Creative solutions for House speaker quandary

One of the most powerful jobs in America is open and nobody wants it. With good reason.

It's about politics, but stick with me. It's worth it!

Republicans in the U.S. House of Representatives spent the past few weeks hoping that a good candidate – anyone – would step up to succeed John Boehner as speaker of the House. Boehner announced Sept. 25 that he was stepping down after realizing he couldn't unite the party behind him. It looked like Rep. Kevin McCarthy of California would take the job, but he decided not to do it.

Then . . . nobody. Paul Ryan is the top candidate, but he doesn't want the gig.

It's third in line to the presidency and nobody wants the job!

Admittedly, politics is an uncharacteristic subject matter for this space, which more often focuses on how to exploit Mars' water supply or how great it would be to have a monkey servant. But stick with me, because I have suggestions that could solve everything.

For the Republicans.

For Congress as a whole.

For the American public.

I have some nominations for speaker of the House, based on something I uncovered in my research (thanks, Wikipedia!): The speaker of the House doesn't have to be a member of Congress.

That's right: While all 61 speakers in history have been members of Congress, there is no rule requiring it. The speaker can be an outsider.

And this might be exactly the time that we change things. We could be like George Mikan, who gets credit for popularizing the 3-point shot in basketball. Or Charley Douglass, who invented the laugh track for radio and TV shows. Or Barry Mann, who put the bomp in the bomp bah bomp bah bomp.

We could change history.

If the leaders of Congress want to be famous for something other than adding to government gridlock, they should consider appointing an outsider from the following list:

• Samuel L. Jackson. We would watch every press conference by the speaker of the House if it was Samuel L. Jackson. Seriously. Can you imagine him presiding over a congressional hearing? You would never know when he might go off and drop a profane, amusing, sinister threat. To anyone.
• Hugh Laurie. He played the titular character on "House," so he's already a speaker on "House." Why couldn't he be speaker of the House?
• Tony Wade. My rival Daily Republic columnist could likely persuade Congress to do anything. If not, I'd enjoy seeing him under attack.
• Don Rickles. Same as Samuel L. Jackson. I'd watch every session of Congress to watch him work.
• Don Draper. Really, it's actor Jon Hamm, but I'd be comfortable also hiring the writers for "Mad Men" if it meant we get a speaker who goes to a meeting, lets things get out of hand, then comes up with a brilliant, last-second idea that leaves everyone shaking their head in wonder.
• Snoop Dogg. The spizzle of the hizzie!
• Jed York. Anything to get him away from running the 49ers. Even if it means making Congress worse.
• Sara Lee. One of the biggest problems for the speaker of the House is automatic unpopularity. So why not Sara Lee? As we learned from advertising, nobody doesn't like Sara Lee!

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

Mars presents solution to our problem

Scientists think there might be water on Mars, making it the greatest opportunity since gold was discovered at Sutter's Mill 160 years ago. Or when Lewis and Clark explored the West. Or when Lewis and Martin perfected the buddy genre during the 1950s.

This is Manifest Destiny for the 21st century. It could be a game-changer for Earth, if we play things right and seize the day.

And the water. As much of it as we can.

Stick with me on this.

The initial report came from NASA, which was bold, if naive, about the discovery. At least according to a report in The New York Times, which I read every day while wearing a sweater and smoking a pipe.

“This is tremendously exciting,” said James L. Green, the director of NASA’s planetary science division, at a news conference. “We haven’t been able to answer the question, ‘Does life exist beyond Earth?’ But following the water is a critical element of that. We now have, I think, great opportunities in the right locations on Mars to thoroughly investigate that.”

Oh, yeah. A great opportunity. The greatest opportunity ever to solve our water problems.

Scientists, taking a break from conducting studies about whether coffee is healthy or unhealthy, said that the water on Mars is not in oceans, lakes or rivers – although those all existed in the distant past (the 1970s). They say the water is in the small patches of damp soil, indicating Mars may be a lot like drought-stricken California.

The scientists indicated that they are unsure of from where the water came, saying it comes from "above or below," an answer that would be disqualified on most game shows.

Anyway, here's the opportunity: Water. On Mars.

Think about it.

We need water and a neighboring planet has it. Mars could solve our drought problems.

I suggest that we launch a plan similar to President Kennedy's in 1960, when he announced that we would land a man on the moon by the end of the decade (a less-known Kennedy guarantee during the same speech: That we would wear bell-bottom pants by the end of the decade. Both were right.).

This is our time. Mars is ripe for exploration and exploitation. It's floating in space, with plenty of water, taunting us.

Let's take it!

If we launch a spaceship to Mars, carrying drills and 35 million miles of pipe, we can mine that planet for water and use it to fill our hot tubs, water bottles and hanging planters. Imagine a long pipe, like the proposed XL Pipeline – but have it running from Mars to a huge set of reservoirs in California.

It's simple. We have rockets. We have plenty of PVC pipe. In a zero-gravity environment, the wear and tear on the pipes would be minimal, so they'd last much longer than the Bay Bridge.

This solves several problems:

It gives NASA something tangible to do.
It creates jobs in the construction industry.
It gives us water.
And if we foul up Mars' atmosphere, who cares? It's just Mars – and the start of "global warming" there might bring the average temperature from the current 67 degrees below zero to something like Earth's. Does anyone else think it might be a vacation paradise?

If we don't mine Mars for water, we're missing a huge opportunity, because where else are we going to get water?

Uranus?

That's would be gross.

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

Getting through grief of a bad commute

The only thing slower than morning rush-hour traffic is navigating an emotional response to it.

I've got a five-speed. Not a five-speed vehicle, a five-speed reaction. I think I'm in fifth gear now, which is acceptance.

But I could be wrong. It wouldn't be the first time. In fact, it wouldn't be the first time I was wrong about gridlock.

I thought last spring was a reasonable example of what to expect in traffic on my way to Walnut Creek.

I was wrong.

It goes back to mid-August, when normally slow morning traffic along Interstate 680 (and I-80, as well) got even slower. And slower. My drive, which takes 40 minutes with light traffic (almost always the situation when I come home in the afternoon), took about 50 minutes in the morning for months and months. And months.

In mid-August, it jumped to 70 or 80 minutes. And not just for me. There are four other Fairfield-Suisun City-Vacaville residents at my office, and all were shocked.

Our first reaction was simple: We told each other that it was a coincidence. There must have been an accident. School was starting. Once we got a couple of weeks into the academic year, parents would get off the road and it would go back to the way it was all last year – heavy traffic, but tolerable.

We knew it wasn't really a permanent change.

We were in denial.

As late-August arrived and things didn't change, denial gave way to anger.

"This is stupid!" I said several mornings after arriving late. "It's ridiculous. Weren't these people driving their children to school last year? How could it make this much difference?"

We complained about construction and bad drivers and inexplicable slowdowns. It was absurd. It didn't make sense!

We were angry.

By the time Labor Day passed, most of us began to think this might be a permanent change. We began to look for ways to navigate it.

"I would be willing to accept more traffic on Friday (when there's typically little traffic) in exchange for fewer drivers the rest of the week," I proclaimed.

We also began to look for alternate ways to get to work, thinking that if we took side streets or came another way (would going to Vallejo, then taking I-780 to the Benicia Bridge make sense?), it would be better. We would give up something – almost anything – in exchange for a shorter commute.

We were bargaining.

By mid-September, nothing changed. Maybe this wasn't a start-of-school event. Maybe this wasn't going to go away. Maybe this was the new normal – that it would take us 80 minutes to get to work, 40 minutes to drive home. Maybe we would be stuck in stop-and-go traffic before the Benicia Bridge day after day, month after month.

Our conversations about traffic were punctuated with sighs and groans. I told one co-worker that pretty soon, we'd have to leave home Monday morning to get to work Tuesday. Then I sighed and walked back to my desk, looking down, shoulders slumped.

It was depression.

Finally, we got to October and realized this: It isn't changing. Last year isn't coming back. We won't breeze through traffic and get to work before 8 a.m., unless we leave Fairfield-Suisun City at 4:30 a.m.

There's no use complaining, no use being mad, no use being sad. It takes more than an hour to get to work. That's how it is.

We reached acceptance, although there were still flashes of anger, bargaining and depression.

Especially anger.

But there was one day last week when traffic moved better. It only took an hour.

Is it possible things could go back to what they were before?

Or is that denial?

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

Secrets of El Niño winter, including forecasts

Our long California drought may soon be over.

In case you haven't heard, weather experts are nearly unanimous in saying that we're about to have an El Niño winter, which could mean the end of the drought and the arrival of flooding.

Or maybe nothing will change.

That's where I come in. I follow the tradition of Ben Franklin, who wrote Poor Richard's Almanack (Franklin lacked a copy editor to tell him that within a couple of centuries, the "k" wouldn't be needed) before he stopped publishing it to launch his famous late-18th-century blog "Ben There, Done That." Later, the Farmer's Almanac picked up the mantle, but without the brilliance of Franklin's lightning commentary (pun fully intended).

In the spirit of Franklin ("it's all about the Benjamin," I always say), I now take responsibility to explain and predict the weather months ahead of time.

First of all, some education: El Niño is a weather term that means "The Niño" in Spanish. It is based on the career of former Major League Baseball pitcher Niño Espinosa, who was noted for his ability to "make it rain" while attending clubs in New York City when he played for the Mets. Thus, the idea that a "rainy" year is an "El Niño" year.

You're welcome. Never forget Niño Espinosa, who died of a heart attack in 1987 at age 34.

Now the forecast, to give you time to prepare for the deluge of 2015-16.

October will be fairly dry, although an unexpected amount of Starbucks pumpkin spice latte will make it more humid than normal. We'll frequently be warned by TV talking heads that the drought is far from over, as if we didn't know.

November will bring the first hints of precipitation, with the chance of a deluge around midmonth – enough to bring a national day of thanksgiving on the fourth Thursday.

As December comes, the wet stuff will become more regular, to the point that you'll be able to get polite chuckles from your co-workers by saying "It's raining cats and dogs. I know because I just stepped in a poodle!" However, news media members will be unanimous in reminding us the drought isn't over. Not by a long shot.

As 2016 begins, we'll have our first wet January in years, with a few gully-washers. We won't be tired of it, although we will tire of hearing that the drought isn't over. And you'll break out this one for your co-workers: "When is Monday coming? MonSoon!" They will ignore you.

By February, we'll start getting cranky as the cloudbursts continue, making the Super Bowl at the 49ers stadium in Santa Clara even sadder than expected. In an effort to lighten the mood, you'll spring a new joke on your co-workers: "It's raining dogs. I know, because I just stepped in a pile of shih tzu!" That gag will result in a trip to HR and some mandatory classes on appropriate workplace language.

By March, we'll curse Niño Espinosa (see Paragraph 6) and wonder if it will ever be sunny again. It's the time we start breaking out references to "liquid sunshine," as we go through our second set of windshield wipers of the year.

April will, of course, bring showers, which will give you a chance to break out the line for your co-workers: "If April showers bring May flowers, what do May flowers bring? Pilgrims!" Their anger will make you wonder if it's politically incorrect to use the term "pilgrim."

May will bring the end of the El Niño as pilgrims invade America and force us to wear black, buckled shoes. Your co-workers will ignore you when you tell them you predicted this, but as we dig out from a winter of rain, one thing will remain true: The media will remind us that the drought is far from over.

Ben Franklin wouldn't have written that!

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

Camping trip almost blew us away

We thought we knew about wind. After all, we've lived in Suisun City for decades and endured year after year of gusts.

But this was different.

We found ourselves late at night, trying to sleep while also hoping that our tent wouldn't blow away. Huddled and shouting at each other.

But let's go back to the beginning of a medium-length story (about 650 words) about a couple, a camping trip and a cold, windy stretch of Northern California coast.

It began when friends at Mrs. Brad's workplace planned a camping trip for early September at Dillon Beach, near Tomales.

We have a history of camping, although we skipped it for several years after an unfortunate experience involving a mean raccoon, a bag of food, our two young sons, me hiding in the bottom of the sleeping bag and Mrs. Brad defending us with a tree branch. So we have the gear and experience.

It was the end of the week of a heat wave, when temperatures soared past 100 every day. Even Tomales, which is about 6 inches from the ocean, was reportedly hot – leading me to repeatedly use the phrase "hot Tomales" to describe our destination. We expected a break from the heat.

Then we arrived Friday evening. Tomales was like the set of a horror film, with waves of fog blowing across the road and scary organ music, although the music may have been inside my head.

The biggest problem? We only brought our hoodies – no coats and no headgear except our baseball caps. No problem. It would be nice.

Right?

It got colder. And windy. And windier. Putting up our tent was like wrestling with a rabid, nylon alligator. We scrambled to get our ice chest and backpacks in it to keep it from blowing away.

The wind died a bit and after sitting by the fire – made by Mrs. Brad's co-worker Joe, who had everything, including a big trailer, firewood and stakes we needed to borrow to anchor the aforementioned tent. Then we decided to go to bed. Then it began to blow harder.

Our tent, and this happened two nights in a row, was buffeted like a flag at Candlestick Park. It blew so hard and steadily that the tent looked like a shark fin. Or, as I described in the moment, "like Jimmy Neutron's hair." It would have blown away if it wasn't for our body weight.

"Are you sleeping yet?" Mrs. Brad yelled from 9 inches away.

"Not yet, but I'm tired," I shouted back, feeling my legs lift as the wind got under the tent.

We survived Friday night, then it happened again Saturday – after a sunless day spent huddled around the fire. (Note to self: Camp at least a mile from the ocean next time. Or bring a heavy coat.)

On Saturday night, Joe came out of his trailer and looked at our tent.

"Do you guys want me to pull my truck there to break the wind?" he shouted from somewhere out in the storm.

"No, we're fine," we both yelled, hoping we weren't airborne.

Joe ignored us and moved the truck, which managed to decrease the wind.

Somewhat. At least we could sleep, confident we wouldn't wake up somewhere in Oregon.

Ultimately, the gusts dropped to the normal Solano County summer evening – only 30 or 40 mph.

We survived.

Weekend report: We never saw the sun, survived a wind storm that would have defeated a lesser couple and we learned a valuable lesson: If our home ever gets damaged by a wind storm, we'll move into our tent, then call Joe and have him park his truck in front of it.

Oh, and we won't go to Tomales in September. At least without sandbags, parkas and safety parachutes, just in case we have to bail out of the tent from 1,500 feet.

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

NFL's slide, musical guilty pleasures and more

It's time to empty my reporter's notebook, which is now an app on my telephone that has virtual pages onto which I type by touching "keys" on a screen.

Ahh, technology. I love you and hate you at the same time.

Virtually, of course.

On to the topics du jour . . .

First, the NFL makes its debut this weekend at what feels a lot like a turning point. Three or four years ago, the NFL was the undisputed king of American sports and getting stronger.

Now? Concussions, player arrests and an inept commissioner have it feeling a little like Major League Baseball when the steroid era came into full flower: Nothing but bad news.

The big difference? There was a way to restore confidence in baseball by instituting drug tests (although they're clearly not infallible). How can you eliminate the risk of head injuries for a sport that relies on violent collisions? And how do you change the perception that management is out of touch and interested only in making a lot of money?

The NFL is in a precipitous position. It's still king of American sports, but it now feels more like a monarchy that's trying to hold onto power.

Next, something that's apropos of nothing – five musical groups from the 1970s and 1980s that I still like, despite public embarrassment in admitting it:

5. Christopher Cross. The singer of "Ride Like the Wind" and "Sailing" was the biggest victim of the rise of MTV, since he was a boring, unattractive performer at the exact time that those became unforgivable. I'm still not sure why he wasn't the James Taylor of his generation.

4. Kriss Kross. OK, they're in the 1990s, but I can't think of Christopher Cross without thinking of Kriss Kross. "Jump!" is one of the most ridiculed songs of its era, but when it comes on, everyone smiles. I guess I don't like Kriss Kross as much as I like "Jump."

3. Bee Gees. They spent decades identified as the ultimate disco group, but they were much more than that – their ballads were fantastic and they acted as producers for myriad stars. But let's admit it, their disco stuff was pretty awesome.

2. Hall and Oates. A favorite target of the "I hate the '80s" crowd, they recorded song after song after song that were catchy, fun and still hold up. I've never been totally sure of John Oates' role in the duo, but it must have been something, right? Maybe he sang on "She's Gone"?

1. Wham! Make fun all you want of "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go," but I loved George Michael's work during and after this group. Still a fan.

Next: One of my favorite political games is to figure out which presidential candidates match up with sports figures.

This year is a rife with options, but one is inescapable: Donald Trump is the political equivalent of late George Steinbrenner, former owner of the New York Yankees.

Two boisterous, obnoxious, rich New Yorkers who think they know everything. Both have (had) a large cadre of enemies, but also a large group of people who admire them for their focus on winning and refusal to be politically correct. Trump doesn't have Joe Torre, though.

Next up: Perhaps the greatest example of American ingenuity is in our industrial kitchens. Whether it's Cap'n Crunch Delights (at Taco Bell) or Bacon Mac and Cheese chips (from Lay's), we're forever finding new, enticing ways to eat.

My favorite new item is quick-serve pizza – the pizza version of Chipotle, where you pick toppings and they make your item in a few minutes. The local version is a place called Pieology (a national chain) in the Gateway area near the mall, but I suspect we'll see others coming.

It's a great idea – your personal pizza in five minutes or less.

Is it any wonder we love this country?

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

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.