Google solves hard math problem, ignores important ones

Like that brown-nosed braniac who sat behind you in high school, Google is at it again.

This time, the tech giant is claiming a breakthrough in quantum computing – which is presumably similar to "Quantum Leap," the early 1990s Scott Bakula TV show that I never watched. Anyhow, Google says a quantum computer processor completed a complex math problem in 200 seconds, a task that it says would take the world's fastest supercomputer 10,000 years to complete.

Google is probably lying and is definitely wasting money.

First, the lie: Google's claim that the math problem would take 10,000 years for a supercomputer to solve.

That seems like a wild guess. How does Google know it would take 10,000 years? Did someone time travel to the year 12019 and check? In the song "In the Year 2525," history goes no further than 9595, so I call baloney.

Secondly, what part of supercomputer doesn't Google understand?

Regardless, the "it would take 10,000 years" claim sounds like an overstatement, much like when compact discs arrived and we were told they would never wear out. Within about 18 months, that was proven wrong.

Google is lying.

The second issue with this claim is more basic. Why is Google spending time solving some complex math problem when we could all use a little help with Google solving basic math problems that we face every day?

Google is supposed to be practical, so quit showing off and help us with basic math.

Want examples? Here are a couple math problems that I want Google to use that quantum computer processor to solve for me:

How much do  I need for retirement? I can ask my money guy, Leon, but even Leon doesn't know how long I'll live (unless Leon is plotting to kill me, which seems unlikely). And he can't guarantee what expenses I'll encounter.

I suspect I'm not alone in being nervous about future spending because of questions. If Google can solve a problem that would take a supercomputer 100 centuries to solve, it should be able to give me a bottom-line number, so I can make sure I run out of air and money at the same time.

What's the best deal on toilet paper? This is crucial. It was always a bit dicey, because of the complication of multi-ply toilet tissue, but in recent years, it's gotten harder.

Go to a store and you have the option of buying toilet paper in four-, six-, 12-, 48- and 54-roll packs, all with multiple options for thickness. Is it a better deal to get one four-ply, 48-roll pack or eight one-ply, 12-roll packs? And why does it jump from 48 rolls to 54? Shouldn't it be to 96 rolls? And if I get 96 rolls of toilet paper, how should I stack them?

Google should answer that. Presumably, there are other "math" solutions that could help us.

So congratulations to Google for solving a problem that none of us realized existed, then making up how long it would take other computers to solve it.

By the way, did anyone check Google's math? If it would take 10,000 years for a supercomputer to solve the problem, how do we even know the answer is correct?

I'll Ask Jeeves.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Science says sunny outlook increases lifespan

I knew this would be true!

A study posted in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences says that optimistic people live longer than pessimists.

Great news, right? Presumably, it also means our extra years will be great, too! Sunshine and unicorns, as I always say.

Scientists combined data from two long-term studies over decades and found that the most optimistic women live about 15 percent longer than their pessimistic colleagues, while optimistic men live about 11 percent longer than pessimists (As an optimist, I choose to believe the fact that I enjoy "The Bachelor" on TV means I'll have an advantage closer to that of women).

Those increases came after taking into consideration other issues, such as exercise, diet and demographic information.

Of course, you could choose to look at this the other way: Pessimists are right when they presume they'll die earlier.

Doesn't matter, though. Join me in walking down the street, hands in my pockets, whistling and saying hello to everyone. It is, as the Brady Bunch once sang, a Sunshine Day!

Some would say optimism is an inherited trait. Maybe it is, since most of us have B-positive blood type. Get it? The fact that I wrote that and expected a reaction kind of proves that I'm optimistic, right?

As an aging optimist, there was more good news: Optimistic women are 1.5 times more likely to make it to 85 than pessimists and optimistic men are 1.7 times more likely.

Scientists didn't just leave it at the age span. They explained why optimists have an advantage: We (and I include myself because I feel confident that I'll be in the group, which is a circular argument, but don't bet against me) are more likely to have healthy behaviors such as exercise and good diet, while avoiding unhealthy habits. We also handle stress better, because we assume it will be OK.

Which reminded me of the old story of an optimist and a pessimist falling off a 100-story building. As the pessimist fell, he screamed and cursed. As the optimist fell, he whispered, "so far, so good!"

As someone who has been identified as an optimist from a young age (my good friend and colleague Ted Sillanpaa used to insist that if I played baseball, my walk-up music would be "Walking on Sunshine," by Katrina and the Waves), this is a study to embrace. As a longtime Type 1 diabetic, there are plenty of studies about a shorter life span, but I of course figure they don't apply to me. This does!

Because I'm walking on sunshine, wow! I'm walking on sunshine! And don't it feel good?

There are two conclusions from this study:

• If you're an optimist like me, things look good.
• If you're a pessimist, don't worry. I'm sure it will be fine!

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

An earthquake, a World Series, 30 years of memories

I didn't even feel it. I heard it, but I didn't feel the second-biggest earthquake to hit Northern California in the past century.

Thirty years ago this week – at 5:04 p.m. Oct. 17, 1989 – the Loma Prieta earthquake hit the Bay Area, killing 63 people and causing $6 billion of damage. It measured 6.9 on the Richter scale, making it one of the 13 biggest earthquakes in recorded state history. Tony Wade wrote two "Back in the Day" columns with local residents' remembrances and this is mine.

I was a young sports editor, covering Game 3 of the World Series between the San Francisco Giants and Oakland A's at Candlestick Park. I didn't feel the earthquake.

I was covering the game with Steve Trosky, another Daily Republic sports writer, and was walking down the stairs below the press box from our seats. I heard the rumble and smiled. "These fans are great. They're stomping their feet," I thought.

Steve saw me walking. He saw the televisions that were on plywood platforms above poles so the media could see replays. The TVs swayed over my head as I walked down the stairs like Mr. Magoo, thinking the fans were stomping their feet.

The fans, drunk on excitement for the first World Series game in San Francisco since 1962, cheered the earthquake. What more appropriate thing for a Bay Area World Series?

Before long, it was obvious that something was wrong. Radio stations came back online and reporters and fans began hearing early reports and rumors. The Bay Bridge collapsed. The Marina district was on fire. Buildings were in shambles. Santa Cruz was in ruins.

Some of the early reports were true. Most had some element of truth. Pretty soon it became apparent this was a disaster and bigger than baseball.

As a reporter, it was a free-for-all. Security broke down and reporters were allowed to roam.

I asked the baseball commissioner a question. I asked the head of the Baseball Writers Association of America about the history of such disasters (since there was no Internet yet). I talked to players who were huddled on the field with their families and who didn't want to talk to a small-town sports writer.

Steve was working, too, although he was concerned. His father commuted across the Bay Bridge every day. Was the bridge in the water? Ultimately, TV stations came back on and we saw images. The bridge was damaged, not collapsed. The Marina was indeed burning. The horror of the collapse of the Cypress structure in Oakland was obvious.

Steve and I headed south to my sister's house in South San Francisco, from where we filed our articles on cheap old-school Radio Shack TRS-80 computers (affectionately called "trash-80s"), then called the Daily Republic newsroom, somehow got through and made sure they received them.

We drove home the only way we could – through Golden Gate Park and across the Golden Gate Bridge, since the other bridges were closed and power was out. People were gracious and generous, some directing traffic with flashlights.

It took about three hours to get home, but ultimately we did.

We were really observers to history. We weren't hurt, we lived in Fairfield and Suisun City, so we suffered no damage. Steve and I really just had a chance to see a historic sporting event and then somehow manage to do our jobs and file our articles.

Ten days later, I was back at Candlestick when the series resumed and the A's quickly finished off a sweep. The Bay Bridge was still closed, so it was still a hassle to get there, but I wasn't going to miss it.

After all, it was still the first Giants World Series home game since 1962.

There you have it. I was at ground zero of the thing that most people around the nation associate the the Loma Prieta earthquake. And when it happened, I thought it was fans stomping their feet.

That's me, genius reporter.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Time traveler continues his visit from 1985

Last week in this column: Brad encountered a younger version of himself (one who said "awesome" and "sweet" a lot) in his workplace garage and, after they recognized each other, the pair discussed new technology, his marriage and how relationships have changed since 1985. We now resume, since time-travel encounters with a younger version of yourself are too much for one column.

I was in my Toyota Prius, driving around an early 20s version of myself and explaining how the world has changed. And remained the same.

"So you're telling me the Giants win three World Series?" the younger me asked, wide-eyed.

"Yeah. Three in five years. But it came after some heartbreaking seasons."

"As long as they win, I don't care. Like the Los Angeles Raiders: Just win, baby!"

I nodded, not wanting to explain what happened to the Raiders.

"So this social media thing you mentioned. What is it?" he asked.

I tried to explain, telling him it was a way for people to keep in touch and share news with immediacy. News was often shared via social media.

"So people can now find out immediately who is drafted by an NBA team ?" he asked.

"Yeah. I guess that's one way."

"Hmm. That's why I took a newspaper job: So I could see stuff come over the wire. That's the most awesome part of the job."

That didn't surprise me. I remembered the wonder of following the 1984 NBA draft by reading Associated Press bulletins at the newspaper office while I was a part-time sports writer.

"So is there a downside to the social media? Anything people don't like?"

I explained over-sharing, online bullying and privacy breaches. But I told him most people still participate.

"I don't see what the big deal is about privacy breaches. Who cares if they know where you bank? You still have to go in the bank and get money," younger me said. "And if I had a password, it would be Caribbean. It would be like that M*A*S*H* episode, where someone said 'Care-uh-BEE-un,' and the other person said, "I thought it was 'Care-RIB-ee-un." That was sweet. . . .  I'd do social media if I could follow the NBA draft."

I also told him about YouTube.

"Seriously? You can watch music videos on a phone? That's crazy. Bad news for MTV, right?"

I couldn't even begin to explain it.

When I showed him how texting worked, he immediately wanted to send a text.

"Mister Gower cabled you need cash. STOP," he started, mimicking the telegram at the end of "It's a Wonderful Life." I laughed and told him he'd still be using that gag 35 years in the future. Because it's still funny.

"So we have all this technology, people take pictures and listen to music on their phones, couples now demand that their wedding party pay to be part of the wedding, right?" he asked. "There's one main thing I want to know, though."

Did he want to know whether Mrs. Brad and I had kids? Whether he ever covered professional sports? In what town he would live? Whether diabetes cost him any limbs? (That got dark quickly!)

It was none of those.

"Did the USFL make it?" he asked, referencing the upstart league that challenged the NFL.

"Nope. It faded away pretty quickly."

He smiled and nodded.

"Well, that's good. That probably wrapped up the 15 minutes of fame for that obnoxious guy who owns the New Jersey Generals. That Trump guy."

I couldn't bear to tell him.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.