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.