Man of the Year, Texas Roadhouse and more tidbits

It's the unofficial first weekend of summer 2016, which means it's time to empty my virtual notebook of column bits, including information that could change your life.

And by "change your life," I mean you could conceivably be struck by lightning while reading this.

On to the topics du jour . . .

• As we near the end of the first half of 2016, it's clear already who the Man/Person of the Year will be for every news outlet in the United States: Donald Trump, the presumptive nominee for president for the Republican Party. Plenty can happen in the next six months, but Trump's first half of 2016 is unparalleled in American political history and is nearly impossible to surpass in the next six months.
• A follow-up point: I love the word "presumptive."
• If you're younger than 50, this might seem incredible, but the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend used to be one of the biggest sports days of the year: It was (and remains) the day of the Indianapolis 500. Back when auto racing – specifically open-wheel racing – was a major sport, most of America either watched or listened to the Indy 500. Then we watched Ed Sullivan, argued about the Vietnam War and went to bed.
• One of the most impressive runs in Fairfield-Suisun business history is being made by the Texas Roadhouse. The steakhouse is now seven years old and anytime you go there, it's crowded. Go on a weekend night and you face a 30- to 60-minute wait to get a table. After seven years! Longer-time residents might come up with comparables, but nothing in my decades here is close as far as keeping hold on local customers.
• On second thought, does In-N-Out Burger compare?
• Did you ever wonder why we say "I have a doctor's appointment?" I don't understand the apostrophe. We don't say "I have a dentist's appointment," do we? Doctors are so powerful, they even own our appointments.
• In an era of major change for radio stations (streaming services and podcasts have taken away much of the audience), what ownership did to KGO radio in San Francisco is still stunning. In the course of about five years, the Atlanta-based ownership changed the iconic radio station of the Bay Area – which was the No. 1 ranked station for 27 years in a row – into another AM radio station filled with syndicated talk shows.
• Related note: I have six music apps on my mobile phone, something that would have made any pre-2005 version of me assume that I also drove a flying car. And to think that a TV remote control blew my mind when I was 10. You could switch back and forth on the two channels in my hometown without getting up!
• You may have missed it, but Dallas Mavericks owner Mark Cuban says he'd consider offers to be vice president from either Hillary Clinton or Trump. And somehow that got on the news, despite having zero chance of happening. And now I'm repeating it. Oh no . . .
• I don't know why, but I feel like a king when I drive the back roads instead of Interstate 80 and Highway 12 to come home from the 1-80-680 interchange area. It's probably slower, but it's prettier. And it feels like local knowledge, despite all the other cars on it. I guess that makes me a rube.

A final reminder: Friday is June 3, which is the anniversary of the day Billy Joe MacAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge. I don't know about you, but I'll be picking flowers up on Chocktow Ridge, then dropping them into the muddy water off the Tallahatchie Bridge.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Knocking suburbs is just snobbery

America's suburbs get no respect. City-dwellers and rural residents both look down their noses at those of us living in the fringes of America's urban areas, despite the fact that more than half of Americans live in the suburbs.

We are the silent majority!

I'm ready to defend us, as soon as I finish eating at a chain restaurant and drive home to my master-planned development.

I'm not mocking them. I like both, despite the disdain in which they are held by others.

Anti-suburb snobbery has been around for decades, but has grown with the gentrification of America's cities. It's chic to call out the suburbs as lacking soul. As creating sprawl. As places where beaten-down commuters live.

America created an industry over the past 70 years of building homes in the suburbs, then having city-dwellers and rural residents mock and hold them in disregard.

Talk to a young resident of San Francisco. Watch an episode of "House Hunters." Listen to someone from a small town. They all agree: The suburbs are boring and a wasteland.

I call baloney.

And not just because I live in the suburbs. Or maybe because I live in the suburbs. Who knows?

I'm tired of hearing cities like Fairfield, Suisun City and Vacaville described as boring and predictable. Because here's what else they are: Safe and (relatively) affordable.

The great American suburban explosion started in the years when soldiers returned from World War II and desired a place to raise their families. That resulted in tract housing. Daily commutes to work. New schools. Supermarkets. Fast food restaurants.

For some people, those things are boring and bland. For the rest of us, they're where we grew up and chose to live as adults.

What, exactly, is wrong with wanting to live away from a city or not in the country? To live where you can afford a home (even an apartment), but still have access to plenty of opportunities?

I don't begrudge people who live in cities. That's what they want. Urban residents love the energy and opportunities and buzz of the city (or they're poor and can't get out). If you live in San Francisco or Oakland, you can probably walk to a dozen restaurants and go to street fairs and see concerts or sporting events within walking distance.

I don't mind people who live in rural America.

I'm glad they have that option.

I just think they should have the same view of those of us who live in America's suburbs.

Disdain for the suburbs isn't sophistication or a deeper understanding of life. It's snobbery. It's looking down your nose at people who choose to live in a place they can afford and where they choose to raise their family.

Disagree? I'll meet you at a chain restaurant at the mall to discuss it, then return to my three-bedroom home that looks a lot like the others in my neighborhood.

And perhaps then I'll simply revel in my paranoia about what others think about where I live.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Remember: Cliches, buzzwords are dime a dozen

It was clear the moment he walked in the door: This guy was wound up like a cheap watch.

"I need some information from you," he said. "How many cliches are too many in one sentence?"

He was a chip off the old block. Years earlier, I'd asked the same question and it's a tough row to hoe. Or is it was "a tough road to ho?"

Six of one, half-dozen of the other, I guess.

To add insult to injury, he was like a bull in a china shop. Or is it China shop? I guess it depends on whether the china is actually from the nation, to cut through the red tape.

But he really opened a can of worms: How many cliches are too many? And is that just the tip of the iceberg? If we get into this discussion, will we soon be worrying about everything?

"Maybe we should just let sleeping dogs lie," I told him. "This is really just beating a dead horse."

But he reminded me that I was a writer, not a veterinarian. Shouldn't I know about cliches?

"Don't judge a book by its cover," I reminded him.

"If the shoe fits, wear it," he said. And he had me. This guy was as honest as the day is long.

"Well, don't put all your eggs in one basket and don't count your chickens before they hatch, which seems alike," I told him. "But I'll give you my opinion."

"Finally," he said. "The squeaky wheel gets the grease!"

I wasn't sure what he meant, but maybe it was a blessing in disguise. I wanted to give him a real answer, not a dog and pony show.

"Now, I'm certainly not pure as the driven snow," I started. "And if what I say sounds like criticism, that would be the pot calling the kettle black."

He leaned forward. As the crow flies, he was inches away. It would have to be a small crow, obviously. But he could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.

"As far as I'm concerned, cliches are overused," I said. "Most cliches fall as flat as a pancake, but the devil is in the details."

He was on pins and needles.

"When a writer overuses cliches, it stands out like a sore thumb," I added. "The writer might have good intentions, but the road to hell is paved with good intentions."

"So be careful when you use them!" he shouted, although his bark was worse than his bite. "I wish I knew this earlier, but better late than never."

I didn't know whether he was just trying to keep up with the Joneses, but when he turned to leave, I was relieved. This could have gone on until the cows came home.

He walked away smiling – on cloud nine, proving that good things come to those who wait.

The conversation was a feather in my cap. And I'd also killed two birds with one stone: I educated someone and got a column topic.

Another day, another dollar.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Tips from a scarred Mother's Day veteran

It's Mother's Day, which is time for two reminders:

1. Mother's Day is important.

2. All greetings aren't equal. You don't get credit for simply remembering.

Trust me. I know. Or ask Mrs. Brad. She knows.

It goes back to a Mother's Day many years ago, right after our first son was born. We'd gone through a few years of infertility, with all that encompasses – particularly for women.

I figured "something" would happen sometime, but I was also ready to accept a childless life. I was also preoccupied with whether the Giants could contend, whether the 49ers would keep winning and when M.C. Hammer would become bigger than Elvis.

Mother's Day was especially painful for Mrs. Brad. The annual reminders that she wasn't a mom yet, combined with what felt like condescension from those who realized it (". . . oh, this is a day for you, too!") made her want to avoid Mother's Day at all costs.

The year before our son was born, I scored big time. We had a fish tank with several small fish, so on Mother's Day, I gave her a card, "signed" by all the fish – each with different handwriting. It was clever. She liked it.

I won.

Then we decided to adopt and our son was born in November. We went through all the tension and excitement of having kids, along with the extra drama of adoption. When that first Mother's Day came, I figured I was on a winning streak.

Remember the fish card? I could do even better!

At the grocery store a few days before Mother's Day, I perused the cards. There were cute ones, old-fashioned ones, Bible verses, corny ones "to my wife." I looked around and saw . . .

Cards in Spanish!

This would be hilarious! I would get Mrs. Brad a card in Spanish for her first Mother's Day! She doesn't speak nor read Spanish, so this would be even better than the fish card! Hilarious!

Of course it was a bad idea, but it didn't seem so at the time. Many bad ideas don't seem so at the time.

Me writing a column about the possible outcomes of that Malaysian airliner that disappeared a few years ago didn't seem like a bad idea.

My late-1980s mullet didn't seem like a bad idea.

I'm sure investing in a time share doesn't seem like a bad idea.

And that Spanish card for Mrs. Brad's first Mother's Day didn't seem like a bad idea.

The big day arrived and I placed the card in the crib next to our son. Mrs. Brad saw it, her face lit up and she opened the card.

Then she read it. And cried. I had taken a landmark day in her life and made it into a stupid gag by giving her a card that she couldn't read.

There's no way to really recover from that. You apologize, admit your failure and don't repeat it.

I didn't repeat it.

I've had many Mother's Days since then. Mrs. Brad still doesn't like the holiday and I know not to make it worse with a dumb gag. (To be clear: I still go for the dumb gags, just not on Mother's Day.)

So there's your lesson on Mother's Day, 2016. Remember the holiday, but don't go for a cheap laugh when it's really important to the recipient.

It's no bueño.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Ranking recent decades: Official list, in order

We live in a world of rankings. Nielsen ranks television shows. Media members and coaches rank college sports teams. A website called Ranker.com claims that it ranks everything. And Rankin-Bass ranks Christmas TV specials.

Get it? That joke ranks high on a list of 40-year-old pop culture references.

Anyway, today I break out my latest rankings. A few months ago, I ranked the generations – with early favorite "The Greatest Generation" finishing behind the much-knocked Millennials. Today? We'll rank the decades.

Using a purely scientific method, I will rank the 1960s through the 2000s (the 2010s aren't done yet, so it's a nice cutoff). While everything is in play, we'll pay particular attention to pop culture, sports and world events.

It's science, so don't argue. Here are the rankings, starting at the bottom.

5. 2000s: It's hard to feel great about a decade that included the Sept. 1, 2001, terror attacks and the Great Recession: The worst attack on U.S. soil followed seven years later by the worst recession in 70 years. And in between, we had two major military engagements and the start of the New England Patriots dynasty. Ugh.

On the plus side, we did have the best years of "American Idol," the birth of social media and all those "Harry Potter" books and movies.

4. 1970s: The most dramatic musical decade, with the collision of rock, R&B, disco and punk. The 1970s also saw the end of the Vietnam War and Richard Nixon. In entertainment, there was a weird contrast between a major improvement in movies (more realistic films, plus the advent of blockbusters) and horrendous TV shows ("Happy Days," "The Jeffersons," "Three's Company").

Sports, a major factor for me, wasn't great in the 1970s. And you have to deduct for the hair, styles and food. To be fair, we really needed a breather between two epic decades (spoiler alert!).

3. 1990s: The tech boom, Bill Clinton's presidency, the emergence of hip-hop and grunge music as mainstream and, most significantly, the birth of my two sons makes this a really important decade. The 1990s saw the Gulf War, the O.J. Simpson trial and dynasties by the Dallas Cowboys, Chicago Bulls and New York Yankees – all of which troubled most of America.

If you liked boy bands or Brittany Spears, the late '90s were remarkable. The decade was high-tech (AOL, pagers), but it was the last gasp before we all got fully connected. No Twitter or Facebook, which made it better or worse, depending on your perspective.

2. 1980s: Some really remarkable music (Michael Jackson, Bruce Springsteen, Prince, U2) and a second wave of youth movies/TV shows in a decade dominated by Ronald Reagan. While it's funny to think of the technology of the decade (the Walkman, VCRs, early cellphones), the 1980s were when we made a leap into the information age – even if it was with old game systems and CDs.

TV gave us "The Cosby Show," (which seems creepy now, but was great at the time) "Cheers," "Seinfeld" and the dawn of modern drama with such programs as "Hill Street Blues" and "L.A. Law." The 49ers won four Super Bowls while Michael Jordan and Nike created a new partnership between marketing and sports. Oh, and world communism collapsed, too, for which the decade gets bonus points.

1. 1960s: America's most-heralded decade is the greatest decade of the past 50 years since it gave us the Beatles, Woodstock, the moon landing, the Civil Rights movement, Vietnam and a bunch of assassinations (clearly a mixed bag). It gets a lot of credit from baby boomers, who are overrated (see generations-ranking column), but in this case, they're right.

This was the decade that saw us transition from the post-World War II culture to modern culture. Like it or not, the 1960s shaped modern America. Oh, and I was born.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.