hey Larry! Hey! Check me out! I'm gonna fly!"

"Knock it off Scott. Let's go over–

"Hey Lar-ree! Lar-ree! I can fly! I could be a goose!"

"Watch out, Scott. There's a car--"

"Hey Lar-ree! I bet I can fly better than you! And check out my tailfeathers!"

A fly, circling my food while I eat outside: "Bzzzzzzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz."

A coyote, between howls: "Hey prairie dogs! Come out and play! Come on out! I'm not a 'big ugly squealer, I'm a owwooooeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! That wasn't a squeal, that was a owwoooeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

A neighbor's cat, near the window: You pathetic excuse for a living being, you think you'll learn about me by listening to my conversation? Tell my servant to clean out my litter box. Now. It's not gonna clean itself."

The turkeys, again: "Lar-ree! Lar-ree! Do you think the ladies will like me more if I fly?"

"I don't know Scott. I think you should just keep it do–"

"Lar-ree! You're jealous, right? I don't blame you, look at these feathers!"

"Scott, just settle down."

"Hey Lar-ree! Did you hear what the duck said the other day when he bought lipstick?"

"I don't think ducks can speak."

"He said, 'just put it on my bill. Get it?"

After that discussion, I turned off NatureLM, knowing one thing: Turkeys have an underrated sense of humor.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Beginning of 2025–sleeping in a kitchen chair, ER visit, appreciation for breathing

I knew I was really sick long before I was in the emergency room with concern about congestive heart failure.

The realization came on the fifth or sixth consecutive night sleeping while sitting in a kitchen chair, my head resting on a pillow propped against the kitchen counter. Every night, I woke after a couple of hours with coughing fits that resulted in me gagging.

I began 2025 with the worst illness of my life. While I don't generally write about my health (Editor's note: Yes, he does. In 2022, he wrote about a cancer diagnosis. In 2023, he wrote about having COVID. He's probably written about being a Type 1 diabetic 100 times), this is worth telling.

It began right before Christmas with a mild cough. Dec. 26, Mrs. Brad and I traveled to Southern California to see our son, daughter-in-law and granddaughters. I was recovering. Then I got a little worse. And a little worse. And worse. We cut the trip short and returned home the Saturday after Christmas. I kept getting worse.

By Sunday night, I was very sick. My cough was so bad that I couldn't lie down. In fact, I couldn't sit in a comfortable chair (such as a living room chair, with a slight tilt back) without developing spastic coughs that resulted in me hugging the toilet and gagging because I was coughing so hard.

I didn't sleep that night. The next day, I saw my doctor, had a chest X-ray to rule out pneumonia and started several prescriptions. Yet I kept coughing until I gagged. Still unable to sleep, I sat on a stool, leaning forward against my pillow. By Tuesday night, I sat in a kitchen chair and began sleeping pitched forward, a few hours at a time.

New Year's week passed in a blur of coughing. I couldn't nap because I couldn't rest. I was awake most of the night. I don't remember much beyond coughing and gagging and staring at the floor and being out of breath after taking 10 steps.

Several times I wondered how long a human can go without sleeping more than two hours a night. Slowly, I got slightly better. Until I didn't. The Sunday after New Year's Day (a week after the first night spent upright), I started to go backward again. Then Mrs. Brad noticed my legs were swollen.

The first Monday of 2025 – a week after I first saw my doctor – I messaged her again to tell her about my legs. Hours later, she finally saw my message and immediately called.

"You need to get to the emergency room," she told me. "This could be a myocardial event."

"I don't know what that means."

She was direct: "I don't mean to scare you, but these are the symptoms of congestive heart failure. You need to get to the emergency room."

Fighting back panic and coughs ("It's probably nothing." "This can't happen to me." "'Failure' seems like an overly dramatic word choice, right?"), Mrs. Brad and I headed across town to a packed ER. Blood work, an EKG, an X-ray and four hours later, we got the good news: I was just very, very sick. A terrible bronchitis. I needed another round of antibiotics, steroids and some other new drugs, including Lasix to stop my leg swelling.

More nights of sleeping upright. It was now 10 nights. Eleven. Twelve. Sitting in a kitchen chair, leaning forward to sleep from midnight until 2:30 a.m. or so, then being awake and perhaps returning to the chair to see if I could fall asleep again. Getting up at 4 a.m. and waiting for the day to start. Relentlessly coughing.

Gradually, the second round of drugs kicked in. By Thursday afternoon (two weeks after we left home for Southern California on the ill-fated trip), I felt better. Thursday night I slept in a recliner for the first time. By Sunday, I could sleep on the couch, with torso and head elevated. Able to rest, my body demanded long naps over that third weekend of being sick.

I was able to go outside and walk a short distance on the 17th day of my sickness. By the time my second round of antibiotics finished (three weeks after I started getting really sick), I was better. Weakened. Still come coughing. But more healthy than sick. More than three weeks into the illness, I slept in a bed for the first time in 2025.

There's no lesson in this, other than our bodies are fragile and if one thing goes wrong, it can be a mess. I spent a lot of time thanking God for things other than my health and pledging to Mrs. Brad that I'd never take breathing for granted again. I probably will, but that's a good goal, right?

Here's to a healthy 2025.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.