Dream a (boring) little dream of me

Of all the areas in which Mrs. Brad and I differ – being handy around the house (her, not me), being a good driver (her, not me), reading other people's moods (her, not me), cooking well (her, not me) and knowing 1970s and 1980s sports facts and music lyrics (me, not her) – there is perhaps no greater gulf than in how we dream.

Not our wishes. Our actual dreams, while sleeping.

First of all, she remembers dreams nearly every morning. I remember about one a year.

Second, her dreams combine people, places and circumstances from all periods of her life. They are often packed with emotion and leave her affected for the rest of the day.

Mine are bland and uneventful.

If they were made into movies, her dreams would be psychedelic, crazy rides, with cameo appearances and hidden meanings. Mine would be poorly done documentaries on boring topics.

A typical example: Mrs. Brad wakes up and tells me she had a really sad dream. (Names are left out to make it simpler.)

"It was in our old apartment, but I wasn't married to you, I was married to (a former co-worker)," she says. "It was so sad, because I knew we were supposed to be married, but we weren't – and you were acting like you didn't care. Then (a high school or college friend) was my neighbor and she was married to (someone who we attended church with decades ago), but (our son) was their son.

"I had to get to work, but I knew that if I didn't say something to you about loving you, we could never marry. But I was already married. You kept talking about (a famous actor) and wouldn't change the subject. Finally, I asked if you loved me and you said that you had to go bowling.

"Then I started to cry, because I knew nothing could change. But we were supposed to be married. It was so sad."

Early in our marriage, I would ask follow-up questions in an attempt to help it make sense, but it couldn't make sense and really all that mattered was that Mrs. Brad was sad. I would tell her, "That was just a dream. We are still married," and she would say she knew, but would remain sad for much of the day.

While I wondered whether another lineup could help the Giants score more runs.

It still happens frequently. And we've been married three decades.

Finally, a month or so ago, I finally had a dream that I remembered. It was my chance to tell her!

"I dreamed that (our youngest son) got a haircut and I told him that I noticed it," I told her, concentrating to remember pertinent details and doing my best to weave a compelling, accurate tale. "Then, about 10 minutes later, I told him again that I noticed it. He said that I already told him."

Mrs. Brad looked at me.

"That's something that you would do in real life!" she said. "That's the kind of thing you do all the time."

It's true. My dream was a boring, everyday occurrence.

But I did remember it, so I should get credit for that.

Here's my takeaway: Mrs. Brad may have crazy, multiple-layer dreams while I have dreams about everyday things that could actually happen. Hers may be more dramatic, but consider this:

There is a much better chance that my dreams will actually come true.

I've got that going for me.

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

Best choice of woman on the $10 bill

So, beginning in 2020, a woman will appear on the $10 bill, according to the U.S. Treasury.

Typical, isn't it? Women get their face on money just as we become a cashless society. It's like finding out that they're going to put your face on an album cover right when everybody switches to mp3s.

Once again, the chauvinist system slights women. Am I right, ladies?

But really, the plan to add a woman's face to the $10 bill has brought its share of confusing, confounding debate.

In one survey of registered voters (do unregistered voters not use cash? If they do, why weren't they asked?), Eleanor Roosevelt got the most support. Sure, she's much admired, but wouldn't we ultimately be honoring her for who her husband was? I mean, she did a lot of great things, but wasn't her most notable achievement her marriage? Isn't that a rather old-school choice?

In that poll, abolitionist Harriet Tubman was second, American Indian guide Sacagawea was third, Amelia Earhart ("My $10 bill disappeared just like the person on it!") fourth and Susan B. Anthony rounded out the top five.

Anthony's candidacy is particularly significant because the change in the $10 bill is being made to coincide with the 100th anniversary of women gaining the right to vote and Anthony was a key player. But don't people remember the dollar coin mess? We had a Susan B. Anthony dollar coin and it flopped. Putting her on the bill would be like bringing Dennis Miller back to "Monday Night Football."

While I don't have a problem with any of the top five choices, they don't seem particularly inspired.

Whoever gets her face on the bill will replace Alexander Hamilton, which isn't a big loss. Hamilton advocated for a national currency, so having him on a bill is kind of like having George Mikan's signature on the NBA basketball because he was a proponent of the 3-point line.

I suggest a different approach. The woman on the $10 bill should be someone who was successful on her own in her field, not because she's married to someone who was. We appear to be a year away from the first woman major-party candidate for president, so political choices are out for now.

Entertainment is the obvious solution and the choice of an entertainer could make the new bill a collector's item, too. Kind of like the Elvis stamps.

My first thought was someone like Madonna, who is fiercely independent and has been a leader in her field for 30 years. But then I considered her remake of "American Pie" and rejected the idea.

The best choice is obvious – one of America's most beloved stars.

The best candidate virtually invented the situation comedy on television and 60 years later, her iconic role in "I Love Lucy" remains timely. In addition, her business acumen made her one of the most powerful figures in show business long before women could get into most board rooms. She ran a TV studio that produced not only her shows, but "Mission Impossible" and "Star Trek."

That she was portraying a ditsy goofball while rewriting the corporate entertainment handbook, having children on her own timeline and overcoming significant obstacles makes this woman clearly the best choice.

Yes, that's right.

It's time for the Lucille Bill.

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

Let's bring Stanhope Syndrome into open

It's not that I want the attention. It's only that I occasionally suffer from a malady that has been in the shadows too long and lacks a name.

I suggest calling it Stanhope Syndrome.

About a month ago, I had a flare-up. If you've had one, you know how difficult it is – both physically and emotionally.

The symptoms, like with many maladies, are simple: In this case, it's the inability to complete a sneeze. It wouldn't be so terrible if that were the only symptom. But the emotional trauma amplifies the pain. And the frustration. In many ways, the social stigma makes it worse.

People look at you funny.

It's the kind of disorder that isn't obvious at first. You have to sneeze, so you prepare and . . . wait . . . wait . . . wait . . . and don't sneeze. Your eyes flutter, your mouth opens, you tilt your head back.

Yet nothing happens.

It's OK if it only happens once, but sometimes it happens twice. And thrice.

I suffer from occasional bouts of Stanhope Syndrome. And I'm unashamed.

During my most recent battle with SS (as we'll be calling it soon), I completed only about 50 percent of a series of about 40 sneezes over a two-week period. But the thing about SS is that you don't realize the problem immediately. It's only when you sit back and think about it – maybe after another bout when you waved your arms, threw back your head and were disappointed – that you realize how often it's been happening.

Once or twice is unfortunate. Several times is a syndrome.

Part of the answer for me – and perhaps for others – is to tell someone about it. When I informed my co-workers (who were shocked at the detail I shared, which I presume was because they were unaware of the seriousness of SS), things got better. I actually completed several sneezes in a row.

SS shame leads us to keep quiet, which only reinforces whatever it is that keeps us from sneezing.

This isn't the first time I've campaigned for a disease to be named after me. Several times, I've suggested that Type 1 diabetes, of which I'm one of the most noted victims, should have my name. But it hasn't worked because, I suspect, Big Pharma already has "Type 1 diabetes" written on all the packaging supplies.

This disease is different. There's no major drug to deal with it.

Yet.

There's an obvious win-win solution for Big Pharma and me: Pepper. In exchange for calling the chronic inability to complete a sneeze, "Stanhope Syndrome," I'm willing to be part of a campaign to market pepper in small containers. Maybe a pepper pill, but one that's called Xyzedol or Zexatrim (I suspect drug companies want their products to be valuable words in Scrabble). Then those of us who suffer from SS can snort it and sneeze (if my life experience and hours of watching slapstick comedies are any indication).

It could bring relief.

The inability to sneeze is nothing to . . . umm . . . cough at. It's uncomfortable, embarrassing and allows whatever your body is trying to expel to remain in your sinuses. It's a shame and shame is bad, too.

Join with me in bringing Stanhope Syndrome out of the closet. And in it getting it named Stanhope Syndrome.

Mostly in getting it named Stanhope Syndrome.

Let's end this silent, shameful disease that haunts America. And let's . . . ahh . . . ahh . . . ahh . . .

Have you seen my prescription bottle of Xyzedol?

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

Let's make presidential debates even better

The Republican presidential candidate debate earlier this month on the Fox News Channel captured the attention of Americans more than any debate since the great "Flame Broiling vs. Frying" fast-food conflict of the 1980s.

The reason was obvious: Donald Trump. The former United States Football League team owner brought drama and theatrics to the television show.

It was riveting, like watching a speeding car veer dangerously close to a cliff.

The next Republican debate is in mid-September and we'll see a steady stream of the gabfests between now and the 2016 election. Unfortunately, they'll almost assuredly return to their normal (boring) state: Overprepared politicians regurgitating prepackaged pablum, hoping to avoid a mistake.

Boring!

Since debates have been that way for decades (since Richard Nixon somehow looked "shady" and "unsavory" in the 1960 debates with John F. Kennedy), I say it's time to change them up. Debates have momentum – people talked about politics for days after the Cleveland GOP showdown.

Let's keep it going. Let's make presidential debates must-see TV, which will then make the electorate more "informed" and will make the general election next November the biggest TV and Internet event since the early "American Idol" finales.

This could be as big as Clay vs. Ruben!

Here are some suggestions. The networks and candidates should feel free to use any or all of them.

Add shock collars. These can be used to stop politicians from using buzzwords and to force them to answer questions. They can still make their points, they just can't fall back on pat phrases. For instance, candidates who say "entitlements" or "corporate welfare" will be shocked. Live. On camera. And if they don't at least address a question within 30 seconds, they get a jolt. I'd watch!

Add other contests. Wouldn't it be interesting if part way through the debate, the contestants had to compete in the 100-yard dash or the 50-yard backstroke? What about if there was a singing competition? Or a freestyle rap battle, with the crowd picking the winner? The ability to be physically fit, entertaining and perform under pressure is crucial in a president. Let's test them and add to the show . . . er, debate.

Reality-show-style voting. Copy the reality shows and let America vote. But this time, it really is "America," not millions of teenage girls. At occasional intervals, a website could open for voting (Twitter and Facebook could join in) and the viewers vote. Finish last in a round and you're out of the debate, winnowing the field until there are just two people left for the final question.

Duplicate "Russian Roulette." The early 2000s game show had a floor that would suddenly drop from beneath a contestant after a wrong answer, which is what we do with politicians. In the middle of the debate, the moderator would ask a surprise question ("What is the capital of North Dakota? Who is the political leader of Turkey? Who sang the 1980 hit song "Pop Muzik"?) and candidates who get it wrong risk disappearing from the stage, mid-debate. As an alternative, include all the earlier suggestions in this column and simply have the person voted out drop from view, via the trap door.

I'd watch. And so would you.

This could be the best thing for American politics since Rutherford B. Hayes beat Samuel Tildon in the 1876 election, which most observers credited to Hayes besting Tildon in a series of wrestling matches.

Say . . . I've got another idea!

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

Ranking greatest (and worst) generations

By now, we're indoctrinated: The people who fought in World War II, then returned to build the United States into the greatest nation in the world are "The Greatest Generation."

All others must bow down to them, because they're clearly the . . . no! Wait a minute!

Who gave former NBC News anchorman Tom Brokaw the right to make that decision?

Maybe Brokaw is just a groupie for that generation. Maybe it's time for someone with a neutral viewpoint (me) to rank the living generations.

Based on the always-accurate pros vs. cons standard, here's the ranking of the five current generations (excluding those born after 2005). If you disagree with me, it's probably because you're typical of your generation.

Away we go . . .

5. Generation X (Born 1965-80). Is it too late to label this "The Worst Generation?" They followed the baby boomers and spent the 1980s and part of the 1990s whining about it while playing video games, listening to grunge music, living at their parents' homes and complaining some more.

Pros: Made hip-hop music culturally popular, played a lot of video games.

Cons: Played a lot of video games, whined a lot, got caught between self-important baby boomers and new-world millennials. Gave us Adam Sandler. I love some Gen-Xers, but face it . . . they'll probably whine about this, too.

4. Silent Generation (Born 1928-45). They were between the two most-hyped generations in American history.

Pros: Many of them still read the Daily Republic, so . . . no need to insult them. And Don Draper on "Mad Men" was part of this generation, as were my parents.

Cons: Fought the "forgotten war" (Korea) to a tie, teamed with the Greatest Generation to oppose baby boomers, gave us no presidents (Greatest Generation provided seven, baby boomers three so far). Elected Richard Nixon president. Twice.

3. Baby Boomers (Born 1946-64). If you don't think baby boomers were important, just ask one. They'll tell you about Woodstock, the Vietnam War, the Beatles, the Civil Rights movement, television, blah, blah, blah. This is my generation, but boy are we a bunch of self-important bloviators.

Pros: See above. Also created the Internet, paving the way for the information revolution. Made rock music the dominant cultural influence. Gave us Spielberg, Letterman, Oprah, Ali and Joe Montana.

Cons: Rewrite history too often to inflate own importance, selfish, doubled the divorce rate of their parents, still obsessed with acting young, even though they're not.

2. Greatest Generation (Born 1901-27). A naming error, based on my rankings, but it's clear how they get that label.

Pros: Survived the Depression, fought and won World War II, rebuilt Europe and led the U.S. economy to the top of the world after the war. Also hired great PR man in Brokaw.

Cons: Had no other choice with the Depression and World War II – they had to survive and fight, so I'm not sure they should get so much credit for that. And they turned a blind eye to racial and sexual discrimination, forcing baby boomers to deal with it and then brag about it for decades. A great generation and worthy of admiration. But overrated.

1. Millennials (Born 1981-2004). The generation that is now moving into power in America, with several decades of dominance to come. Often criticized as lazy and entitled, but that's usually by baby boomers (who think they're too important) and Gen-Xers (who are whiners). My view? I welcome our new overlords.

Pros: Creative thinkers who consider innovation natural. Motivated by relationships and happiness, rather than job security. Accepting of those who are different. Changed how we communicate by embracing and enhancing all forms of new media.

Cons: Still live in their parents' house at 30. Haven't produced a significant political leader (oldest member of generation is just 34, though). Reality TV watchers. Some confusing style choices (in the eyes of a baby boomer). Justin Bieber.

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

New planet will make you younger, heavier

In case you missed the big news, we have a new planetary relative: Earth's "bigger, older cousin."

Mrs. Brad and I are already planning a vacation to Planet Oliver (explanation in next paragraph), where I will be heavier and younger (explanation later).

But still . . . a planetary relative! It's like finding out you have a cousin that you didn't know about, like when Oliver joined the rest of the kids on "The Brady Bunch." (That's the explanation!) Or when Chachi moved in with Fonzie on "Happy Days." Or even when Will came west to live with Carlton's family on "Fresh Prince of Bel Air."

Cousins are fun!

The idea that it's a relative comes from NASA, which is smart enough to get a man to the moon and back several times, although in that Tom Hanks movie, it almost didn't work. But you're just trying to distract me by mentioning Ed Harris.

NASA announced a few weeks ago that its Kepler spacecraft (named after former Major League Baseball star Gabe Kapler) discovered a new planet that's a lot like Earth. It's in the constellation Cygnas (named after a health care company) and is located in an area where water is possible, which is more than you can say about a lot of California right now.

Suffice to say, it was big news for the space folks.

"Today, the Earth is a little less lonely," said NASA researcher Jon Jenkins, who didn't address rumors that Earth actually found it's new connection through FarmersOnly.com, the website with talking dogs.

NASA can't tell whether Planet Oliver actually has water or air, but it may have convenience stores where you can overpay for bottled water and buy some air, so it's got that going for it.

The best news, though, is that the planet, officially named Kepler-452b (but commonly called Planet Oliver), is just 1,400 light-years away. I'm not an expert in scientific distances, but I presume that "light-years" are shorter than regular years, kind of a distance equivalent of light beer and light yogurt. So it doesn't seem that far away.

We'll visit.

Jenkins said the planet "almost certainly has an atmosphere," although he didn't clarify if it would be a positive or negative atmosphere, which would have a major effect on whether Mrs. Brad and I would want to make repeat visits to Planet Oliver.

But getting back to what we started talking about, an interesting issue is that gravity on Planet Oliver is thought to be about double that of Earth, which means we would weigh twice as much and would likely need bigger pants, a problem that would be solved by some big-and-tall stores.

The other intriguing side issue is that it takes 385 days to circle its "sun," which means if you lived 50 Earth years, you would only be about 47 on Planet Oliver.

I don't see any negatives. A planet close enough for "light" travel, a new market for big-and-tall clothing stores, a place where you're younger and a chance to meet a long-lost planetary cousin.

I just don't know why you insisted on bringing up Gabe Kapler, light beer and FarmersOnly.com.

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

Troy, me and the magical device

It was the summer before fifth grade when my best friend, Troy, and I combined our money and sent away for the greatest item ever. Troy, who lived down the street, saw it in a comic book: A portable communication device.

It was perfect. Long before the cellphone era, we could talk at any time. While he was in his house and I was in mine. A space-age miracle!

It cost $3, plus shipping and handling. That was serious money, but worth it.

The drawing in the advertisement in the back of the "Archie" comic book looked like something from a sci-fi movie. It showed two people, in two different buildings, talking into metallic devices.

It was going to be awesome. While stuck at home – maybe because we were in trouble and couldn't go out, maybe because we were in our bedrooms but not ready to sleep – we could talk. We didn't really know what we'd talk about, since our telephone conversations were limited to "Hey, wanna play?" "OK. Your house?" "OK." "Bye."

But we could. It opened other possibilities, too – could we leave it in our sisters' bedrooms like a bug? Could we sneak it to school and communicate from class to class?

We placed our order around the end of the school year, cramming three crumpled dollar bills and a handful of change (for shipping and handling) into an envelope, along with the proof of purchase stamp from the comic book. We mailed it to New York or Pennsylvania or somewhere far from Northern California. Then we waited.

That summer, Troy and I played sports, built a fort and threw our G.I. Joes over my house to each other, pretending they had fallen out of airplanes. We played hide-and-seek with the neighbor kids. We rode our bikes to Country Club Market, a few miles away. We played wiffle ball. We built a "ladder" on the tree that grew over our fort, allowing us to see into my backyard from the woods behind it. I checked the mailbox every day, waiting for both the communication devices.

Finally, a plain box arrived. The communication devices!

I called Troy (maybe the last time we'd need to use the phone?) and he raced to my house. We tore off the paper, then ripped open the box. This was going to be the night we could talk to each other from our bedrooms, several houses away. We pulled the magic item out and examined it.

It was two aluminum cups with handles. Attaching them was a 3-foot-long string. The instructions said to extend the string, then talk into one device.

What?

We spent $3 of our hard-earned cash to buy a glorified Dixie cup communicator, where you connected to cups with a string and talked?

It would work to communicate "from house to house" only if your houses were nearly touching each other and your windows were opposite each other. In that case, the communication device was unnecessary. You could just talk.

We were disappointed. And ripped-off. The product wasn't what the advertisement suggested.

As wiser soon-to-be-fifth-graders, we learned that things weren't always what they promised, especially when they were in the back of a comic book.

It was a hard lesson.

But just to be sure, we went ahead and ordered the "X-ray glasses" in the back of the same comic book. They could see through women's clothes!

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

Characters continue after spotlight fades

One-hit wonder author Harper Lee last week dropped her biggest bombshell since she revealed that "To Kill a Mockingbird" wasn't a hunting book. In her sequel to her only novel, Lee presents "TKAM" (in the publishing industry, we love acronyms) hero Atticus Finch as a racist.

Yes, the character that Gregory Peck portrayed in the iconic movie turned into an angry geezer who railed against African-Americans two decades after he defended an innocent man in "TKAM." While many readers and fans of the movie were shocked, I suspect that the family of the man he defended, Tom Robinson, wasn't. After all, did you see the all-white jury that Finch got seated to hear Robinson's case? And his stunning lack of effort to get DNA evidence admitted?

I'm not saying he threw the case, but . . .

The hubbub over the change in Finch's character got me thinking about the other fictional characters who are stuck in time by readers or moviegoers. Many of them changed, but their new personas were ignored by readers.

For instance, did you know that E.T.'s life dramatically changed after the little alien disappeared into the spaceship at the end of the eponymous movie? Sadly, upon returning to their home planet, E.T.'s fellow travelers denied that they visited Earth and E.T. was locked up and deprived of Reece's Pieces. The others claimed the "Earth visit" was a stunt filmed on a sound stage in their version of Hollywood. E.T. finished his life in disgrace.

E.T. is not alone in his shocking change of fate. Here are some other famous fictional characters whose post-story life took surprising turns.

Cat in the Hat: Famed for bringing his sidekicks (Thing One and Thing Two) to wreck the home of Sally and her brother, the Cat is widely viewed as an irritating interloper. But in "Catnip: My Story of Fame, Blame and Shame," the Cat revealed that his infamous visit on that rainy day was fueled by drugs and ended up with him eating the fish that objected to his presence. Cat later cleaned up and started the nonprofit foundation Panthers Urging Recovery for Relatives (PURR), which lobbied against Big Catnip.

Samantha Stevens: The main character in "Bewitched," the popular 1960s television show, met a surprising and shocking end: She was burned at the stake in 1972.

The Little Engine that Could: Famous for his catchphrase "I think I can . . . I know I can," the LETC became a favorite speaker on the motivational circuit, making more than 200 appearances a year during the 1990s. As rumors of performance-enhancing drug use surfaced, he challenged reporters to "kiss my caboose." The New York Times investigated LETC and discovered that he profited from electrical power in his famous ride over the mountain. LETC is currently petitioning to be able to return to the rails, but has been denied.

Bambi: The star of the beloved Disney children's story married on-screen flame (no pun intended) Faline after filming and moved north to escape attention. Way north. A few years later, their first child was born, a red-nosed deer named Rudolph, who followed Bambi into show business. Bambi died in 1979 and was served as the main dish at a midwinter banquet at a Moose lodge.

Dorothy: The protagonist in "The Wizard of Oz" saw a dramatic change in her life after she returned to Kansas. She became an Academy Award-winning actress who struggled in her personal life, marrying five times and ultimately dying of a drug overdose at age 47. She is survived by her daughter, Liza.

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

Learning about love from a TV dating show

I've got plenty of excuses – it doesn't mean anything. I do it as a tradeoff for the sports that Mrs. Brad watches. Our house is small, so I can't really ignore it. But the next paragraph is the truth.

I watch "The Bachelor" and "The Bachelorette."

With Mrs. Brad, of course. Because, well . . .  re-read the first paragraph.

In case you don't know about the two television shows (really one show, alternating between seasons) here is a brief description: One person "dates" 25 people of the opposite sex, eliminating bad prospects each week until there's just one. The final show is set up to include a dramatic proposal.

And there's also this: The contestants are universally young, attractive and white (despite efforts to bring diversity, the top 10 or so are always white. And they're always in their 20s and 30s. But they're especially white).

The demographic of the viewers, based on logic and audiences at their live shows (a "tell-all" episode with the losers and the finale) is suburban women, 25 to 60. And their beat-down spouses (see first paragraph).

It's a stupid show, which I said several times to Mrs. Brad before learning to keep quiet. However, it does provide some insight into what people – at least the producers of the show – think that the audience believes.

At least that's what I tell myself as I write this, inviting humiliation.

Some examples of "Bachelor/Bachelorette" dating philosophies:

1. People should accept "falling in love" with someone who is "dating" (and making out) with two dozen other people. To be jealous or upset reveals that you don't know how to play the game (or in "Bachelor"-speak, you might not be there for the "right reasons."). This is all despite the fact that accepting that kind of behavior in real life is sociopathic.

2. The way to "take the next step" and "open up" to someone is to tell them something that you haven't regularly told others. Maybe it's that you cheated on your spouse and were thrown out. Maybe it's that your dog died when you were 9 and you are still heartbroken. Maybe it's that you have three elbows. Anything. But tell them something secret and you've really taken the next step.

3. Men who cry are sensitive. Regardless of whether they're jerks. If they cry, they're sensitive. Women apparently love that.

4. The real way to have a romantic date is to have an iconic spot to yourself and then have a popular band (usually one I've never heard of) play a song while you dance. That's romantic, even though it takes a TV network and a team of people working for the producer to make it happen.

5. The poor beautiful young people (often models or fitness instructors) who get eliminated on the show are crushed because they thought this was their true love, and because they'll never get another shot at finding someone because they're just young, wealthy and have been on TV for several weeks.

6. The audience believes that men sometimes actually sit around and talk about how they're falling in love with a woman in the same way that 13-year-old girls talk.

It's a ridiculous show with an absurd premise. I just hope Kaitlyn finds true love with Nick, Shawn or Ben!

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

Cars, buses, trains and me: A memoir

On a ride home on BART last week, I began to sweat. Since I'm a diabetic, my first presumption of every significant sweating episode is that I have low blood sugar – it's a common symptom.

I had tested my blood before I left my office in San Francisco. It was fine. But now I was sweating. Profusely.

And it got worse. I could feel perspiration trickling down my back. And my front. Fortunately, I was wearing a black shirt, so it wasn't obvious. But I wondered if other riders noticed and felt the anxiety that comes with worrying about your health.

We pulled into the North Concord station and I stood up. Then I heard another rider shout. "How about someone turns on the mother #%$*ing air conditioner?"

Ah, public transit.

I walked out of the car and felt like I walked into a refrigerator. A cool day that I later realized was 95 degrees.

How hot was it on my BART car? One-hundred-five degrees? Hotter?

Ah, public transit.

My split shift of a pair of two-month stints of commuting on public transportation ended July 1 when my company reopened our office in Walnut Creek.  It gave me back that most American of privileges – the right to drive my car 50 minutes each way to work, rather than taking public transit. For many of my co-workers,  some of whom rode BART for a decade, it was like getting out of prison. For me, it was more like the end of an experiment.

BART wasn't new. Mrs. Brad and I have long been clients, having taken it on every trip to the interior Bay Area since the 1990s. We take BART to every Giants game, Pier 39 visit and Christmas shopping excursion. We take BART to the airports. We take BART to Warriors games.

But I never used it as a commuter until last fall, when I started working in San Francisco – before a temporary move to Walnut Creek. For the first two months of heading to San Francisco, I caught the Solano Express bus from Suisun City to the El Cerrito del Norte BART station, where I transferred to ride BART into the city. At night, it was the reverse.

Then it ended for four months, when some of us were temporarily in Walnut Creek and blissfully drove our cars. Then we moved back to San Francisco while our office was renovated and I changed my commute-to-the-city plan. This time, I drove to the North Concord BART station, then rode into the city.

People who have commuted that way for years consider me a lightweight. The hardcore folks – who take the bus to BART – scoff at my softness. And they're right.

But as I leave the temporary public transit commute grind, I gained four important observations:

• BART is less crazy during commute hours. Mrs. Brad and I encounter strange situations – people shouting, aggressively asking for money, acting erratically – nearly every time we take BART to a game on a weekend. In more than 150 trips during commute hours, I had one such situation, and it wasn't bad. The busier it is, the less crazy it is.

• Hard-core public transportation commuters take the bus, too. I admire anyone who regularly gets to the bus stop at 6 a.m., rides 45 minutes and then scrambles into a BART station to ride some more; only to do the reverse in the evening. The fact that it was a semi-regular concurrence for people to shout out displeasure at a driver – as if they were unable to avoid expressing their thoughts – was understandable. They were passengers for hours. Every day.

• Public transportation really works. A train from North Concord stops in San Francisco 45 minute later. It's a miracle.

• Most importantly, despite the previous three points, I'm really grateful that I'll be driving my car to work. Because I'm an American.

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