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.

Grocery store study shows need for connection in bananas

Want attention? Act sad, which will make people more likely to choose you.

At least that's the conclusion based on how we treat bananas. Seriously. It's a lesson from bananas–at least that's according to folks at The Conversation, which publishes informative articles by academic experts for the general public.

The Conversation folks found that shoppers, at least, are attracted to sad bananas.

Yes. This is a column about sad bananas.

Let's start with the basics. Bananas are displayed the same way in all grocery stores: In bunches of four, five or six. When we buy bananas, we buy them in bulk, but not too much bulk. Nobody buys a 12-pack of bananas (if such a thing exists) and most of us want at least four to make it seem worthwhile. There's a sweet spot: Enough bananas to make it worth buying and not so much that they'll go bad.

It's more than one. Probably less than seven.

Bananas grow in bunches, like a large family (why do you think the TV show was called "The Brady Bunch?"). At the grocery store, though, bananas sometimes get separated. A banana falls off the bunch or, more likely, someone pulls off a single banana because they want to buy four, not five. 

That results in lone-wolf bananas. You've seen them in the store, apart from the group, isolated. They're like people sitting alone in a restaurant or watching the movies alone. You don't know if they're sad or if that's their choice. But you're reluctant to go sit next to them.

Similarly, we rarely buy a single banana. No, you want a bunch. You want four or five. You don't want Tito Jackson; you want the Jackson 5.

As a result, grocery stores often throw out solo bananas, creating food waste.

There have been efforts to change that. A German grocery store chain sells individual bananas as "singles," perhaps figuring that if people will buy single cans of soda, they'll buy single bananas. It hasn't been particularly successful, but the people at The Conversation came up with a tweak to the single-banana plan that just may work.

They gave the fruit personalities and a story.

With the approval from some grocery stores, The Conversation people separated solo bananas into three groups, putting them in crates with signs above them.

Above one crate, they put an image of a banana with a sad face and a sign that said, "We are sad singles and we want to be bought as well."

Above another, there was a banana with a happy face and a sign that said, "We are happy singles and we want to be bought as well."

Above the third crate, there was no banana face, just a sign that said, "Here are single bananas that want to be bought as well."

What do you think was the result?

If you remember what I wrote earlier, you get an A+. The sad-message bananas sold much faster than the others. People felt bad for the bananas! They wanted to meet the bananas' needs by buying them, taking them home, ripping off their peels and eating them (or maybe people didn't think that all the way through).

Those who conducted the study looked into it further and found the same approach works for tomatoes  (although buying a single tomato seems much more normal than buying a single banana.) The findings match up with studies about how we view humans–that we have an innate desire to assist those who are struggling to connect with others.

It may be the awkward kid you see who just wants to fit in. Or the person you know who really wants friends. Or maybe that banana in the produce section, cast off from his family.

The purpose of the banana study was to evaluate whether there are ways to decrease food waste. A lot of grocery store food gets thrown out and maybe if it were just marketed right, we'd be more interested in a single carrot or a potato or stalk of broccoli.

Bananas are a great fruit. But with this study, perhaps bananas taught us their greatest lesson: That whether it's a fruit or a person, there's something in us that wants to help it connect with others.

People may want to be alone. Bananas may be fine as a solo act. But there's something marvelous that we naturally want to help the "sad bananas" of life make a connection.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Toilet paper equations make no sense in any math style

When I was a kid, adults railed against "new math," which focused on students showing their work and using their deductive skills, rather than simply memorizing formulas.

About 20 years ago, people came out strongly against Common Core math, which focused on . . . um, well, students learning how to think rather than simply memorizing formulas.

These changes are confusing, especially if your math skills come from memorizing the times tables from those charts in the back of Pee-Chee folders.

New math, Common Core, traditional math: Which is best? I'm not sure, but one type of math is harder to understand than any of those.

Toilet paper math.

If you pay attention at the store, you recognize the problem. Look at the toilet paper section and your brain goes fuzzy.

Of course, there are simple packs of four, six or 12 rolls. But then the math comes in.

Some packages say, "18 rolls = 54 rolls," implying that each toilet paper roll is worth three regular rolls. OK, I get that.

But another says, "12 rolls = 42 rolls."

Another says, "18 rolls = 56 rolls."

Another says, "6 rolls = 15 rolls."

What the heck? I know enough about math to know that to solve for x in 6x = y, you divide y by 6 (I've already lost some of you. Hang in there!). If six rolls = 15 rolls, each roll must be worth 2.5 regular rolls. If 18 rolls = 56 rolls, each roll must be worth 3 regular rolls. If 12 rolls = 42 rolls, each roll must be worth . . . let me get my calculator out . . . 3.5 rolls.

(Side point: Suddenly, I'm wondering if "roll" is spelled correctly. It looks wrong. Should it be "role?" No. It's roll. Rollllll. Rooolllllll. Now I can't keep saying it in my brain. Roll.)

Back to the column: At first, I presumed it was simple. If a toilet paper company was advertising that 12 rolls = 24 regular rolls, it considers single-ply toilet paper a "regular roll" and is offering the two-ply variety. Other than the fact that no one buys single-ply toilet paper for their house (I believe it's only used in public restrooms), that made sense . . . until the math didn't work. If "12 rolls = 42 rolls," do they somehow have 3.5-ply toilet paper? What does a half-ply sheet look like? (For that matter, why is it "ply"? And is it really "ply?" Now I'm saying the word "ply" over and over in my brain.)

Perhaps it's not the number of plies, it's the number of sheets. Maybe a "12 rolls = 42 rolls" package of toilet paper has 3.5 times as many sheets. Probably not, because having three times as many sheets would make the roll much, much bigger (more math: the roll gets bigger with more sheets. And more sheets of more ply? And again, what is a ply?)

OK, I looked up ply and still don't really understand the specifics, but it appears that toilet paper only goes to three-ply. Of course, that's what they thought about razors before Gillette started adding more and more blades and now we have (I'm guessing) a shaving kit with 11 blades to make sure you get the smoothest shave possible.

So once you get past a multiplier of three (for instance, "12 rolls = 42 rolls"), it's more sheets, right?

But back to the ply question: Why haven't the big toilet paper manufacturers realized that the best way to add quality is to add a fourth or fifth ply? You could do a five-ply toilet paper with twice as many sheets and you'd be able to have a 12-roll package that is equal to . . . hold on, I'm calculating . . . OK, carry the two . . . 120 rolls! You might not need to get another package for months and months.

Of course, there comes a point where you add so many plies that it becomes a washcloth and you already have those and the thought is disgusting and never mind.

But how about that new math?

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

An ancient, revolutionary goal to make 2025 a memorable year

Why will we remember this year?

I have a bold proposal, but first, let's set the stage: Today is the first Sunday of a year for which we'll have important memories – because every year creates important memories: Some good, some bad, some silly.

Of course, we tend to remember big news events from the year: For 2024, for instance, it was the felony conviction, attempted assassinations and ultimate return to the presidency of Donald Trump; the explosion of women's basketball; the continued rise of artificial intelligence and the two major hurricanes that hit the Southeastern United States.

But we also remember years personally. The year we graduated from high school. When we got married. When we got divorced. When someone close to us died. When we got promoted. When we were unemployed. When we got cancer. When we bought a house. When we lost our home.

What was your biggest memory from 2024? And for what will 2025 be remembered? 

Back to the big picture, because it connects to the small picture: As a nation, we're entering uncharted territory with the political and social implications of the most recent presidential election and a deeply divided nation. For some of us, that filters down to deeply divided families and neighborhoods.

My best (and most optimistic) guess is that the repercussions won't be as bad as the worst fears of many Americans and not as great as the greatest hopes of many Americans. Because that's how politics and life and social change works. We expect sweeping changes and usually get a compromise and gradual change.

The past few years have been tough and I'm far from alone (on either side of the political spectrum) in decreasing my focus on political news and social media after the election. My life has been fine.

That's a good reminder that national politics are not a priority for most of us. Most of us are busy living our lives and doing jobs, raising kids, coaching teams, doing hobbies and connecting with friends (or wondering why we aren't doing it). We're not spending all of our time thinking about political issues.

However, the past few years saw an increase in scenarios where we find out that someone we like supports a candidate or political party we detest and we feel conflicted. Maybe we start considering them an enemy. We think they're stupid or hateful or naive. We start to believe the worst about them.

We shouldn't. We can hold a vastly different stance on a political issue than me and neither of us is necessarily evil. We just disagree.

So, finally, here's one goal for 2025: Let's make an effort to celebrate what we have in common. Let's make an effort to love others. Let's not assume the worst of people with whom we disagree.

Help someone who makes your life difficult. Spend more time listening with the goal of understanding, rather than devising a counterargument. Interpret the actions of others most graciously, rather than in the most critical way.

The other day, I heard the old Don Henley song, "The Heart of the Matter" and the lyrics apply to 2025:

Ah, these times are so uncertain, there's a yearning undefined and people filled with rage. We all need a little tenderness, how can love survive in such a graceless age?

Here's how: By being gracious. By making 2025 the year we give others the benefit of the doubt. By spending the next 12 months doing good to others regardless of whether we think they "deserve" it.

If that sounds familiar and you want something a little deeper than a 1989 song by the former drummer for the Eagles, consider this:

Jesus said to love our enemies and to pray for those who persecute us. He said to serve others, not to look to be served.

That's a good recipe to make your 2025 better: Grace and servanthood, despite all the craziness elsewhere.

Wouldn't it be remarkable if at the end of 2025, that's what we remembered from our lives? That's my Project 2025.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Survey of why we don't have dream job reveals men are simpletons

Never really getting a shot at your dream job – being the lead singer of a rock band or playing professional sports or being a movie star – isn't your fault. It's the fault of . . . fate? An unfair world? I don't know, but it's not because you lack the skills or motivation to do your dream job.

It's not your fault.

That's one of the conclusions from a survey conducted by Voice Nation that revealed that only 8% of Americans work their dream job. According to the survey, financial barriers, lack of opportunities and personal obligations are among the major factors holding people back.

If it weren't for those (and other) barriers, you'd be on your way to hosting a late-night talk show on network TV or being the radio voice of the San Francisco Giants or playing point guard in the NBA (three of my childhood dream jobs).

The folks who conducted the survey broke down the top five dream jobs by gender for those who answered the survey.

The top five dream jobs for men are entrepreneur (10%), professional athlete (9%), musician or singer (8%), engineer (6%) and pilot (5%).

For women, the top dream jobs are entrepreneur (9%), veterinarian (8%), teacher (7%), doctor (6%) and artist (6%).

The first thing: Men are goofballs. Do 9% of us really think we could be a professional athlete and 8% think we could be a musician or singer? What are we, 7 years old? Women are more reasonable, with all of their "dream jobs" available if you are able to pursue them (and are smart enough). Two of the top three men's dream jobs are fever dream jobs.

Now, the barriers. Here's what we said is keeping us from having our dream jobs, in order. Financial constraints (33%), lack of opportunities (22%), family obligations (20%), fear of failure or lack of self-confidence (18%), health issues (16%). If you're a mathematician (a dream job!), you realize that adds up to more than 100%, so obviously people could choose more than one barrier.

Before going any further, let me talk briefly to the 17% of men whose dream job is professional athlete or musician/singer. Just a hint, that the reason you don't have that job probably isn't because of financial constraints or a lack of opportunity or even family obligations. Here's the real reason: YOU AREN'T GOOD ENOUGH. ALMOST NOBODY IS. THAT'S WHY IT THOSE PEOPLE ARE STARS.

OK. Got it? I'll concede that it's possible someone reading this could have been a professional musician or athlete if not for an obstacle. No, never mind. I won't concede that. It's not true. YOU'RE NOT A PROFESSIONAL ATHLETE OR ROCK STAR OR PROFESSIONAL RAPPER BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH AT IT!

The point of the survey was to identify dream jobs and examine why we think we don't have them. That's not why we don't have them, it's why we think we don't have them.

We tend to blame outside sources, but let's be real: I'm not a lawyer because it seemed too hard. I'm not the Giants broadcaster because I'm not good enough. I'm not an NBA point guard because I'm too old (that's the only reason. Really.). I'm not a cowboy because I'm afraid of horses. I'm not the host of a late-night TV show because I'm not clever enough nor attractive enough.

I'm not good enough for my dream jobs.

I'm not saying we should all have jobs that suck. I like my job. I loved being a sports editor and newspaper journalist (a dream job of mine). You should pursue what you like – or at least something you can learn to enjoy.

But the idea that we could all have our dream jobs if it just weren't for those pesky family obligations or financial constraints is ridiculous. Most of us don't have our dream job because very, very few people have jobs that we consider dream jobs.

AND GUYS, QUIT THINKING YOU'D BE A PROFESSIONAL ATHLETE OR FAMOUS MUSICIAN IF YOU JUST GOT A FAIR CHANCE. YOU AREN'T GOOD ENOUGH AT IT.

Sorry for bursting your bubble. That's one of my dream jobs, too. Bubble-burster for dumb guys.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.