Perplexing product.

Of all the consumer products that have hit the shelves in recent memory, I find this to be the most perplexing by far.

Good thing the soapy bit is "water activated" -- you wouldn't want to open the package and find three goopy, dripping rolls of paper towels.

Bounty with Dawn got raves from Good Housekeeping, who noted that you can "just activate it with water and use it to clean dishes, appliances, countertops, and other household surfaces. When you're done, simply toss it — and germs — away." But aren't germ-killing wipes better for counters? And they come pre-dampened. Besides, it's not like you spew Dawn on household surfaces to clean them. Dawn is a soap, and must be rinsed off, which is why it's used for dishes. (And duckies!) So doesn't Bounty with Dawn leave a soapy slick behind? One mostly positive review from the Albany Times-Union says exactly that:

You need a rag or another plain paper towel handy to wipe up the soapy residue left behind. Bounty's website suggests you use the Bounty with Dawn towels for those "stubborn, greasy" messes and use their regular Bounty towels for your everyday spills. I suggest you use the Bounty with Dawn all the time and have a clean dish rag, dad's old T-shirt or a roll of regular paper towels (the cheap kind) to wipe away the suds.

Just what we need: a new product that makes a simple job more complicated. Plus, are we now supposed to have two paper towel rolls in the kitchen? Most people's counters are overcrowded already, even if they don't buy spurious As-Seen-on-TV appliances.

We've found these towels useful for applications that would normally require Dawn and a scrubber---like cleaning the coffeepot, or better, dog dishes. I say better because I'd rather use something disposable on the dog stuff. They soap up nicely. But because they are not abrasive, which would be weird on a paper towel, they're only good for cleaning smooth surfaces with no stuck-on gunk. So even for that they're of limited use, and maybe not so hot on those "stubborn, greasy" messes.

I can't help but think others will also be confounded by the conundrum that is Bounty with Dawn, although P&G is betting big on this one, we're told. I believe they're going to be disappointed. The product is pricey compared to normal paper towels, and I don't think consumers will think the benefits outweigh the faults. Then again, if I knew what the American public would go for, I'd be stinking and rich and charging lots of dough for opinions like this one, which you got for free.

How I became a great cartoonist.

It all started back in 1971...

...and the rest is history.

PetDumb?

I love PetSmart. My wife loves PetSmart. My dog loves PetSmart. It's fun to shop there. We've done grooming there. We've done training there. The staff is very friendly. They somehow keep the place clean. They have most of the stuff we need, and some stuff we didn't know we needed until we saw it there, which is good retailing. Yes, I love PetSmart.

But I hate this:

and this:

He's my DOG. I'm his OWNER. He is NOT MY CHILD. He is wonderful and I dote on him and I blog about him way too much, but I am his MASTER. When I am not, and he gets away with things, we both wind up unhappy. I am NOT A PET PARENT. He is an ANIMAL. Yes, as a human, I am technically an animal too, but it takes a sentimental sap or an evolutionary biologist to be foolish enough to think there's no difference.

I used to say that people were very weird about sex, death, and money. I still believe that. But I think I may have to add animals to the list.

On the one hand, we have the ooey-gooeys, the ones PetSmart thinks they are marketing to, who have confused a domesticated creature with the children they did not have or do not get affection from. On the other, you have the evolutionary biologist, surely the most cynical creature in the world. who talks about the means by which our dogs learn to "simulate affection" (as one noted on TV the other night; did not catch the name of the show).

Presumably the biologist simulates affection himself on Mother's Day. After all, he thinks humans are just Animals 2.0.

Somewhere in the middle is the rest of us. And the Catholic Church:

The very essence of the moral law is that we respect and obey the order established by the Creator. Now, the animal is a nobler manifestation of His power and goodness than the lower forms of material existence. In imparting to the brute creation a sentient nature capable of suffering — a nature which the animal shares in common with ourselves — God placed on our dominion over them a restriction which does not exist with regard to our dominion over the non-sentient world. We are bound to act towards them in a manner conformable to their nature. We may lawfully use them for our reasonable wants and welfare, even though such employment of them necessarily inflicts pain upon them. But the wanton infliction of pain is not the satisfaction of any reasonable need, and, being an outrage against the Divinely established order, is therefore sinful.

So there's that.

We've probably all seen too many talking animal movies and books and TV shows. It's hard not to project human behaviors onto animals whether it's appropriate or not. Tralfaz looks very thoughtful sometimes, laying on the floor, eyes open, I can ponder what he's thinking, because I would be thinking about something while laying down and not sleeping. But he's not thinking. He's just there. He may be processing bits of information my senses can't even detect, but he's not thinking about people and events of the past or plans for the future. He's just there. But it's easy for me to imagine all kinds of thoughts in his animal head, and think of him as a little fuzzy person, and then go eat hamburgers. (And feed him meat.)

I'll say this: At least people who project human thoughts and feelings on pets and think of them as children, and are vegetarians or vegans, are consistent. Then again, you might say the same for an evolutionary biologist cannibal.

Another mess for Captain Kirk.

To: Captain James T. Kirk, Starship Enterprise

Stardate: 6235.9

From: Lt. Allison Sneeburn, Federation Logistic and Compliance Officer

Re: Health and Rations

Capt. Kirk:

Contrary to your previous starmail, oh, yes, there is great cause for concern about the issue raised, and your so-called explanations of the rapid consumption of mess supplies have hardly been satisfactory. “Probably Tribbles” is clearly flippant, for one thing, as we know that no ship can have just “two or three of the little bastards” for long. Clearly something has caused unusually high ration consumption from your account, and Tribbles are not it.

Let’s look over some of your other “explanations,” shall we? 

1. I might find it plausible that you had to eat double the normal amount of food for a period of time as you were split in two by a transporter accident on 1672.1, if I could find it plausible that you were split in two. Besides, if that happened, wouldn’t each of you have half the mass of the original, and need just half the rations? 

2. An android duplicate of you ate a ton to prove he was human on 2712.4, did he? But no one saw him do it? A bit contradictory, no?

3. A duplicate of you from an evil dimension turned out to have “the appetite of a Janus VI miner.” Really. And there was a whole duplicate of the ship and everyone on it too. I wonder if that Captain Kirk takes requests from Federation seriously?

4. A guy called Sargon took over your body on 4768.3 and “ate everything in sight.” That having been "without a body for like a zillion years, he’d probably worked up an appetite.” I see.

5. You were “accelerated” by the Scalosians on 5710.5, moving faster than the eye could see, so you would up having 32 meals in 24 hours. I hope you worked all those calories off, moving so fast.

6. Garth of Izar impersonated you on 5718.3 and raided your food account. This one seems plausible, as the actions of Garth at that time are well documented. Still, going by the records, he must have been extremely hungry, and enjoys the same kind of Denevan knockwurst as you.

7. And then we have Dr. Janice Lester taking over your body with her own personality in 5928.5. My, everyone seems to want to be you, don’t they? “She turned out to having a big-time eating disorder” is interesting, but there's no evidence that she has said disorder when in her own body, and your Lt. Sulu let it slip that this idea probably came from The Man with Two Brains, one of your favorite 20th-century films. 

Let’s be frank, Captain; it is on record as far back as 1512.2 that your ship’s doctor had put you on a salad regimen to get you to lose weight. I agree that the new blouse is unflattering to most starship captains, but word is you have been filling it out pretty thoroughly. 

And the stories you send back to the Federation are---well, I don’t want to use the word “fabulistic,” but in a short period of time you claim to have traveled through dimensions, almost altered the twentieth century and the subsequent time stream three times, met ridiculous numbers of alien beings with preposterous powers (including highly advanced intelligence, whom you nevertheless always outsmarted), met Nazis and Romans and Chicago mobsters and Abraham Lincoln (!) and Zefram Cochrane (!!) and Apollo? I would like to remind you that in his 37 years of service as captain of various starships, the most exciting thing that ever happened to Commodore Ty Sanchez was when he found the Walking Viruses of Canton XI, and following the Prime Directive just tagged the planet for observation. You’ve been a busy boy, eh, captain? 

Finally, with all due respect, I reject the charge that this is “harassment” or “nitpicking,” and your further charge that “Bones put you up to this, right?” is baseless. In my position I act in concert with the ancient health laws known as the M. Obama Initiative and with concern for cost overruns for food supplies. And no, I will not send you a “more casually dressed” picture of myself. In the Federation offices, as you well know, women prefer to wear trousers, unlike on your ridiculous ship. Just cut back on the gravy and muffins and we’ll check back with you in six months. 

AS

Connor and Daphne -- a Fred Classic.

First run two years ago (and given High Praise! at the time by the tastemakers at IMAO.us), "Connor and Daphne" seemed due for a rerun, it being spring at all. As always, your comments are welcome.

----

Connor and Daphne: A True Enough Story

By Frederick Key

Connor was a bear who was polite to his neighbors but not your warm, huggy type. Connor was proud of his bountiful garden and his lush green lawn, which he tended faithfully every year.

One spring, a big family of meerkats moved in next door. Connor met Daphne, a dewy-eyed kid with a bubbly personality.

It being spring, a couple of dandelions popped up on Connor’s lawn. Connor came out of his shed with his tools and sprays, ready to do battle with the weeds.

But Daphne stopped him. “Connor, look how beautiful that little yellow flower is!” she cried. “How can you be hating on such a sweet little thing?”

“If I don’t get rid of them as soon as they pop up, they ruin the lawn,” he grumbled.

“They have every right to be here—as much as that grass that you have to buy seed for,” she said. “These so-called ‘weeds’ are native to the area, you know. And they’re useful too! You can eat them, or even make wine.”

“But—”

“Why do you hate flowers so much, Connor?”

“I don’t! I’ve planted all kinds of flowers in the garden.”

“Oh, I see. You only like the ones you planted. The ones that nature provides you have to blast with all kinds of horrible poisons, is that right? Those sprays are dangerous, you know. They make the wildlife sick and they get into the water supply!”

Finally Daphne wore Connor down. He promised to let the little yellow flower live, and grumbled all the way back to his shed.

In a couple of weeks, little yellow flowers popped up all over Connor’s lawn. He had to admit that Daphne was right—the yellow flowers were pretty, and a nice contrast with the green. Then they turned into white heads, and then the puffs blew  away. With all the seeds gone to ruin other lawns, Connor was left with a patchy landscape and ugly naked stalks with ragged leaves. Which, in addition to the other weeds Daphne wouldn’t let him kill, left…

Connor was pretty sore by now, you can bet. The dandelions saved by Daphne had ruined his grass, exactly as he’d predicted. He went down to his cellar to get his shovel and pick to start digging deep, for now the roots of the dandelions were well beyond his ability to dig them up with hand tools.

While in the cellar, Connor noticed he had an unexpected and unwelcome guest—a rat had taken up residence in his home. He steamed upstairs to go to the store and get a trap.

Daphne was outside. “What’s wrong, Connor?” she asked kindly.

“Got a rat in the cellar,” he said. “Going to the store to get traps and steel wool and things.”

“No, no! You mustn’t do that!” she said. “The rat isn’t hurting you, is he?”

“Not yet, but—”

“And yet you want to break his little neck? Connor, how cruel! And poisons, too, I’ll bet—that’s always your answer, isn’t it? Poison! Why do you hate living things so much?”

“Damn it, Daphne, I—”

“Anger is a sure sign that you’re losing the argument, you know that? That poor little rat! With his sad little whiskers and sad beady little eyes!”

“Why do you always have to go straight to the emotional appeal? It’s completely unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable? I’ll tell you what’s unreasonable. Ask yourself, who was here first, Connor? You and your artificial man-made house, or the native wildlife?”

“Fine! You go down there and catch him, and you take the rat home!”

“Why would I do that? He’s obviously happy where he is.”

Once again, Daphne wore him down.

But a couple of weeks later, when Connor found he had carpenter ants attacking his deck, he snuck out to the big hardware store and made a purchase.

Daphne and the dandelions and the rats and the carpenter ants and the termites tried to throw him a going-away party, but Connor had already left.

We asked Daphne what the moral of this story is.

We tried to ask Connor but—oh, well.

The end.

Coconut and Peanuts.

Back in the early days of Peanuts, Charlie Brown et al could often be found enjoying a sack full of mixed candy. Chocolate creams were the fave... but coconut was the antithesis of all things enjoyable.

I too for many years found coconut to be the enemy of good candy. I could endure it to get to the chocolate in an Almond Joy or Mounds or some such, but it required a manly, rugged endurance.

However, I find that I've come to like coconut sometimes. So much so that when I spotted this unusual treat up here at the Tractor Supply Company ("Making Southern Things Acceptable to Northerners Since 1938"), I knew I had my next episode of Things I Should Not Eat.

Yes, it's the poorly photographed, Neapolitan ice cream inspired Supreme Coconut Bar!

The Supreme Coconut Bar is the gift to the world from Macon, Georgia's Crown Candy Corporation, chosen just days ago as a Georgia "Face of Manufacturing." Crown claims to be one of the largest manufacturers of coconut candy worldwide.

How was it? Well, pace Charlie Brown and Snoopy, it was good. The flavors were not strong, but nor were they phony and weird, despite the use of artificial flavors and colors. The coconut was mild, well prepared, and smooth. I would indeed buy this candy again.

So there you have it: Coconut candy is okay! Anything with enough sugar in it has a chance in my book, anyhow.

All about thugs.

There's been a lot of nonsense thrown about these last few days about the word "thug," as it has been applied to the rioters in Baltimore. Actually, calling most of them "rioters" is an insult to real rioters. Real rioters, inflamed because of political oppression, may dump tea into the bay*, or storm the Bastille**. They don't loot a CVS, steal booze, burn down houses, and cut fire hoses.

President Obama used the phrase "criminals and thugs"---which he could have used to describe his IRS, but in this case used to describe the Baltimore looters. The looters understood that if they behaved like real rioters, or revolutionaries, by addressing violence toward the mayor or whatever passes for elected government in one-party Baltimore, they would face a much more motivated security force that would not just be told to stand back. So much easier and more fun to destroy private businesses and homes.

That's the kind of thing that separates the protester from the thug.

Some people have idiotically stated that those using the term "thug" mean it as code for that very bad N word***, including (one gathers) our president, who to his credit refused to pull back from his word choice. Trying to link perfectly good and descriptive words to universally declaimed ones is just a boorish way of trying to force people away from truth. The anti-language police would have done the same with any disparaging word used for the looters, to keep us from thinking negatively about people using a sad situation to endanger others and take or destroy stuff that doesn't belong to them.

Let's look at the word thug. Merriam-Webster tells us (as everyone who ever saw the film Gunga Din knows) it comes from the Thugs of India, an organization of assassins, whose name comes from the Hindi word for thief or deceiver. Thus the title of a John Masters novel about a Brit facing off against them during the Raj.

No, this was not just an excuse to show nekkid breastes on my blog.

The Thugs considered themselves children of Kali, in her early incarnation as a goddess of annihilation, death, and destruction. The encyclopedia Man, Myth, and Magic says of the Thugs, "These robbers and ritual murders in India strangled their victims as sacrifices to the goddess Bhavani, a form of Kali, the Hindu goddess of terror and destruction." The last known Thuggee practitioner was put to death in 1882.

Modern enemies of life and civilization like ISIS (or ISIL) and Boko Haram are the Thugs of the day, as they are death cults. It may seem erroneous to identify Muslim terrorists with a group that followed a Hindu goddess, but Wikipedia notes that "the Thugs traced their origin to seven Muslim tribes" and "While only Hindus worship Kali, a large number of the Thuggees captured and convicted by the British were Muslims." As radical, violent Muslims enjoy telling us, they love death more than we love life.

What does this have to do with the riots in Baltimore? People destroying for the love of destroying, people thieving and deceiving (perhaps even themselves)? I think thug is a perfectly adequate term, actually.

_________

*Not keep it for themselves, note, or try to sell it. 

**Which was a risky maneuver, let's just say that for the revolutionaries, so you have to give them credit for courage despite the many mauvais pommes that emerged later. 

***You know the one. Don't be coy. You trying to get me thrown off Google?