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.

A time-traveling encounter shows how things have changed

It started, as these things usually do, unexpectedly.

I was walking across the garage to my car after work and suddenly he was  next to me. A younger me, from 1985, the year I married Mrs. Brad.

I was startled, but didn't want to scare myself.

"What was that?" the younger me asked.

"What?"

"Did that car beep at you?"

"It's unlocked," I told me. "Because of the key fob."

The younger me was befuddled. By my Toyota Prius, by the word "fob," by the fact that I look like an old man. He apparently knew he was seeing a future version of himself.

"What year is it?" the younger me asked, speeding up the process of getting to the point of this column.

"It's 2019."

The younger me continued to get to the point, since I only have about 600 words in a column. He said he bumped his head that morning and woke up in my office building, confounded by the people around him. He saw me and thought I was his father, then realized I was the future him.

He began walking next to me.

"Can I give you a ride somewhere?" I asked. I knew he lived hundreds of miles north with the younger Mrs. Brad. I remembered that part of life.

"Let's just ride around in this spaceship," he said, laughing. "This is awesome."

The younger version of me said awesome a lot. He looked at my phone as we began driving.

"What's that?"

"It's Waze. It helps with directions."

"Like a map?"

"Yeah."

Then I started a music app, which played through my car's system.

"Your Waze plays music, too? Sweet." The younger me said "sweet" a lot.

He sang along with "One Night in Bangkok," ("I get my kicks above the waistline, Sunshine!") as I explained smartphones to him, told him we can now take phones with us, that long-distance calls are free and tried to explain the concept of texting. And yes, I had "One Night in Bangkok" playing on my phone.

We began talking about changes. He was fascinated. About streaming services and that few people bought music anymore. About the Giants winning three World Series titles. About hybrid cars.

"I'm not sure if I can ask this, but are Mrs. Brad and I still married?" he asked. He didn't call her Mrs. Brad yet–that column bit started about 15 years into his future–but let's go with that.

"Yeah. You're still . . . we're still married. Happily. I think."

We both laughed and he said, "sweet," because I said that in 1985.

"Well, I bet one thing never changes," he said. "Relationships, right? (Mrs. Brad) and I just got married and that's probably pretty much the same."

"Well, kind of, although that's different."

I told the younger me about the increase in "destination weddings" and that bachelor and bachelorette parties are now frequently get-away, expensive events.

"Wait. You go out of town? That's seems crazy," he said. "Mine was one night with my friends. In town."

That's not all, I told him. People now have "babymoons," before their first child and "baby sprinkles" to get gifts for their second child. They  choreograph dances at weddings and post videos of them on social media.

"Social media?" he asked. "What's social media?"

There was much more to discuss, so I told him the column was done and we'd finish the discussion next week.

"Sweet. I love cliffhangers," he said. "Like 'Who killed J.R.' on Dallas. Awesome."

There was more to talk about, which you will see next week.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Vacation without people teaches important lessons

Mrs. Brad and I recently got a taste of what post-apocalyptic life would be like . . . presuming there are no zombies nor nuclear waste and there's still plenty of food.

We got to see how it is to live without other people.

Our annual September vacation now has a familiar flow. We tent camp for a couple of days to accelerate the decompression from regular life. Then we head to a cabin or hotel with showers, a kitchen, beds, a TV and Wi-Fi for the rest of the week. We do it after Labor Day, to avoid traffic.

This time, we also avoided people.

Our camping was done at Lake Siskiyous, across from Mount Shasta along Interstate 5. The campground is huge, with more than 300 sites . . . but we appeared to be the only tent campers there.

We camped for two weekdays. In mid-September, after school started. There were several people in recreational vehicles, but they were in their own part of the campground.

Where we pitched our tent, there were no people. Dozens and dozens and dozens and dozens of empty sites, no people. We had to walk a half-mile to see evidence of humanity.

It was great. Silent, peaceful. We did our regular camping-vacation activities: Hiking and reading. And reading. And resting. And reading.

The peace was fantastic, except . . . on Tuesday, I put my book on my lap, laid my head back and took a quick nap. I felt something on my lap, awakened slightly and . . . saw a squirrel. On my leg. Looking at me.

Wild animals of any type scare me, so I flailed my arms, gasped and the squirrel ran off.

I stopped napping.

After two days, we headed to a cabin near a small body of water called Hyatt Reservoir, about 20 miles east of Ashland, Ore.

There was a cluster of about 20 cabins and one other home had a vehicle in front of it, but we never saw people. We were the only ones there. For three days, the only people we saw was when we drove to one of the two nearby restaurants and saw two or three people.

Otherwise? Us and birds and chipmunks. (After my experience with the squirrel, I was hesitant to relax too much around the chipmunks.)

We hiked most of the way around the reservoir. No people, despite another big campground.

We sat on our deck and watched the sky. No people.

We read our books at the water's edge. No people.

It was refreshing. You could hear  the wind whispering through the trees and the sound of birds' wings flapping as they flew over. No traffic sounds. No sirens. No loud neighbors.

You could get used to this . . . except I couldn't.

By Day 4, I was restless. I wanted to do something. I realized I wanted to be around people and when I asked Mrs. Brad, much more of an introvert than me, she felt the same.

It's peaceful and necessary for us to get away. It's wonderful to be in nature. It's great to be able to read and rest and read and hike and rest.

But we're not ready for life in a remote wilderness – even if the squirrels leave us alone.

A week without people was enough.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Why use Wikipedia when Five-Word Encyclopedia works?

Let's face it: Wikipedia is awesome, but has too many words for most people.

We've shifted from writing letters to posting on Facebook (pictures and words) to posting on Instagram (pictures of words). We've replaced words with emojis and soon we may communicate with grunts and signals only.

I can complain about that until I'm red in the face (and have), or I can join the revolution.

Today I'm doing that. Today, I'm proposing the Five-Word Encyclopedia.

This is where Wikipedia meets Twitter, then shaves it down. A lot.

You know Wikipedia, the online encyclopedia where people contribute information on everything.

You probably know Twitter and here's where it fits. Twitter was originally a "micro-blog," a place where people would post thoughts using 140 characters (including spaces!) or less. Then it adjusted the length to 280 spaces.

I'm going the other way. In a world where everything is online and brevity is valued, I today provide a new idea: Five-Word Encyclopedia (FWE).

Five words. About everything.

When you need to know enough to say something brief about any topic, you can go to the FWE.

You want to know about Greenland, but don't need to read through the history of the country? Come to my site, which tells you, "Part of Denmark. Not Iceland."

You want to know about John Denver, but don't need a list of his songs? Come to my site, which tells you, "Singer of 'Rocky Mountain High."

Five words. Exactly five words!

Like the hitchhiker character in "Something About Mary" who insisted his "Seven-Minute Abs" were going to revolutionize the fitness industry, I believe my idea will change everything.

Here are some examples of movie descriptions on FWE:

"The Godfather." Son takes over mob empire.

"Casablanca." "Play it again Sam" flick.

"Wizard of Oz." Girl leaves, returns to Kansas.

"Forrest Gump." Low-IQ man does everything.

"Star Wars." Kirk and Spock visit worlds.*

(* Some definitions haven't been vetted for accuracy.)

You see the value of this. You don't always need the thousands-of-words description of the Civil War found in Wikipedia. If you want a quick description, come to the FWE and get this description of the Civil War: North defeats South, ends slavery.

Five-word descriptions. It's ingenious!

There are plenty of areas that this is helpful. You need to talk about an actor?

Tom Cruise: Versatile actor, aging slowly, Scientologist.

Johnny Depp: Willie Wonka, 21 Jump Street.

Kate Winslet: Academy Award Winner (also: Titanic).

Will Smith: Fresh Prince of Bel Air.

Sports is another area where the FWE will help.

Instead of Googling "Oakland Raiders" and sifting through the team's website, history, current roster and more, you can come to this proposed site and get the five-word description: Three titles; twice abandoned Oakland.

Los Angeles Dodgers: Haven't won championship since '88.

1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team: Do you believe in miracles?

You don't need hundreds of words to describe most things. You just need a sentence.

With the FWE, you can have a knowledge base that's a mile wide and five-words deep. Go to a cocktail party and someone mentions Boris Johnson, the prime minister of England. You quickly check FWE and have something to say: "England's version of Donald Trump."

Bingo, bango!

(Bingo: Game involving cards, beans, numbers.)

This changes everything. Years from now, people will routinely mention FWE and when they think about where the idea started, they can look up my name in FWE.

Brad Stanhope: Inventor of Five-Word Encyclopedia.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

We've gone too far with pumpkin-spice Spam

Remember when pumpkin spice was something you used in a pumpkin pie? (Or, frankly, you were like me and didn't know that there was a spice connected with pumpkin?)

That was a lifetime ago.

We now live in a pumpkin spice world, with Starbucks rolling out its pumpkin spice latte progressively earlier every year. There are a variety of other products – tea, gelato, pancakes, cough drops and more – that offer pumpkin-spice-flavored versions.

Yes, pumpkin-spice cough drops. When you want your coughs to feel like autumn.

The recent pumpkin-spice flavor avalanche is enough to scare many people. Where will it end? Is there a product that's immune to pumpkin spice? Will the return of the Spice Girls feature a singer named Pumpkin Spice who will be the most popular in the group?

We thought pumpkin spice mania hit the nadir last year, when a deodorant company came out with a pumpkin-spice-latte scent.

We were wrong. Dead wrong.

Because this year, we have . . . pumpkin-spice Spam.

Yes. Spam.

The rectangular meat-in-a-can product that heretofore has been popular primarily among Hawaiians, Filipinos and former U.S. military members.

Spam.

Now with a pumpkin spice flavor.

Hormel Foods, the company that makes Spam (as well as Dinty Moore stews, Hormel Chili, La Victoria salsa and Skippy peanut butter) said it will make the pumpkin-spice Spam available Sept. 23 through the online outlets for Walmart and Spam.

(Side thought: what do people at Spam headquarters call their junk mail? Do they have to teach their junk mail filter to not automatically delete anything with "spam" in the name? How do they avoid having their outgoing email not go into spam folders when the email address is brad@spam.com?)

Anyway, back to pumpkin-spice Spam. Will this trend ever stop?

There is science behind the idea that sugar and pumpkin spice are highly addictive. The popularity of the otherwise inedible Spam among some people – who go wild for the stuff – suggests that it similarly has a strange physical hold.

Is the combination of Spam and pumpkin-spice flavor is the food version of a speedball – a mixture of cocaine and heroin? Two highly addictive substances combined together?

I'm not slamming Spam. I respect Spam's game. I respect the cultural values that somehow . . . no, wait a minute, that's not true. Spam is a gross food made by an American food company and packaged for mass consumption.

It's slimy "meat" in a can!

Hormel somehow convinced people that Spam is tasty, but now they're trying to expand their empire by luring pumpkin-spice fans into the cult.

You can enjoy Spam if you like. You can enjoy pumpkin spice if you like. But let me warn you: Combining the two flavors is a crime against humanity and there will be repercussions.

When you see a generation of kids drinking that slimy "juice" that comes out of Spam cans because it's pumpkin-spice flavored, remember 2019. Because this is the year we went too far.

With Spam. With pumpkin spice.

Two things that should never be combined.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

An expert shares how to become a viral hit

What's it like to be a viral sensation? Well . . . it's surprising.

I realized that I was a viral sensation recently when poking around on the admin side of the Daily Republic website. I found a way to calculate what articles are the most-viewed in the history of the site and learned that one of my columns ranked sixth, with more than 79,000 views.

(For clarity, my ranking includes only articles that appeared on the website. Among the most-viewed pages are such things as the home page, the classified ads page, the list of comments made, etc. For further clarity, my definition of "viral sensation" is anything that receives more than 78,000 views.)

Of course, Tony Wade is also the list.  His 2013 "Back in the Day" column about "The medieval history of Fairfield, California" checked in at No. 38, with 23,000 views.

Isn't that cute? Keep trying, Tony.

Anyway, I'd like to take this opportunity to share some tips on becoming a viral sensation. First, though, here's a list of the articles on the website that have more views than mine.

The most-viewed article is Ted Puntillo's column from 2013 on who qualifies as a veteran. Puntillo's post is a runaway winner, with more than double the number of views of any other article. Second is a Tim Jones column from 2014 asking whether a renter has to cooperate if their landlord wants to sell a house. Third is a syndicated column from 2017 on the "10 Worst Things Trump Has Done" (For my money, I hope "ruined the United States Football League" made the list). Fourth is an article by Todd Hansen about the massive October 2017 fire in Solano County and fifth is an Annie's Mailbox column about there being a huge difference between a "father" and a "dad."

Sixth is mine: Ranking the greatest (and worst) generations.

From 2015.

With 79,000 views.

It's an ongoing thing, too. On Wednesday, I checked to see where my article ranked in the past 30 days. It was the 17th-most viewed article during that period. Four years after it was posted!

So you're asking: How do you become a viral hit like that? How do you connect with people in such a way that four years later, they're still clicking on the Daily Republic site to see your article?

Frankly, the answer is simple.

Ready?

The secret: Be the only person to write about something. And put that unique thing in the headline (Again, the headline was "Ranking the greatest (and worst) generations.")

That's it. I believe I am the only person in the world who written a column ranking the generations.

If someone types in the phrase "ranking generations" into Google, what comes up first? Generally, that Daily Republic column from 2015 (Google results may vary for different users, but the principal is the same).

You want to be viral? Whether it's on social media, in a blog or some other way, there are options:

• You can post an amazing video of a cat juggling chainsaws.

• You can write a touching post that says something in a way that strikes people ("Sadness is just happiness waiting to bloom.").

• Or you can write a column or blog post on something no one else has addressed.

Me? I'm hoping to knock Puntillo off the top spot with my next column: "How ranking generations determine who qualifies as a vet and whether that person has to help their landlord sell a house."

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Speaking up for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches

Peanut butter and jelly deserves better.

In a recent poll, Americans were asked their opinions about a variety of sandwiches, which were then ranked based on the responses. The peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the George Washington/Babe Ruth/Jimmy Stewart of sandwiches, came in . . . ninth.

Ninth! Behind even the club sandwich, for crying out loud. Who eats club sandwiches? Clubs taste terrible between two slices of bread!

Anyhow, a quick review of the survey reveals that the secret to being a favorite among Americans is to be bland.

Just ask a grilled cheese sandwich.

Yes, the grilled cheese sandwich, which ranks as the favorite sandwich in America, based on the survey by data company YouGov.

Grilled cheese. More beloved than a ham sandwich or a tuna sandwich (not "tuna fish" sandwich, since we don't say we're having a "ham pig" sandwich). Eight spots ahead of peanut butter and jelly.

Grilled cheese.

I have no gripe with grilled cheese sandwiches. They're good. Acceptable. Grilled cheese is a nice emergency dinner when needed. But America's favorite sandwich? Please.

This is like when "Little House on the Prairie" was voted the favorite dramatic TV program and Burt Reynolds was chosen the favorite all-around male entertainer at the 1979 People's Choice Awards. I mean they're fine, but really?

(That was the first reference to the 1979 People's Choice Awards since March 8, 1979, the the day after the show aired.)

First, some details. The YouGov people gave a sandwich credit for the list based on the percentage of people who said they "really like" or "somewhat like" the food. In order, the top five were grilled cheese (79 percent), grilled chicken (75 percent), turkey (75 percent) roast beef (71 percent), ham (69 percent).

For clarity, if you ranked sandwiches by how many people said they "really liked" them, the list would be slightly different: Grilled cheese still would rank first, but BLT would leap all the way from No. 6 to No. 2. Very few people "somewhat like" BLT sandwiches.

The eighth-ranked sandwich–just ahead of PB&J–was a bacon sandwich. Bacon sandwich? Really? How about pizza sandwich? Or chocolate-pie sandwich? A bacon sandwich sounds delicious, but it's not a real thing.

A closer look at the results reveals that those who love PB&J sandwiches tend to be members of Generation X and older (about 35 and older), less-educated and live in rural areas. You know, the salt of the earth people, not those city slickers who like fancy sandwiches.

I have no objection to grilled cheese sandwiches or turkey sandwiches or grilled chicken sandwiches. But peanut butter and jelly sandwiches contain a lot of protein and a lot of fruit (allegedly). Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are easy to make: all you need is bread and two ingredients that come in jars. You can make them in the morning and they're still good in the afternoon.

They were good when you were 3. They are good when you're a teenager. They're good when you're an adult.

The fact that peanut butter and jelly sandwiches ranked ninth among Americans just shows that most people who took the survey are full of bologna.

The survey, however, wasn't. Because bologna sandwiches didn't make the list.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.