Another tough year for most-popular baby names

I always defend millennials. But really?

Babies named Kylo? Zayn? Zyaire? Royalty? Itzayna? Poppy?

All of those were among the names that increased the most in popularity from 2015 to 2016, according to the Social Security Administration.

To be fair, none are in the top 100, but still . . . how is it possible that Royalty is a more popular girls name than Brittany and Anne? How is it that Grey is a more popular boys name than Bobby or Willie? Has there been a great San Francisco Giants outfielder named Grey? I thought not.

The annual list always causes intrigue. For instance, the 2016 rankings bring a question about whether the transformation of Bruce Jenner to Caitlyn Jenner affects things so much that the four girls' names that decreased the most in 2016 were Caitlin, Caitlyn, Katelynn and Kaitlynn?

Hmm. I would have thought the reaction would be the opposite.

It's time to admit the obvious: People don't know what they're doing when they're naming their children.

Of course when the "most popular baby names" list comes out every year, the focus is on the top. It's Noah, Liam and William for the boys, Emma, Olivia and Ava for the girls.

All fine. But I'm more concerned about the others, bubbling beneath the surface.

For instance, did you know that Valentino and Talon were both in the top 1,000 boys names? I mean, that's a good law firm (who would want to go to court against Valentino and Talon?), but would you trust your 5-year-old daughter in a class with a kid named Valentino? (Of course, the only people who understand that reference are dead).

On the girls' side, it's more of the same. Wren, Myah and Lennox. All top-1,000 names. Also potential names of kitchen appliance companies.

Of course, there's some good news for people who want it to be 1945 again. James, Daniel, David, John, Jack, Charles and Leo are all in the top 100. They sound like my father's friends. Evelyn, Grace, Penelope, Lillian, Eleanor and Lucy (all of whom could have been my grandmother's sisters) are top-60 names.

Names are obviously a personal choice. With my oldest son and his bride expecting their first child, I'll be quiet when they make their choice, even if it's Royalty. Similarly, I'm not criticizing you for giving your child one of the names I mocked. I was talking about other people.

However . . . when it comes to girls names, there's this: Charleigh is No. 500. That begs the question of why not Bradleigh? It's not in the top 1,000. Maybe in 2017?

My personal pet peeve is that Aileen is listed at No. 599. That's the name of my sister and lifelong nemesis. Although I'll remind her that Bradley has only been out of the top 200 once in my lifetime, and that was 2008 when it was 201st. That's the year the U.S. economy crashed.

Solid names are always good, something we need to remember in 2056 when people named Kingston, Jax, Daleyza and Dahlia are presidential candidates.

They'll be fine and seem normal, but I stand by this: Never trust someone named Royalty to be president.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

There's a reason clowns have an image problem

The scariest clown movie in a generation was released last week when Stephen King's "It" hit theaters. Public response was strong. The response from the clown community wasn't funny.

The president of the World Clown Association (seriously!) said the movie, in which a monster takes a variety of forms (including a clown) and hunts down children, hurts the image of clowns. He blames the movie for the clown industry downturn.

The WCA, in fact, issued a statement that the character should be understood as a fantasy character, not "a true clown" and said "various horror clown portrayals work against our goal."

I'm sympathetic with the clown community, but they're wrong. The movie isn't what makes clowns scary. Clown makeup does that.

For me, at least.

My understanding of the horrors of clowns goes back to a time when I was about 20 and the future Mrs. Brad (then known as Brad's Girlfriend) and I were co-activity directors for a weeklong kids' camp for our church. We were at a remote campground with maybe 75 elementary-school-age kids and their counselors, directing relay races, water balloon volleyball, skits and singing.

And a clown makeup session.

Neither of us were advocates, but an influential adult loved clowns and figured the kids would love it, too. So on about the third day of camp, we got all the kids in the picnic bench area, had them pair up and paint each other's faces. It would be a hoot!

Problem 1: Kids don't know how to paint faces.

Problem 2: I don't know how to paint faces.

Problem 3: I paired up with Brad's Girlfriend, who did know how to paint faces. Or at least better than me.

As the 30-minute painting session progressed, you could feel energy being sucked out of the camp. It's nearly impossible to kill the spirit of 75 excited elementary school kids, but clown makeup did. I could almost hear the funeral dirge as the kids sat patiently (and impatiently), while friends painted their faces.

We weren't playing tag or Frisbee golf or capture the flag. We were painting each other's faces.

When Brad's Girlfriend and I finished, I didn't know how I looked, but I could see her. It was horrific. It was funny. Someone just arriving might have commended her for allowing a young, non-artistic, blind child to paint her face.

She wasn't happy. She was mad because I was laughing. And because I committed a makeup atrocity.

The kids were no different. The mood went from anticipation of another fun day to feeling like they'd been told the family dog died. We lined up for a group picture (the clown-loving adult thought it was great!) that undoubtedly revealed 75 pairs of slumped shoulders and pouting lips. Including Brad's Girlfriend.

It took a day to recover the energy. Even the campfire that night was somber. An event designed to make everyone happy created a heartbreaking experience for a group of kids – and a tortuous experience for Brad's Girlfriend, who had to wait an hour or so to remove the mess I painted on her face.

Some people love clowns. The World Clown Association says it wants to bring joy. The wider clown community seems nice.

But this much is clear: The image problem for clowns predates the current movie.

One good thing: For at least one day, decades ago, Mrs. Brad was legitimately the "It Girl."

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

New elements spread scientific knowledge, fear

I'm no scientist, although I played one in the 1966 horror movie "Mothra's Excellent Adventure." In fact, my science knowledge stops at the freezing temperature for water (cold) and what's in table salt (salt).

But news that scientists added have items to the periodic chart was an eye-opener for me.

The International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry (IUPAC) last winter approved the name and symbols of four elements – elements 113, 115, 117 and 118. They are called, in order, Nihonium, Moscovium, Tennessine and Oganesson.

According to an announcement by IUPAC, the newly discovered elements were named after a location or a scientist, following the early naming convention that honored Frank Oxygen and Harriet Nitrogen, both whom lived in the Hydrogen neighborhood of Baltimore.

I wouldn't give a nickel for that gag. Get it? Nickel is an element!

I just hope that the person who came up with Oganesson, which is abbreviated as Og, now calls himself "the Wizard of Og." Seriously.

But let's commemorate the use of the word Tennessine, which I have always used as the past tense for the word Tennessee. Now I know differently.

The periodic chart is interesting, although I missed most of the instruction about it during high school science due to the fact that I was surreptitiously listening to the Giants on a transistor radio. But I was apparently misinformed: I thought that like the number of planets in the solar system (eight after Pluto's unfair demotion), faces on Mount Rushmore (four), members of the pop group Hanson (three) and turtle doves (two), the number of elements on the periodic table was settled.

Apparently not. It never was.

Sneaky scientists have been adding to the chart since it was introduced in 1869 – bringing criticism that they're just doing it to force amateur chemists to keep buying new charts, like those pesky college textbook authors.

The four new elements last winter were the first to be added to the table since Flevorium and Livermorium were accepted in June 2011.

Livermorium! It's from Livermore . . . and it also gives cachet to my plan to buy a crematorium in Livermore and name it "The Livermorium." Cool, right?

That the periodic table of the elements continues to expand should be seen as good news. Knowledge keeps expanding. People keep discovering new things. The borders of science keep growing.

Except . . .

The first 94 elements exist naturally and the subsequent 24 have been synthesized in labs or nuclear reactors.

There's no reason to fear.

I'm sure scientists creating new elements in a lab or a nuclear reactor is purely harmless. The fact that every time that's happened in a movie has led to disaster shouldn't make us fear. Right?

Right?

I guess we'll just have to trust the scientists. And hope that nothing goes wrong with the new, synthesized elements.

If it goes bad, I guess we should have Tennessine it coming, right?

Dumb puns are a key element in jokes. Get it? Element?

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

America's shaky love affair with the NFL

America's love affair with her dangerous boyfriend begins again soon.

The NFL season starts Thursday.

For decades, our relationship with the nation's most popular sport (listed as the favorite sport by twice as many people as any other sport in 2015) was simple. The NFL was a weekly battle of wholesome, all-American athletes. It was the perfect television sport: framed in a tight space, with enough time for replays and commercials. We gambled on games, played fantasy football and held tailgate parties even when we weren't at the game.

The Super Bowl is an American holiday and we turned Monday Night Football (then Sunday Night Football, then Thursday Night Football) into a weekly ritual. If you didn't love the NFL, you kept quiet about it.

And then . . .

NFL players kept getting into legal trouble. You couldn't go a week without hearing about an NFL player being arrested. Drunken driving. Domestic abuse. Assault. Was it an epidemic or just that we were finally hearing the truth? The league needed to do something.

The tide turned. A little. But we kept watching.

And then . . .

Retired players started coming forward with tales of brain problems. They couldn't remember their phone numbers. They couldn't endure light. Headaches. Premature deaths. And some of the men were in their 40s and 50s.

Soon it became a stampede. Brain injury after brain injury. A movie starring Will Smith. Studies about the prevalence of chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) among NFL players.

The love affair with the NFL got a little shakier.

The news got worse. Just last month, a study showed that of 111 brains of former NFL players that were studied, 110 showed signs of CTE. Sure, they were men whose families suspected something was wrong. Sure, that's not a representative sample. But as observers pointed out, even if the next 1,200 brains of former NFL players tested negative – which is next to impossible – NFL players would be vastly above the normal expected level of CTE.

A fact: Playing football, particularly at its highest level, significantly increases your chances at brain injuries.

We keep watching, but we're less comfortable.

It's still the NFL. It's still America's Sunday celebration. It's still the Cowboys and Patriots. It's still Tom Brady and Ben Roethlisberger.

The NFL has survived challenges from four other professional football leagues. It overcame the embarrassment of ignoring a culture of off-field violence. It survived – even thrived – while franchises moved, ticket prices skyrocketed and entertainment competition increased.

But . . .

This is a league that causes brain injuries.

Many of the players we're cheering for on Sundays will suffer brain trauma that will make their retirement years a nightmare.

Maybe the NFL is the new cigarettes.

For years, Americans suspected they were bad for our health but ignored the warnings. Then the surgeon general declared that cigarettes cause cancer and the tide slowly turned. Tobacco products kept selling, but decreased. Smoking became less acceptable. It was banned in some, then most places.

Smoking hasn't gone away, but it's not what it was. Society recognizes that it's dangerous and spurns it, even though some people still smoke.

Will the NFL follow suit? In a few decades, will children be amazed that we celebrated a game that inflicted brain damage on its participants?

Former Atlanta Falcons coach Jerry Glanville was once caught on film, arguing with an official. "This is the NFL," Glanville said. "That means not for long when you make them (bleeping) calls."

A reasonable question: Does the cascade of medical evidence about the adverse health effects of playing pro football mean the NFL's future as the No. 1 sport is not for long?

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.