Wading into the food wars on whether hamburgers are sandwiches, other hot-button issues

It's perhaps the most divisive issue in modern America society, more so than whether we should defund ICE, whether Hermione Granger should have married Harry Potter or if there should be rule changes in baseball to re-emphasize starting pitchers.

The divisive issue, of course, is whether a hamburger is a sandwich. You've probably heard the arguments on each side. 

On one side, you have, "Of one side, of course it's a sandwich, since a 'sandwich' is portable food made up of two slices of bread with a filling between them. That describes a hamburger!"

On the other side, "It's not a sandwich, because it's a hamburger. They're different things, you nitwit."

The good news for the pro-sandwich group: A significant majority of Americans surveyed (73%) agree that a hamburger is a sandwich. The bad news? Only 40% of those surveyed say a hot dog is a sandwich –  and what is a hot dog if not a hamburger with a frankfurter substituted for a hamburger patty?

Great food debates are fun, because we often have strong feelings that are backed by such facts as "it has its own section in most menus," or "if you'd never heard of it before, you'd consider it a sandwich" or "they're different things, you nitwit!"

There are, of course, debates that go beyond the Great Sandwich Divide. And of course the people at yougov.com asked Americans about them. I'm here to settle these issues once and for all, regardless of whether my view is popular. Being right isn't always popular and being popular doesn't make you right. Remember that tanning beds were seen as healthy, that "Out of Africa" won the best picture Oscar the same year "The Color Purple" was nominated and that Jesse Ventura was elected governor of Minnesota. Temporary popularity does not translate to being correct.

Anyhoo, back to food. let's start with the first question: Are hamburgers and hot dogs sandwiches? The correct answer is no, you nitwit. See above.

Another issue is whether sandwiches should be cut diagonally, horizontally or neither (another argument against hamburgers as "sandwiches." Only a sociopath would cut a hamburger in two). A plurality of Americans choose diagonally, which makes sense if most Americans are 4 years old. (When my youngest son was 4, he cried when I gave him a sandwich cut horizontally and wanted me to cut it "like Connie," who watched him two days a week and apparently cut it diagonally. My stance may be rooted in the trauma of that event).

Another issue: Do you like ketchup on eggs? Ketchup is our greatest condiment, despite another survey in which deranged Americans picked peanut butter for that honor. However, ketchup is not appropriate on eggs, which don't need additional flavor. Fifty-seven percent of Americans agree with me (the first time that's been true since I argued in 1977 that "Happy Days" was the greatest-ever TV show) and only 32% like or love ketchup on eggs. Not coincidentally, that's roughly the same percentage of people who think the moon landing was staged (and it may be the same people. No offense, of course, you nitwits).

Whether leftover pizza needs to be reheated is another issue on which we lack unity. Should you eat leftover pizza cold, straight out of the refrigerator, or must you heat it up? This one has an easy answer: You can heat it up if you want, but it's fine (better) cold. I'm right on this for two reasons: I worked at a pizza parlor for nearly five years, making me an expert on the subject. Also, there was the old ESPN morning show, "Cold Pizza." The show wasn't great, but the name was a nod to the fact that leftover pizza can/should be eaten cold. My opinion is not mainstream – two-thirds of respondents have been influenced by Big Microwave and reheat their pizza, a gigantic waste of energy.

There are plenty of other issues discussed in the survey, including whether cilantro tastes like soap (correct answer. No. Soap tastes better). 

But we'll conclude with a question I've never considered and one that shows that there is a certain percentage of Americans whose brains are wired wrong. The survey-takers asked in what order you should fill a bowl while having cereal and milk. Shockingly, 4% of us put milk in the bowl, then add cereal. Do those same people put Parmesan cheese on a plate, then add spaghetti? Do they put salt in a bag, then add French fries? Do they put cookies on the counter and then pour milk over the top? Do they put ketchup on a plate and then dump scrambled eggs on top?

Perhaps most importantly, do they consider hamburgers sandwiches, cut them diagonally and then reheat them with their pizza?

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

 

(Irrational) confidence and the ability to escape a sinking car or score a World Cup goal

I first heard the phrase "irrational confidence" about 15 years ago, from famed sports writer Bill Simmons, who used it describe NBA players who assumed they could make any shot, often without solid supporting evidence.

J.R. Smith was irrationally confident. So was Nick Young. Trae Young remains irrationally confident.

Irrationally confident players have a swagger. They're charming because they're sure they're the best player on the court, regardless of evidence. One of my favorite all-time irrationally confident players was former Celtics forward Antoine Walker, whom a sports writer once asked, "Why do you shoot so many threes (three-point shots)?" to which Walker replied, "because there aren't fours."

There are many irrationally confident humans beyond the NBA. To no one's surprise, most of them are male.

A recent YouGov survey asked Americans how well they think they would do in various challenging situations: Could they pass the U.S. citizenship test, perform CPR on a person whose heart has stopped, survive a week alone in the wilderness or safely land a passenger airplane relying only on air traffic control assistance? You know, the type of situations that have been the plot for hundreds of movies and TV show episodes over the years and are ridiculous every time.

In virtually all those situations – particularly those that involve something that 12-year-old boys pretend to do – men were far more confident of their ability to succeed than women. Compared to women, men were 10% more confident that they could do a stranger's job for a day. They were 23% more confident (more than twice as much) that they could escape from an underwater, sinking car. They were 15% more confident that they could survive a week being lost at sea on a life raft.

Let's be clear: This is not suggesting that 41% of men could successfully escape a sinking car or that 46% of men could survive a week alone in the wilderness.

That's the percentage of men who think they could. Because most men (including me) have an unearned confidence in our ability to do hard things, mostly because we've watched someone do it on TV and have critiqued their performance from our couch. ("You have to give the plane plenty of runway to land, dummy!" we shout at an actor pretending to land a plane.)

I've broached this subject before and I don't know the correct takeaway. Are men are absurdly self-confident? Should women should be more brash in their assessment of their abilities?

In the survey, there were a few situations where women were more confident than men. More women thought they could perform CPR on a person whose heart stopped. More women thought they could deliver a baby in an emergency (still, 27% of men said they could, which seems absurd).

Some of the options seemed like they were dreamed up by a 12-year-old boy (or me): Could you hotwire a car in under a minute? Could you beat a chimpanzee in a fight if you were unarmed? Could you successfully navigate to a destination using only the stars?

Of course, more men than women thought they could do each of those. (I'm not sure I even want to talk to the 12% of men who thought they could win a fight against a chimpanzee.)

The YouGov people also broke down the information by different demographics. Unsurprisingly, Republicans were more confident that they could perform most challenging tasks (MAOA: Make America Overconfident Again). Older people are more confident that they could perform emergency medical tasks (a Heimlich maneuver or perform CPR), likely because we were trained on how to do that 40 years ago and still think we could do it.

Confidence is a strange trait. It's painful to watch someone who lacks confidence, but it's irritating to watch someone who is overconfident. I love watching irrationally confident athletes or kids (I'm forever amused by 10-year-olds who think they can do things that they clearly are incapable of doing), but am bugged by overconfident regular adults.

While my confidence level is admittedly closer to irrational than underconfident, when I look at the list of options provided in the survey, I suspect the only ones in which I could succeed are doing a random person's job for a day (presuming it was something easy) and beat a chess grandmaster in a single game.

Explanation of the second point: I don't play chess, but that question doesn't say the "game" is chess. I think I could beat a chess grandmaster in a single game of Uno or Trouble, if we played enough times. (An area in which I have supreme confidence: The ability to find loopholes in phrases that allow me to succeed.)

Oh, and a few weeks after the first survey, YouGov released another survey at the end of the World Cup, asking whether people thought they could score on a penalty kick in a World Cup match. The survey revealed that 24% of men believe they could accomplish that ridiculous feat, while 15% of women thought they could.

The most confident group? Fifty-eight percent of Republican men under 45 said they could score in that scenario. I can only assume they would do so after landing a passenger airplane with air traffic control help, then escaping a sinking car on the way to the World Cup match.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

In an era of social isolation, board games are still popular

I've never finished a game of Monopoly. Maybe I'm impatient. Maybe I'm a bad landlord. Maybe I'm opposed to evaluating property based on its cash value.

Maybe I don't really understand the rules and can't strategize properly. But across decades of life, I've never fully finished America's most popular board game. Like Teddy Roosevelt (I'm interpreting history loosely here), I just want to break up monopolies, not try to build one.

Fortunately, I'm not as strident about other board games. Trouble? Sure, I'll play it. Scrabble? I'll try (and lose to Mrs. Brad). Checkers? Of course. Yahtzee? Absolutely, so I can yell "Yahtzee!" even if I don't get one. Sorry? I would if I ever had the game, just to say "Sorr-rry" to my opponent.

It turns out that most Americans enjoy board games. Or tolerate them, with 21% saying they love board games and 44% liking them. That's according to the folks at YouGov, who should get paid for being sources of numerous columns for me each year.

For those of us who think of "board games" as an old-fashioned form of entertainment, there's a counterintuitive result: The older you get, the less likely you are to say you love board games. The people who love them the most are those under 30, the people who love them the least are 65 and older.

Of course, the survey also asked about other ways to play games, including on their phones or video games (either on a computer or a console). All of those were more popular than board games, which are, of course, played on a 2-by-4 piece of wood if I understand correctly correct. That's why checkers is so hard: Balancing the game board on a 2-by-4 is a challenge!

Anyhoo, far more Americans say that winning board games is "somewhat important" than those who say it's "very important." That's a distinction that might be handy to know before you play Candy Land or Battleship with someone, right?

(Side note: While I'm not super competitive–which is what super competitive people always say, I guess–I tend to subscribe to the philosophy that President Obama shared with NBA star Anthony Edwards on a video promoting his new library: "What do you call someone who doesn't mind losing? A loser.")

When it comes to what board games Americans play, it's good to see that the traditional games remain the most played. Among those that have been played "many times" by people, the leaders are Monopoly (again, I've never finished a game), checkers, Scrabble, Connect Four and Yahtzee. Also in the top 10 are Battleship and The Game of Life, both of which have tiny plastic pieces that are easily dropped and lost forever to the vacuum.

A few games have big differences in how popular they are with older and younger people. The games that are much more popular with older Americans include Yahtzee, Trivial Pursuit and Backgammon. Games that are much more popular with younger Americans include Snakes and Ladders, Mancala and Codenames, none of which I know (although I'm now learning that Snakes and Ladders is a more lethal version of Chutes and Ladders).

In many ways, the survey results should be good news. During an era when we're constantly told that people are becoming more isolated and there is less social interaction, a majority of Americans like playing games that require you to sit with someone for a while, talk and consider strategy.

Of course, some are really a waste of time as you roll dice and keep landing on some old-timey property name that your cousin knew to buy and has built a bunch of homes (hotels? Something), making it cost more to stay there than you have left in your bank account.

I presume. I've never played long enough to get to that point, because Monopoly is stupid.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Colons: A useful tool in writing or a canary in the AI coal mine?

 

Artificial intelligence may need a colonoscopy.

Not the kind you think of that involves the nasty preparation. I'm speaking about the punctuation mark: Two periods, stacked on top of each other to indicate that you're introducing a list, an explanation, a quotation or are giving examples.

Let me talk out of school (a saying I've never fully understood: I know what it means, but I don't know why "talking out of school" would mean sharing insider information. Were we supposed to never talk about school subjects when we were outside of the school walls? Was learning about the 50 states or how to determine the area of a triangle or how to conjugate verbs some secret that we were supposed to keep from our parents? "Talking out of school": Weird saying).

Anyway, let me get to the point on colons: At my workplace, I often review work done by others (not professional writers) and I can tell when they used the company-approved AI tool. People smarter than me (definition of "people smarter than me": Nearly everyone) probably have other examples of how AI writes, but the most obvious to me is the love of colons in writing headlines or subject lines (one possibility: It's informed by the other work done within our company, so colons are already prevalent).

The AI tendency echoes the growing trend among media companies, who have learned that colons can save space in headlines – or make something seem more dramatic. If the president says the economy is doing well, one headline could be "President says economy is doing well," while another seems more dramatic: "President: Economy doing well."

At newspapers, colons are handy because you limited space (measured by columns) to write headlines (A favorite headline as a sports editor: "A's/tip/M's." You could use large type for that one, even over one column!) But more and more media sites are online only and they have more room for headlines (or "titles" as nonjournalists will often call them. When that happens, journalists snicker and mock you. Journalists: Snarky jerks).

I'm not opposed to colons, because they're handy. But when I look at an article with a series of subheads that all have colons, I suspect that person used AI to write the subheads.

When it comes down to it, colons are handy and are easy to rewrite. You can take the colon-filled title and just add a few words and make it work. Again, I'm not opposed to colons.

Now time for a side trip: I'm strongly opposed to semicolons, the shape-shifters of the punctuation world. There's an official purpose for semicolons: Linking two independent sentences that are closely related or to separate items in a list that already has commas.

The second one is obvious: "He eats peanut butter, banana and jelly sandwiches; jelly beans; pizza; cheese and crackers; and cold cereal." The first? Who determines whether the sentences are independent and closely related? Not me.

The official Stanhope System for Semicolons: Use semicolons on lists that already have commas. Use long dashes to set off independent sentences that are closely related.

Merriam-Webster gives an example that I can also use to support the Stanhope System. They provide an example: "Semicolons are useful; they show that clauses are related in meaning." I would rewrite that as "Semicolons are useful – they show that clauses are related in meaning." Stanhope System: Dashes are better than semicolons.

Back to AI in writing. I presume some AI writing is good (my guess is that I've read many things – not necessarily at work, but in the wild – that are well-written and by AI). Side note: I prefer dashes to parentheses, although I used both in the previous sentence. Anyway, to continue a paragraph that could be a longer sentence with the proper use of semicolons, colons are helpful, but also a signal that you may be relying on something else to do your work.

Colons: A possible canary in the coal (colon?) mine for headlines and titles for writers.

Colons: I've now used 20 in this column.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Changing American football's name, learning cultures and other World Cup lessons

The world's greatest sporting event concludes today with the finals of soccer's World Cup.

That's a major concession from someone who spent years mocking those who said soccer was becoming a major American sport. Sure. Just like tennis in the 1970s. Or pickleball. Or ultimate frisbee. Or cornhole.

Soccer, I insisted, would always have a place in our sports world – played primarily by children or by adults who grew up in a country where it was the main sport. But 99% of soccer players would turn to another sport (or quit) once they hit high school. It would perpetually be popular among elementary school kids and their parents, but that's it.

I was wrong.

I still don't fully understand soccer, but having watched yet another World Cup, I acknowledge its place among the world's (and America's) great sports. Further, I think the World Cup tops the Olympics as a worldwide sports spectacle.

Here are six truths that have been cemented during the past several weeks.

1. Doubters were wrong about soccer. See above. I'm not alone in thinking soccer was doomed to perpetually be a second-, third- or fourth-level sport in the United States. It's now in the top tier.

2. We should call soccer "fútbol" and "football" should be called something else. This contradicts the long-held belief of many Americans that "soccer" is the right name and football is played on a 100-yard field with two teams of 11 players (wait. That sounds suspiciously like soccer. Maybe "while wearing shoulder pads and helmets" should be added). But fútbol is a game where you play primarily with your feet. We call that "soccer," a name that doesn't make sense. Henceforth, we should call "soccer" fútbol and the sport previously called football should be . . . well, in baseball, the goal is to get on base; in basketball, the goal is to put the ball in the basket. So American football should be "endzoneball?" Maybe "touchdownball?" Let's workshop it with the understanding that the name will change.

3. This is a great way to learn about other cultures. The venues in which I've learned the most about other nations are the Olympics and the World Cup. That's where I learn where countries are (is Cabo Verde near South America or Africa? Where is Curacao? Is Bosnia and Herzegovina really a country and not two countries? Where in Africa is Tunisia?). It's where I learn what drives a nation's people (just watch how they dress and what they do while chanting). All cultures are deeper than the surface-level understanding I get from the World Cup, but a surface-level understanding is better than what we had before.

4. The rules are confusing to newcomers. One observer explained soccer's (fútbol's) offside rule thusly: "If something exciting happens, it's an offside." That is not really true, it just seemed that way for much of the World Cup. But isn't that true for other sports? What constitutes pass interference in American football (aka touchdownball)? What is a balk in baseball? What's the difference between a Flagrant 1 and Flagrant 2 foul in basketball? The best part of the rules is how quickly ignorant American observers (like me) become outraged over decisions concerning rules we don't understand. I don't understand red cards, but I know when one shouldn't be given, even if I'm wrong.

5. Visitors love our culture. One of the best outcomes for Americans hosting the 2026 World Cup is the number of visitors who created buzz with their love of under-the-radar American culture. People from other countries are amazed by our huge grocery stores, our gas stations, getting free chips at Mexican restaurants and perhaps most striking, by how fantastic ranch dressing tastes. They've shared how welcoming we are and how fun we are. That's been a refreshing change.

6. Games (and goals) matter immensely. Fútbol is like the NFL in that each game carries so much weight (baseball, hockey and basketball have long seasons where even the great teams lose 15% to 30% of their games). In the World Cup (and even in European and South American fútbol leagues), each game is huge. It matters. And goals are rare. If you're down 2-0 in the World Cup, it's like trailing 28-3 in the Super Bowl (sorry, Atlanta Falcons). 

The World Cup ends today and won't be back for four years (hosted by Morocco, Portugal and Spain – with Uruguay, Argentia and Paraguay each getting one game). But this year's tournament has reminded us how sports can teach us about each other and about the world. Even this year's National Touchdownball League season – where the 49ers will try to get back to the Super Bowl – won't change that.

Viva fútbol!

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

If you have a bad shoulder, don't feel bad. Everyone does

I was recently watching a senior citizen walk around while he was  hunched slightly forward, hands behind his back. (Do we use the term "senior citizen" anymore? This person was likely in his 80s, so he probably wouldn't be offended by the term since he was born around World War II, when we fought to preserve the right to use broad terms for people groups.)

Will I someday walk like that? I'll undoubtedly walk slower as I age and if I live long enough, I'll likely someday need a cane and then a walker and then an assistant to push me around in a wheelchair, like that used by Mr. Potter in "It's a Wonderful Life." But will I walk around with my hands behind my back, like Groucho Marx? (In case you're not keeping score, I've so far referenced World War II, "It's a Wonderful Life" and Groucho Marx. Modern culture!)

The answer (the question again: Will I walk around with my hands behind my back?) is an unconditional no.

Not because I'll be too spry to walk like that. Or because I'll feel like it looks old or anything like that. The reason I won't walk like that is that it would hurt my shoulders too much.

I don't have terrible shoulders in the way a former pitcher or painter or gymnast might have (do painters have bad shoulders? It seems like they should). But I've had my share of shoulder trouble (I had a "frozen shoulder" around the time the pandemic started, a common, a very uncomfortable thing where your shoulder really hurts and takes three years to gradually get better).

If you're over 40, you've likely had some shoulder problems, although it's possible that you haven't talked to a doctor about it (about one-third of humans admit to shoulder pain, making it one of the most common medical complaints). If you're over 40, you've almost assuredly had some sort of damage to your shoulder – an opinion based on science.

Earlier this year, a study published by JAMA Internal Medicine (not related to Carl Carlson's 1981 hit, "She's a Bad Mama Jama," a pop culture reference that's only 45 years old, so much newer than Groucho Marx) reported that 99% of adults over 40 have at least one abnormality in a rotator cuff, based on magnetic resonance imaging.

More than 99% of us have damaged shoulders!

The study concluded that not all rotator cuff injuries hurt. The authors suggested that doctors using MRIs to diagnose shoulder pain could leave to unnecessary treatment, since everyone has shoulder damage.

My conclusion was different: 99% of us have shoulder injuries!

So how can so many old people walk around hunched slightly forward with their hands clasped behind their backs? Doesn't it hurt? It hurts me!

First, some basics if you're not a doctor. Or if like me, your understanding of rotator cuffs ends with the knowledge that a torn rotator cuff leads to surgery for baseball pitchers.

The rotator cuff is not a single thing; it's a group of tendons and muscles that keep the upper arm bone in your shoulder socket. Damage to it can cause pain. Or not.

The study in question was based on information on patients in Finland (leading to colleagues of those who published the paper to continually ask, "Is it Finish(ed)?" and then laugh.) and included a variety of possible injuries to the rotator cuff, from degrees of tears to tendinopathy.

The study also showed that the older you got, the more likely you were to have more severe injuries to your rotator cuff, a finding that lines up with a recent conversation I had with a friend who is probably close to 70 and was coming off a torn rotator cuff that happened while he was opening a can of pickles.

He tore his rotator cuff taking the lid off a jar of pickles!

Alas, the study's findings didn't help me much. Although most older people don't walk around with hands behind their backs, enough do that it makes me think either they've somehow avoided hurting their shoulders or that they're tougher than me.

Or perhaps, as Groucho Marx once said, "Age is not a particularly interesting subject. Anyone can get old. All you have to do is live long enough."

And have some sort of rotator cuff injury.

Reach Brad Stanhope (but stretch before reaching) at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Bicentennial memories, next Bay Area champion and more notes

We just celebrated America's 250th birthday. At my house, we had a cake with 250 candles and sang "Happy Birthday" to a flag. I presume the same was true for you.

As I told the nation, "It's not every country that gets to celebrate the big 2-5-0." (Of course, Iran and Egypt are about 5,000 years old, but they're the Dick Van Dykes of nations. We're Macaulay Culkin or Tiger Woods – we became famous quickly and aren't as old as we feel.)

Anyway, I'm of the age to remember the bicentennial, which seemed like the biggest event in the history of America. In 1976, everyone had flags out. We had patriotic clothes. TV networks had things like "Bicentennial Minutes," where we were taught about Betsy Ross or Constitution Hall or Paul Revere by celebrities.

It was a different world in 1976. We were coming off a scandal-plagued presidential term, we had a confidence crisis as a nation, gas prices were unstable, the Giants were terrible.

Wait a second . . . that sounds familiar.

Things were different 50 years ago, though. We all watched three TV networks. We heard new music by listening to AM radio. We had tuna casserole for dinner at least once a week. We wore corduroy pants a lot.

Things are different now. On TV, instead of Love Boat, we have Love Island. Instead of The Carpenters, we have Sabrina Carpenter. Instead of playing Pong, we watch TikTok.

The lesson: The world changes a lot in 50 years and it also doesn't change a lot. But here's the thing for which I'm most grateful: I'm not spending the summer getting ready to be a high school freshman. So there's that.

On to today's topics du jour, a pocketful of notes  . . .

•••

A quick top five: The likely next Bay Area pro sports team to win a championship:

1. San Francisco 49ers. They're going for it in 2026, with players returning from injuries and a quarterback entering his prime. The odds are against them, but it's likely they'll be a contender for the next few years. They'll have multiple postseason chances in the next few years.

2. Golden State Valkyries. The WNBA's most successful expansion franchise is in its second year and the Valkyries are already a top-tier team. They seem unlikely to win it all this year, but all arrows are pointing up.

3. San Jose Sharks. They haven't even made the NHL playoffs since 2019, but they have a young superstar (Macklin Celebrini) and just drafted another potential star in Sweden's Ivar Stenberg. Note: NHL stars grow up fast.

4. San Francisco Giants. This has been a disastrous season and top executive Buster Posey hasn't proven that he knows what he's doing. However . . . the Giants' minor league system is in its best shape since right before winning three World Series. They might be a contender by the early 2030s.

5. Golden State Warriors. Steph Curry is still great, but fans are right when they call this team the "Olden State Warriors." The band isn't ready to break up, but it will take a complete refresh (and somehow landing another superstar) before they're contenders to win a championship.

•••

Nothing has shaken my confidence in my humanity more than those "prove you're human" tests on websites where you have to identify which of the nine (or 16 or 25) photos they show has a car or a bike or a bridge or something else.

I spend most of my time guessing. Is that a building or a bridge? Is construction equipment considered a car? Is that part of a bike or just a wheel? And if I'm looking for bikes, does a car with a bike rack count?

Mostly, I wonder why the ability to identify street signs makes us uniquely human. Maybe I'm not really human.

•••

It's not yet football season, but I have an idea for NFL broadcasters. In an era when we have network rules specialists who explain what the referees are looking for during a replay, important plays sometimes come down to determining whether the ref's whistle blew before a ball was fumbled or an interception was thrown.

The solution: A dog in the booth. Every NFL broadcasting booth should have a specially trained dog that would indicate during a replay when the whistle blew, allowing the announcers (and perhaps the referees) to know when the play was dead.

Networks (and NFL) you're welcome.

•••

As time passes, I find myself more frequently deciding whether it's worth it to spring from my chair when a vehicle passes with a siren blaring or a low-flying plane goes overhead.

I want to know, but due to slower reaction times and a lifetime of getting outside (or to a window) too late to see anything has taught me to weigh my options.

That means most often, I just ignore them. I feel like I miss out on some excitement because of that.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

An early look at my AI-assisted Great American Novel

Back in the day, writing the great American novel was hard. You had to work for years, perfecting the story and the characters, getting the voices right and likely having your novel address something bubbling under the surface of the cultural landscape (racism, search for meaning, dinosaurs).

Then you had to be tormented and likely have a drinking problem along with a ruptured relationship with your family. You had to be difficult for those in the publishing world, whether it was your publishing company, agent or other writers.

It was hard and I can't write the Great American Novel. But in the age of AI, I can try.

Right? What is artificial intelligence if not a tool to do something we can't do otherwise? And while I can't afford the top-shelf AI tools that work really well, I can use the free versions that come with warnings about hallucinations and concerns about plagiarism. It should work, I think.

Well, I fed some information about the world's greatest novels (not just American!) and here is the first chapter of my new AI-assisted (which means AI-written, but I want my name on the book!) novel, "The Grapes of Rathman." It took lines from the greatest novels (and elsewhere) and tweaked them.

How can this not work?

Here it is:

•••

It was the beast of times, it was the wurst of times. It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the Tupac of belief, it was the Tupac of incredulity. 

Call me Ishmael. Although Ish is OK if we're close. That's what my friends call me.

Anyway, the Joads loaded up their car and headed west on Route 66. That road, of course, goes from St Louie to Joplin, Missouri; Oklahoma City; Amarillo; Gallup, New Mexico; Flagstaff, Arizona; Winona; Kingman; Barstow and San Bernardino. Tom got his kicks, for sure.

But Tom knew this: All the world’s a stagecoach and all the men and women merely players (except for Pat Riley, who is a coach. Really, he's an executive who used to be a coach and was a player before that, so ignore this). Anyhoo, they have their exits and their entrances and one man in his time plays many parts. Especially Eddie Murphy in those movies where he is multiple characters.

But back to Tom Joad and his family, led by his father Frog N. Joad.

As Atticus told him, "You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it."

That's when Tom started his killing spree, skinning people so his could wear their skin. Atticus defended him in court. It was the summer of his 27th year.

Tom talked to his friend and said he was angry.

“But I don’t want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.

"Oh, you can’t help that," said Karl Anthony Towns (KAT), the New York Knicks star who is suddenly a character in this novel: "we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad."

"How do you know I’m mad?" said Alice.

"You must be," said KAT, "or you wouldn’t have come here. Also, you just punched the wall and cursed.”

That's when she knew that love means you never have to say you're sorry.

After this, Tom, Alice and KAT visited Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, who were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were especially proud of their hairy potter, a very shaggy man who grew marijuana for them in a needless side story in this novel.

The hairy potter always said this to Mr. Dursley: “The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease forever to be able to do it.”

Getting back to Tom Joad's trial for skinning people, Atticus told him: “This above all: To thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man."

Tom didn't understand what was being said because it was in 1600s English and he was trying to remember the order of cities along Route 66. Was Flagstaff before Winona? He wasn't sure.

That's when Tom stopped worrying about everything and headed to Kansas, because there's no place like home – even though he wasn't from that state, he was from Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweeping down the plain.

Goodnight, moon.

•••

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Time for a return for 'Dear Dad' to provide important advice

Nobody gives advice like a dad. Disagree? Consider Atticus Finch, Mike Brady, Heathcliff Huxtable, and John Walton. But ignore Homer Simpson, Phil Dunphy, Al Bundy and Peter Griffin.

As we commemorate another Father's Day, it's time for an annual tradition that is as beloved as wishing dad "Happy Father's Day" and then forgetting about it: Allowing a dad to take over this column.

In the spirit of Dear Abby, Dear Prudence, Miss Manners and more, it's time for Dear Dad, a column that features made-up questions from made-up readers for a made-up advice columnist.

The advice, however, is solid. Read on.

Dear Dad:

My husband and I divorced eight years ago. We share custody of our two children and it has been fairly amicable over the years. However, my children have told me things that have me concerned. They say my ex-husband seems very focused on gambling and constantly uses one of those betting apps on his phone. They say he watches more sports than he used to and talks a lot about "parlays" and "prop bets" and "futures." I don't receive alimony or child support from him, so this isn't about me needing his money. But I still care about him and he remains my children's father. Should I do anything?

Uneasy in Fairfield

Dear Uneasy: One of life's most important lessons is that you can't fix someone who doesn't want to be fixed. Unless it's a dog or cat, I guess, but that's a different issue.

It's like when my 1990 Honda Accord was running rough and I didn't want to pay a mechanic to fix it. This was before YouTube – before the Internet, really – so I relied on my friend Troy to help. He said it was probably the carburetor, so we checked the vacuum lines to see if they were dry-rotted or disconnected and pinched them off to see if that affected how the engine idled. There was nothing wrong, so we sprayed some carburetor cleaner into the jets. Again, nothing. So we looked at the fuel pump. That was the problem – a bad fuel pump relay was starving the carburetor of fuel. I went down to Pep Boys and bought a replacement. It worked great and taught me a good lesson – sometimes when the carburetor is running badly, the problem might be somewhere else.

Glad I could help.

Dear Dad:

I work at a large local company and sometimes at social events I'll see co-workers. Recently, I was at a graduation barbecue in Suisun City for a friend's son and one of the guests was a supervisor from work. He didn't see me, but he ended up drinking too much and started talking about how "layoffs are coming" at work and how he's part of the group who will determine who gets let go. Should I warn my co-workers? I don't think the supervisor would have said anything if he knew I was there. I welcome your advice.

Concerned in Cordelia

Dear Concerned:

Sorry to hear about that situation. I can't help but notice you mentioned a barbecue. One thing you should always keep in mind when barbecuing meat is to not take the meat out of the fridge and put it directly on the grill. When I barbecue steak, I usually let it sit at room temperature for at least a half-hour. I just put it on a plate on the kitchen counter, so I won't forget it.

A lot of people put too much seasoning the meat. I'm a fan of using just salt and pepper – both generously. And remember to cook the meat over the hottest part of the grill and only for two or three minutes per side. After that, you can tent it loosely with aluminum foil for five or 10 minutes.

I hope that they cooked the meat well at your friend's barbecue.

Dear Dad: I'm concerned about my daughter. She's just finished her sophomore year at Vanden High School and said she's talking with a boy. I thought that meant they were talking, but a friend told me that when teenagers say that now, it means they're actually dating. Could that be true? I don't know whether to ask her about it or if it really means she's literally just talking. What should I do?

Confused at Travis

Dear Confused: Boy times have changed, haven't they? Back when I was in high school, we just said we had a girlfriend or that we were dating someone. We didn't have all these terms that are confusing.

It reminds me of how baseball has changed. It used to be that the best hitters were determined by easy-to-understand numbers. If you hit .300, you were a good hitter. If you hit 30 homers, you were a power hitter. If you drove in 100 runs, you were clutch. Same with pitchers. Guys who won 20 games and had an ERA of 3.00 or below were the best pitchers. Now we have OPS and WAR and FIP and BABIP. People talk about launch angle and bat speed and exit velocity. The statistics guys took something that worked well for more than 100 years and changed it so it requires a slide rule and special handbook to know what works. You know what really works? A three-run homer and seven good innings out of your starting pitcher. Give me Greg Maddux and Tony Gwynn any day over these guys who hit .220 and are considered valuable.

I hope I've helped.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Past, present or future? When we want to live reveals what we believe

If I lived in 1926 or 1826 or earlier, I would be a visionary lunatic, talking about electric cars and smartphones and the Internet and food delivery services and daily showers.

I'd also be dead quickly since I'm a Type 1 diabetic and insulin wasn't invented until 1921.

But it's not just the obvious shortcoming. In a time-travel scenario, I would be absolutely useless in describing how the internet works or what satellites are or how to make a refrigerator. I couldn't tell anyone how microwave ovens work or how we can be vaccinated against smallpox or how televisions somehow capture pictures being "transmitted" from somewhere distant and show up on a box in our houses.

Meanwhile, I'd be totally unprepared to be a farmer or work in a factory. My college education would be no help in working a wood-burning oven or washing clothes without a Maytag.

Yeah, I'd be terrible in the past. Maybe you would be, too (although I suspect you know more about how things work than I do. Other than "unplug it, count to 10 and plug it back in," I don't know how to fix things).

Would you want to live in the past? To exist in what's perceived as a simpler, less busy, more friendly time, when neighbors knew each other and we didn't have a million things competing for our attention. By that, I mean we were less "busy" because it took 10 hours a day to maintain a house and most jobs required six days a week, 10 hours a day (unless you were a farmer, when it was seven days a week, 12 hours a day). When we didn't have a million things competing for our attention because we were trying to survive simple infections.

Apparently, many Americans would prefer to live in the past: According to a YouGov poll from last year, 45% of Americans would prefer to live in the past, with 25% preferring sometime in the past 50 years (perhaps the 1980s, when cocaine fueled America and Joey Buttafuoco was a celebrity? Perhaps the 1990s, when we all were watching the O.J. Simpson trial?). Another 20% would prefer anytime before 1976 (maybe 1919, when nearly 1% of Americans died of the Spanish flu and the Ku Klux Klan was running large parts of the country? Maybe 1776, when the American Revolution began and the average life span was 38 years? Maybe 1224, when most people took a couple of baths a year?).

When asked, people have misty, water-colored memories (from "The Way We Were," a song from more than 50 years ago) of the past. 

The key point highlighted by the authors of an article on the survey is that far more people would chose to live in the past than the future, with just 14% of people saying they'd like to live in the future. Another 40% said they like the present.

When broken down by demographics, far more Republicans and white people prefer the past – particularly the more distant past. Surprisingly to me, as many women wish to live in the past as do men, suggesting they're more familiar with the "Little House on the Prairie" books than the fact that women couldn't get a house mortgage without a male co-signer until 1974.

My suspicion is that popular media dramatically influences how we view the past and future. Many movies about the past romanticize life – when honor was above all, when families were close, when romance was real, when people were patriotic and passionate and willing to sacrifice. Hollywood doesn't make many movies about dreary lives of people who lived their entire 35-year existent on a remote farm, working to survive with a spouse who was their only option and then dying of consumption.

Meanwhile, futuristic movies, books and TV shows involve all-controlling entities forcing people to wear monochromatic uniforms and being oppressed with very little chance to break from the enforced conformity. We want to live in the times of "Outlander," not in the times of "Soylent Green" (Wait. I just checked and "Soylent Green" is set in 2022. What? But I stand by my point).

I'm risk-averse. Given the choice, I definitely don't want to go to the past (where I would be the inept, confused, pathetic dying diabetic) and I fear the future (with AI programs dictating what we do, while "Everything you think, do and say is in the pill you took today," as it says in the song "In the Year 2525").

I'll take the present, where other people can worry about how smartphones and microwaves work and I can benefit from refrigeration. And I can Google when "Soylent Green" took place.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.