Kellogg Quotes

NO reader has ANY obligation to an author, whether it be to leave a review or to write a "constructive" one. I put out a product. You are consumers of that product. Since when does that mean you have to kiss my ass? Hey, I like Pop-Tarts and eat them a few times a year; since when does that mean I'm obligated to support Kellogg's in any way except legally purchasing the Pop-Tarts before I eat them? I wasn't aware that purchasing and consuming a product meant I was under some sort of fucking thrall in which I'm only allowed to either praise the Pop-Tart (which to be honest isn't hard, especially the S'mores flavor) or, if I am going to criticize a flavor, offer a specific and detailed analysis as to why, phrased in as inoffensive and gentle a manner as possible so as not to upset the gentle people at Kellogg's." [Something in the Water? (blog post; January 9, 2012)]

We can imagine the impossible, provided we do not imagine it in perfect detail and all at once.

Leggo my Eggo!

But Kellogg was obsessed with ‘diddling’ (1938), and the cornflake was designed to suppress lust and cure serial masturbators. Kellogg and his brother William Kellogg designed bland foods to treat the patients at their sanatorium.

The Battle Creek, Michigan, headquarters of Kellogg’s looks like a spaceship built to look like a pyramid that was then hastily converted into a public library during a period of intergalactic peace.

Kellogg’s Corn Flakes and Graham Crackers were originally marketed as a cure for carnal strivings and masturbation.

No such thing as larger-than-life, Kellogg. There's only life-size, and any magnification is just other people's bullshit.

The AHA even rode the profit wave of refined carbohydrates from the 1990s onward by charging a hefty fee for the privilege of putting the AHA’s “Heart Healthy” check mark on products, with the label ending up on some dubious candidates, such as Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes, Fruity Marshmallow Krispies, and low-fat Pop-Tarts.

After the alarm clock, it is the turn of Mr Kellogg to shame us into action. 'Rise and Shine!' he exhorts us from the Corn Flakes packet. The physical act of crunching cornflakes or other cereals is portraied in TV advertising as working an amazing alchemy on slothful human beings: the incoherent, unshaven sluggard (bad) is magically transformed into a smart and jolly worker full of vigour and purpose (good) by the positive power of cereal. Kellogg himself, tellingly, was a puritanical health-nut who never had sex (he preferred enemas). Such are the architects of our daily life.

The Academy of Nutrition and Dietetics (formerly the American Dietetic Association), for instance, has a long list of corporate sponsors including General Mills, Kellogg’s, Mars, PepsiCo, and SoyJoy—and its “official partners” include Hershey’s, the Coca-Cola Company, and the National Dairy Council.15

I'm ashamed to say, I'm one of those guys who's been so busy bringing home the bacon I'm clueless about frying it.

The unexpected is usually what brings the unbelievable." --Mandy Kellogg Rye, Writer

tried to reenliven mealtimes by hiring a quartette to sing “The Chewing Song,”† an original Kellogg composition,

Circumcision remains prevalent in the United States, though varying greatly by region, ranging from about 40 percent of newborns circumcised in western states to about twice that in the Northeast. This widespread procedure, rarely a medical necessity, has its roots in the anti-masturbation campaigns of Kellogg and his like-minded contemporaries. As Money explains, “Neonatal circumcision crept into American delivery rooms in the 1870s and 1880s, not for religious reasons and not for reasons of health or hygiene, as is commonly supposed, but because of the claim that, later in life, it would prevent irritation that would cause the boy to become a masturbator.

in learning how to imagine x, you gain abilities; later you have all the relevant imaginative abilities you had before, and more besides. and you notice, a priori, relationships of coherence or incoherence between attitudes that might figure in the realisation of x; later you are aware of all that you had noticed before, and more besides. and you think of new questions to explore in your imagining...and later you have in mind all the questions you had thought of before, and more besides.

Love isn’t about trusting you’ll never hurt me. It’s about being sure you’ll never do it on purpose and forgiving you when you unintentionally do.

That’s why I wanted to take their pictures,” she said. “Because the world wanted to forget us. Even as we were living, they wanted to forget us. And I didn’t want us to be forgotten.

The uniformed man led him along a short corridor and turned right at an electronic display proclaiming “The new collection from Kelloggs” and portraying several variations of luminous crotchless panties. Grandfather frowned. “Can you eat those?” he asked the man, pointing at the display. The man grinned. “If you buy them, Sir, I am sure that you can do anything you want with them. Eat the panties, devour the contents …. This way, Sir.

Kellogg School of Management Professor Camelia Kuhnen has found that the variation of a dopamine-regulating gene (DRD4) associated with a particularly thrill-seeking version of extroversion is a strong predictor of financial risk-taking. By contrast, people with a variant of a serotonin-regulating gene linked to introversion and sensitivity take 28 percent less financial risk than others. They have also been found to outperform their peers when playing gambling games calling for sophisticated decision-making.

Kellogg School of Management Professor Camelia Kuhnen has found that the variation of a dopamine-regulating gene (DRD4) associated with a particularly thrill-seeking version of extroversion is a strong predictor of financial risk-taking. By contrast, people with a variant of a serotonin-regulating gene linked to introversion and sensitivity take 28 percent less financial risk than others. They have also been found to outperform their peers when playing gambling games calling for sophisticated decision-making.

I believe, and so do you, that things could have been different in countless ways. But what does this mean? Ordinary language permits the paraphrase: there are many ways things could have been besides the way they actually are. I believe that things could have been different in countless ways; I believe permissible paraphrases of what I believe; taking the paraphrase at its face value, I therefore believe in the existence of entities that might be called ‘ways things could have been.’ I prefer to call them ‘possible worlds.

There was violence here, and even attempted coups, as when members of Louisiana’s White League stormed New Orleans in 1874, trying to eject Governor William Kellogg, a Republican, and install his unsuccessful Democratic challenger, John McEnery. The insurgents took control of the city, forcing President Ulysses S. Grant to send in federal troops to restore order. In a telling postscript, a monument was erected in New Orleans in 1891 memorializing the White League members who died trying to take over the city. It was finally pulled down in 2017.

Jagiello, Michael E. [IMD]; Dray, Hunter [IMD]; Eng, Edward [IMD]; Yu, Linda [IMD]; Locarno, Chelsey [IMD]; Raverta, Kristen S. [IMD]; Labaudiniere, Margaux [IMD]; Harris, Abigail O. [IMD]; Kellogg, Kenyon [IMD]; Bragdon, Chris [IMD]; Mason, Sydney C [IMD]; Schetman, Elizabeth [IMD]; Martin, Lauren [IMD]; Ferrara, Mark M. [IMD]; Glennon, Sara [IMD]; Romano, Christian J. [IMD]; Kieran, Michaela E. [IMD]; Holdstock, Evan [IMD]; Barrile, David [IMD]; Mullin, Tucker [IMD]; Nadas, Alex [IMD]; Halvorson, Andrew P. [IMD]; Petit, Michael [IMD]; Hanson, Matt M. [IMD]; Herlacher, Ellen [IMD]; Crimmings, Michael [IMD]

The cycle begins with the false belief system shared by all addicts: that no one could want them or love them as they are. In fact, addicts can’t love themselves. They are an object of scorn to themselves. This deep internalized shame gives rise to distorted thinking. The distorted thinking can be reduced to the belief, “I’ll be okay if I drink, eat, have sex, get more money, work harder, etc.” The shame turns one into what Kellogg has termed a “human doing,” rather than a human being. Worth is measured on the outside, never on the inside. The mental obsession about the specific addictive relationship is the first mood alteration, since thinking takes us out of our emotions.

At one chew per second, the Fletcherizing of a single bite of shallot would take more than ten minutes. Supper conversation presented a challenge. “Horace Fletcher came for a quiet dinner, sufficiently chewed,” wrote the financier William Forbes in his journal from 1906. Woe befall the non-Fletcherizer forced to endure what historian Margaret Barnett called “the tense and awful silence which . . . accompanies their excruciating tortures of mastication.” Nutrition faddist John Harvey Kellogg, whose sanatorium briefly embraced Fletcherism,* tried to reenliven mealtimes by hiring a quartette to sing “The Chewing Song,”† an original Kellogg composition, while diners grimly toiled. I searched in vain for film footage, but Barnett was probably correct in assuming that “Fletcherites at table were not an attractive sight.” Franz Kafka’s father, she reports, “hid behind a newspaper at dinnertime to avoid watching the writer Fletcherize.

All about them the golden girls, shopping for dainties in Lairville. Even in the midst of the wild-maned winter's chill, skipping about in sneakers and sweatsocks, cream-colored raincoats. A generation in the mold, the Great White Pattern Maker lying in his prosperous bed, grinning while the liquid cools. But he does not know my bellows. Someone there is who will huff and will puff. The sophmores in their new junior blazers, like Saturday's magazines out on Thursday. Freshly covered textbooks from the campus store, slide rules dangling in leather, sheathed broadswords, chinos scrubbed to the virgin fiber, starch pressed into straight-razor creases, Oxford shirts buttoned down under crewneck sweaters, blue eyes bobbing everywhere, stunned by the android synthesis of one-a-day vitamins, Tropicana orange juice, fresh country eggs, Kraft homogenized cheese, tetra-packs of fortified milk, Cheerios with sun-ripened bananas, corn-flake-breaded chicken, hot fudge sundaes, Dairy Queen root beer floats, cheeseburgers, hybrid creamed corn, riboflavin extract, brewer's yeast, crunchy peanut butter, tuna fish casseroles, pancakes and imitation maple syrup, chuck steaks, occasional Maine lobster, Social Tea biscuits, defatted wheat germ, Kellogg's Concentrate, chopped string beans, Wonderbread, Birds Eye frozen peas, shredded spinach, French-fried onion rings, escarole salads, lentil stews, sundry fowl innards, Pecan Sandies, Almond Joys, aureomycin, penicillin, antitetanus toxoid, smallpox vaccine, Alka-Seltzer, Empirin, Vicks VapoRub, Arrid with chlorophyll, Super Anahist nose spray, Dristan decongestant, billions of cubic feet of wholesome, reconditioned breathing air, and the more wholesome breeds of fraternal exercise available to Western man. Ah, the regimented good will and force-fed confidence of those who are not meek but will inherit the earth all the same.

St. Lawrence River May 1705 Temperature 48 degrees The dancing began. Along with ancient percussion instruments that crackled and rattled, rasped and banged, the St. Francis Indians had French bells, whose clear chimes rang, and even a bugle, whose notes trumpeted across the river and over the trees. “Mercy Carter!” exclaimed an English voice. “Joanna Kellogg! This is wonderful! I am so glad to see you!” An English boy flung his arms around the girls, embracing them joyfully, whirling them in circles. Half his head was plucked and shiny bald, while long dark hair hung loose and tangled from the other half. His skin was very tan and his eyes twinkling black. He wore no shirt, jacket or cape: he was Indian enough to ignore the cold that had settled in once the sun went down. “Ebenezer Sheldon,” cried Mercy. “I haven’t seen you since the march.” He had been one of the first to receive an Indian name, when the snow thawed and the prisoners had had to wade through slush up to their ankles. Tannhahorens had changed Mercy’s moccasins now and then, hanging the wet pair on his shoulder to dry. But Ebenezer’s feet had frozen and he had lost some of his toes. He hadn’t complained; in fact, he had not mentioned it. When his master discovered the injury, Ebenezer was surrounded by Indians who admired his silence. The name Frozen Leg was an honor. In English, the name sounded crippled. But in an Indian tongue, it sounded strong. The boys in Deerfield who were not named John had been named Ebenezer. That wouldn’t happen in an Indian village. Each person must have a name exactly right for him; something that happened or that was; that reflected or appeared.

aroma of chocolate melting in the oven. For the preservation of her waistline, she had to find something besides sweets to reward her students in the future. “Your Human Development teacher—what’d you say his name is?” “Mr. Manion.” Her daughter’s light gray gaze narrowed. “Why? Have you met him?” “No,” Margie squeaked.

willpower — “your teacher’s” —cough— “name is?” Her throat continued its spasm to expel the lodged crumbs while her daughter, Emma, slapped Margie’s back hard enough to leave a permanent handprint. Didn’t they cover the Heimlich maneuver in health class anymore? Then again, it would serve her right if the coroner listed cookies as the cause of her death. The last thing her thirty-six-year-old body needed was more fat and sugar. Since Dan’s death five months ago, her hips had spread like an albatross’s wings. Emma dashed to the

chip cookie that had shattered her willpower — “your teacher’s” —cough— “name is?” Her throat continued its

Just as learning to ride a bicycle requires maturation, training, and practice, so, too, does learning to think (e.g., Segal, Chipman, & Glaser, 1985) and learning to write (e.g., Bereiter & Scardamalia, 1987).

American spirit: it was in the United States, after all, that the pseudoscience of eugenics had its birthplace, where some sixty thousand sterilizations were performed in the twentieth century, continuing into the 1960s, most of them forced, many of them involving people deemed to be “imbeciles” or “feeble-minded.” Championed by the likes of Margaret Sanger, J. H. Kellogg, and Alexander Graham Bell, sanctioned for a time by the U.S. Supreme Court, and funded by such august bodies as the Carnegie Institution and the Rockefeller Foundation,

Gdy Indianie zatrzymali się na noc, uwiązali konie, rozpalili ogień i odtańczyli taniec zwycięstwa, w którym zainscenizowali wydarzenia dnia, chełpiąc się krwawymi skalpami swoich pięciu ofiar. Elementami tańca było też bicie jeńców łukami i wymierzanie im kopniaków. Z Rachel i Elizabeth Kellogg zdarto ubrania. Rachel tak to opisywała: „Skrępowali mi ramiona splecionym rzemieniem, a ręce wykręcili do tyłu. Związali je tak mocno, że do dziś widać blizny. Potem zawiązali podobny rzemień dookoła mych kostek i ściągnęli razem stopy i dłonie. Później obrócili mnie twarzą do dołu […] i bili łukami po głowie. Z wielkim trudem udało mi się nie zadławić własną krwią”41. Cynthię Ann i Johna kopano, skakano po nich i uderzano maczugami tak samo jak dorosłych. Indianie nie oszczędzili nawet czternastomiesięcznego Jamesa Plummera. „Dzieci często płakały – odnotowywała Rachel – ale uciszały je ciosy. Nie wiem, jakim cudem zdołały to przeżyć”42. Dwie dorosłe kobiety były wielokrotnie gwałcone na oczach związanych dzieci. Nie ma sposobu, by wyobrazić sobie, co dziewięcioletnia Cynthia Ann z tego wszystkiego rozumiała – okrutnie bita, obolała i poraniona po długiej jeździe, teraz zmuszona do obserwowania, jak poniżano jej dorosłe kuzynki.

Dave told her that, at less than six months old, Christopher doesn’t even know what Christmas is, and he’ll be happier and healthier sleeping in his own warm bed with babysitters spoiling him than he would being dragged to the frosty Pocono Mountains and exposed to two hundred people’s germs. He also told her that, as a new mother, she needs a little break from him before he’s old enough to really miss her.

Justin shook off his memories and scanned the tent for Haley. He found her back at her table, laughing with Jamal. At least the boy had distracted her from noticing the song the band had played.

When he’d assumed custody of his best friend and business partner’s orphaned daughter six months ago, his patience countdowns had begun at ten. He’d always had a soft spot for Haley, but while caring for her through her dad’s illness and death, he’d grown to love her as much as if she were his. Nonetheless, after weeks of arguing night and day with F. Lee Haley, his cool-off time had stretched to fifty seconds. Then last month, she’d secretly begun cutting school to lie in bed all day and stare at the ceiling, and he’d had to raise it to a hundred.

He’d been taking her for grief counseling with Jake once a week to make sure her understandable depression hadn’t made her suicidal. Even though Manion had assured him she was coping and showed no signs of wanting to die, Justin still had his doubts. If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself.

The American Dietetic Association is sponsored by Aramark, Coca-Cola, Hershey, National Dairy Council, Abbott, CoroWise, General Mills, Kellogg’s, Mars, Pepsico, Unilever, Soyjoy . . . you get the idea. The American Diabetes Association’s list of sponsors is essentially the same, with the big drug companies thrown in.

The 49-year-old Bryant, who resembles a cereal box character himself with his wide eyes, toothy smile, and elongated chin, blames Kellogg's financial woes on the changing tastes of fickle breakfast eaters. The company flourished in the Baby Boom era, when fathers went off to work and mothers stayed behind to tend to three or four children. For these women, cereal must have been heaven-sent. They could pour everybody a bowl of Corn Flakes, leave a milk carton out, and be done with breakfast, except for the dishes. Now Americans have fewer children. Both parents often work and no longer have time to linger over a serving of Apple Jacks and the local newspaper. Many people grab something on the way to work and devour it in their cars or at their desks while checking e-mail. “For a while, breakfast cereal was convenience food,” says Abigail Carroll, author of Three Squares: The Invention of the American Meal. “But convenience is relative. It's more convenient to grab a breakfast bar, yogurt, a piece of fruit, or a breakfast sandwich at some fast-food place than to eat a bowl of breakfast cereal.” People who still eat breakfast at home favor more laborintensive breakfasts, according to a recent Nielsen survey. They spend more time at the stove, preparing oatmeal (sales were up 3.5 percent in the first half of 2014) and eggs (up 7 percent last year). They're putting their toasters to work, heating up frozen waffles, French toast, and pancakes (sales of these foods were up 4.5 percent in the last five years). This last inclination should be helping Kellogg: It owns Eggo frozen waffles. But Eggo sales weren't enough to offset its slumping U.S. cereal numbers. “There has just been a massive fragmentation of the breakfast occasion,” says Julian Mellentin, director of food analysis at research firm New Nutrition Business. And Kellogg faces a more ominous trend at the table. As Americans become more healthconscious, they're shying away from the kind of processed food baked in Kellogg's four U.S. cereal factories. They tend to be averse to carbohydrates, which is a problem for a company selling cereal derived from corn, oats, and rice. “They basically have a carb-heavy portfolio,” says Robert Dickerson, senior packagedfood analyst at Consumer Edge. If such discerning shoppers still eat cereal, they prefer the gluten-free kind, sales of which are up 22 percent, according to Nielsen. There's also growing suspicion of packagedfood companies that fill their products with genetically modified organisms (GMOs). For these breakfast eaters, Tony the Tiger and Toucan Sam may seem less like friendly childhood avatars and more like malevolent sugar traffickers.

He wears the cleanest shirts in town…his ‘Missus’ swears by TIDE!” I wonder if the rest of the family gets clean shirts as well. “Christmas morning, she’ll be happier with a Hoover [vacuum].” Quite personal, right? “Don’t worry, darling, you didn’t burn the Schlitz beer!” Quite a backhanded compliment, don’t you think? “So the harder a wife works, the cuter she looks.” That certainly would make a woman want to eat Kellogg’s Pep cereal, wouldn’t it? “Blow in her face, and she’ll follow you anywhere,” advises Tipalet. But what if she doesn’t like cigar smoke? Del Monte ketchup displayed its latest bottle in the hands of a surprised-looking woman with the slogan, “You mean a woman can open it?

Graduated Princeton when I was nineteen. Got my MBA from Kellogg at twenty-one. Ph.D. in statistics from Berkeley at twenty-four. Genius level IQ of 142.

Op 27 Augustus van het jaar 1928, werd te Parijs door de gevolmachtigden van vijftien staten ondertekend, het Kellogg Pact, tot uitbanning van den oorlog. De eerstvolgende oorlog, waarvan een of meerdere ondertekenaars van het Kellogg Pact deelnamen, brak uit op .......... 19

made her stand out like rosebud in a weed patch next to the other girls in their skimpy tank tops and tight jeans.

them to strive to reach their goals in the future but never, ever to sacrifice their principles or happiness to achieve them.

Bizarre and Surprising Insights—Consumer Behavior Insight Organization Suggested Explanation7 Guys literally drool over sports cars. Male college student subjects produce measurably more saliva when presented with images of sports cars or money. Northwestern University Kellogg School of Management Consumer impulses are physiological cousins of hunger. If you buy diapers, you are more likely to also buy beer. A pharmacy chain found this across 90 days of evening shopping across dozens of outlets (urban myth to some, but based on reported results). Osco Drug Daddy needs a beer. Dolls and candy bars. Sixty percent of customers who buy a Barbie doll buy one of three types of candy bars. Walmart Kids come along for errands. Pop-Tarts before a hurricane. Prehurricane, Strawberry Pop-Tart sales increased about sevenfold. Walmart In preparation before an act of nature, people stock up on comfort or nonperishable foods. Staplers reveal hires. The purchase of a stapler often accompanies the purchase of paper, waste baskets, scissors, paper clips, folders, and so on. A large retailer Stapler purchases are often a part of a complete office kit for a new employee. Higher crime, more Uber rides. In San Francisco, the areas with the most prostitution, alcohol, theft, and burglary are most positively correlated with Uber trips. Uber “We hypothesized that crime should be a proxy for nonresidential population.…Uber riders are not causing more crime. Right, guys?” Mac users book more expensive hotels. Orbitz users on an Apple Mac spend up to 30 percent more than Windows users when booking a hotel reservation. Orbitz applies this insight, altering displayed options according to your operating system. Orbitz Macs are often more expensive than Windows computers, so Mac users may on average have greater financial resources. Your inclination to buy varies by time of day. For retail websites, the peak is 8:00 PM; for dating, late at night; for finance, around 1:00 PM; for travel, just after 10:00 AM. This is not the amount of website traffic, but the propensity to buy of those who are already on the website. Survey of websites The impetus to complete certain kinds of transactions is higher during certain times of day. Your e-mail address reveals your level of commitment. Customers who register for a free account with an Earthlink.com e-mail address are almost five times more likely to convert to a paid, premium-level membership than those with a Hotmail.com e-mail address. An online dating website Disclosing permanent or primary e-mail accounts reveals a longer-term intention. Banner ads affect you more than you think. Although you may feel you've learned to ignore them, people who see a merchant's banner ad are 61 percent more likely to subsequently perform a related search, and this drives a 249 percent increase in clicks on the merchant's paid textual ads in the search results. Yahoo! Advertising exerts a subconscious effect. Companies win by not prompting customers to think. Contacting actively engaged customers can backfire—direct mailing financial service customers who have already opened several accounts decreases the chances they will open more accounts (more details in Chapter 7).

The biggest brands in our lives today tend to be either long established or more recent, such as the classics Nestlé (1866), Mercedes-Benz (1886), Coca-Cola (1892), Gillette (1895) and Kellogg’s (1906). However, the most interesting and exciting brands are often seen to be those which have emerged since the 1990s, such as Amazon.com in 1994, Google in 1998 and Facebook in 2004.

Kellogg’s Pop-Tarts frequently uses cartoons as part of its visual content mix to tell a fun and irreverent story around people’s cravings for Pop-Tarts.

crude, it probably doesn’t seem that risqué to you.” Risqué? More like indecent. She’d get arrested

Like him, Cooper was a proponent of a low-protein, high-carbohydrate diet, believing “The proportions in the menu should be 10 percent protein, 30 fats and 60 per cent carbohydrates. It is impossible to emphasize too strongly that our health and energies depend on our foods.” In 1913, she authored The New Cookery, a low-protein vegetarian cookbook. She’s also responsible for this little ditty: “In many ways, the breakfast is the most important meal of the day, because it is the meal that gets the day started,” quoted in Good Health magazine, edited by none other than Dr. John Harvey Kellogg. After all, Frosted Flakes, they’re GRRRREEEEEAAAATTTT!

The sanitarium employed several questionable methods to dispel patrons of these two scourges. Chewing thirty-two times before swallowing (known as fletcherizing), sinusoidal current (yup, electrocuting people), forty-six different kinds of baths, fifteen-gallon enemas, and vibrating chairs were among the more conventional. But some were a bit more Gothic. To break young boys of the habit, Kellogg suggested procedures such as tying their hands, bandaging the offending organ, or putting a cage over it. If that didn’t work, he recommended circumcision without anesthetic—“As the brief pain attending the operation will have a salutary effect upon the mind,” he wrote in Plain Facts for Old and Young. Kellogg had an even more gruesome set of treatments for girls, including the application of pure carbolic acid to the clitoris or, in more extreme cases, surgical removal.

Some of the most popular tantalizing and chemically processed foods of my youth were Swanson TV dinners, Cheez Whiz, Tang, Hunt’s canned Franks and Beans, Oreo cookies, Devil Dogs, Twinkies, Lucky Charms, and Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes whose motto, “They’re GRRREAT!” still rings in my ears! Then there was Diet Rite, the first diet soft drink. I’m disgusted to admit that I had my share of it all. It was preferable to have a perfect-looking tomato rather than a vine-ripe delicious one. Addiction to unhealthy foodstuffs turned into the norm.

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Era jovem. Não queria morrer! No meu desespero, telefonei para meu médico em Kellogg e expus a ele o desespero que havia no meu coração. Muito impaciente, ele me repreendeu: ‘Qual o problema, Olga? Você não tem forças para lutar? É claro que vai morrer... se continuar chorando. O pior dominou você. Encare os fatos! Pare de se preocupar! Depois, faça algo a respeito!’ Exatamente ali, naquele instante, fiz um juramento tão solene que as unhas se cravaram fundo na minha carne e senti arrepios na espinha: ‘Não vou me preocupar! Não vou chorar! E, se existir o poder da mente sobre a matéria, vou vencer! Eu vou VIVER!

In 1930, for example, during the depths of the depression, economic visionary W. K. Kellogg (as in corn flakes), announced a revolutionary experiment: Nearly every employee in his huge Battle Creek plant would thereafter work a six-hour day. The reduction in hours was accompanied by only a minimal cut in pay, since Kellogg believed that hard work would replace long hours.

She reads good. I can now recite Steven Kellogg’s Is Your Mama A Llama by heart.

REWIND OR DIE Midnight Exhibit Vol. 1 Infested - Carol Gore Benny Rose: The Cannibal King - Hailey Piper - Jan. 23 Cirque Berserk - Jessica Guess - Feb. 20 Hairspray and Switchblades - V. Castro - Feb. 20 Sole Survivor - Zachary Ashford - Mar. 26 Food Fright - Nico Bell - Mar. 26 Hell’s Bells - Lisa Quigley - May 28 The Kelping - Jan Stinchcomb - May 28 Trampled Crown - Kirby Kellogg - Jun. 25 Dead and Breakfast - Gary Buller - Jun. 25 Blood Lake Monster - Renee Miller - Jul. 23 The Catcatcher - Kevin Lewis - Jul. 23 All You Need is Love and a Strong Electric Current - Mackenzie Kiera - Aug. 27 Tales From the Meat Wagon - Eddie Generous - Aug. 27 Hooker - M. Lopes da Silva - Oct. 29 Offstage Offerings - Priya Sridhar - Oct. 29 Dead Eyes - EV Knight - Nov. 26 Dancing on the Edge of a Blade - Todd Rigney - Dec. 12 Midnight Exhibit Vol. 2 - Dec. 12

Did you know that Kellogg has a store in New York? Screw the bet, we should go right now

I know what Nora did. She killed that man. Or at least, she’s responsible for his death. And it didn’t bother her at all. Not even a little bit. So you see. She’s more like us than anyone knows. I never told the police what I knew about Arnold Kellogg. I kept her secret. After all, she’s my sister. And you never know when information like that will come in handy.

But binge writers are also binge readers and binge statisticians. The bad habits that keep them from getting down to writing also keep them from doing the prewriting (Kellogg, 1994)—the reading, outlining, organizing, brainstorming, planning, and number-crunching necessary for typing words.

U.S. Steel had pushed Frank Kellogg to target Standard Oil so as to deflect heat from itself.

She said she didn’t feel that courageous at the time. Every step of the way, she imagined all of these things that could go wrong if she came out, if she went to a rally, if she lived openly.

I do not know how to refute an incredulous stare.

A report in the peer-reviewed journal Public Health Nutrition showed that the organisation accepted more than $4 million from food companies and industry associations, including Coca-Cola, PepsiCo, Nestlé, Hershey, Kellogg’s and Conagra.39 And this was just between 2011 and 2017. In addition, they had significant equity in UPF companies including more than a million dollars of stocks in PepsiCo, Nestlé and J.M. Smucker.40 Meanwhile, back across the Atlantic, Diabetes UK lists Boots, Tesco and Abbott as corporate partners.41 Cancer Research UK is funded by Compass, Roadchef, Slimming World, Tesco and Warburtons.42 The British Heart Foundation takes money from Tesco.43 The British Dietetic Association has Abbott, Danone and Quorn as its current strategic partners, with other food companies as supporters.44 The

In 2016, Chile implemented a set of policies that put marketing restrictions and mandatory black octagonal labels on foods and drinks high in energy, sugar, sodium and saturated fat. These foods were also banned in schools and heavily taxed.46 These policies banned treats from Kinder Surprise eggs and removed cartoon animals, including Tony the Tiger and Cheetos’ Chester Cheetah, from packaging. PepsiCo, the maker of Cheetos, and Kellogg’s, producer of Frosted Flakes (known in the UK as Frosties), have gone to court, arguing that the regulations infringe on their intellectual property, but at the time of writing Tony and Chester are not on the packs.‡

Believe it or not, breakfast being the most important meal of the day was an advertising slogan that Kellogg’s came up with to promote their new cereal, Corn Flakes, back in the 1970s.

If you’re not burning real energy trying to simplify things for you audience, you are most like a complexifier.

One of the patients at Kellogg’s Seventh-day Adventist sanitarium was C. W. Post, who got the idea there for Grape Nuts, which made him rich. Among Grape Nuts’ advertised health benefits was curing appendicitis. As it happened, Post later had an apparent appendicitis attack, and when surgery didn’t end his distress, he shot and killed himself.

If the mobs were not made up of masked Klansmen, just well-known local men 'with their horrible faces,' it is natural to wonder how those ordinary people first coalesced into gangs of night riders. How, that is, did a bunch of farmers decide to set fire to churches led by respected men like Levi Greenlee Jr. and Boyd Oliver, and to train the beads of their shotguns on the houses of peaceful landowners like Joseph and Eliza Kellogg? How did they summon the nerve to threaten the cooks and maids of even the wealthiest, most powerful whites in Cumming? Given that it required an organized efforts, kept up not just over months but years, and given just how much will it took to sustain the racial ban generations - from what source did all that energy come, and in what epic drama did these people think they were at last taking part?

John Harvey Kellogg’s sanitarium in Battle Creek, Michigan. There

Ultimately, brands are built by people who passionately believe in their brands. Indeed, many of the world’s best brands can be linked to a single person: Howard Schultz created Starbucks, Steve Jobs built Apple, Pleasant Roland formed American Girl, Richard Branson developed Virgin, and Phil Knight was the driving force behind Nike. Brand builders understand and believe in the power of brands.     Tim

In The New York Times, Dr. John Harvey Kellogg (of the famous cereals) wrote that “the liquor interests are conspirators against the public welfare” since its production used “more fuel than all schools and churches combined.

Here’s something you may not know: every time you go to Facebook or ESPN.com or wherever, you’re unleashing a mad scramble of money, data, and pixels that involves undersea fiber-optic cables, the world’s best database technologies, and everything that is known about you by greedy strangers. Every. Single. Time. The magic of how this happens is called “real-time bidding” (RTB) exchanges, and we’ll get into the technical details before long. For now, imagine that every time you go to CNN.com, it’s as though a new sell order for one share in your brain is transmitted to a stock exchange. Picture it: individual quanta of human attention sold, bit by bit, like so many million shares of General Motors stock, billions of times a day. Remember Spear, Leeds & Kellogg, Goldman Sachs’s old-school brokerage acquisition, and its disappearing (or disappeared) traders? The company went from hundreds of traders and two programmers to twenty programmers and two traders in a few years. That same process was just starting in the media world circa 2009, and is right now, in 2016, kicking into high gear. As part of that shift, one of the final paroxysms of wasted effort at Adchemy was taking place precisely in the RTB space. An engineer named Matthew McEachen, one of Adchemy’s best, and I built an RTB bidding engine that talked to Google’s huge ad exchange, the figurative New York Stock Exchange of media, and submitted bids and ads at speeds of upwards of one hundred thousand requests per second. We had been ordered to do so only to feed some bullshit line Murthy was laying on potential partners that we were a real-time ads-buying company. Like so much at Adchemy, that technology would be a throwaway, but the knowledge I gained there, from poring over Google’s RTB technical documentation and passing Google’s merciless integration tests with our code, would set me light-years ahead of the clueless product team at Facebook years later.

I watched her cigarette bounce up and down as she spoke. I tried not to think about how Dad and Mom always told us that smoking would kill us. Focus, Kirk, focus. I nodded my answer. I must have. I wouldn’t dare move an inch unless she told me to do so. Iris took a long drag and studied me a bit more. “Well, say this for me: ‘Hey, Mom, I wanna go to McDonalds.’ ” I repeated her words in an unemotional, parroting way, “Hey, Mom, I wanna go to McDonalds.” “No, no, no! You have to say it like you really wanna go to McDonalds. Say it with energy.” “Hey, Mom! I wanna go to McDonalds!” I said with enthusiasm. “Now try, ‘Hey, Tony, those Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes taste gggrreeeaaatt!’ ” In my very best monotone I said, “Hey, Tony, those Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes taste good.” “No, no. They taste grrreeaat!” “They taste greeeaattt!” I added pizzazz and a smile and hoped that was okay. “Look at those Hot Wheels go!” she said. This time I knew I was supposed to be excited, so I pretended I was saying it to Uncle Frankie.

Leaving the Connecticut River March 8, 1704 Temperature 40 degrees By the time Mercy had sorted this out, her three brothers were gone. She panicked. “Sam!” she screamed. “John! Benny!” She ran from group to group, darting behind sledges, racing among the dogs, circling the fires. “Sam! John!” What was the matter with her? How could she have stayed separate from them? Why had she not kicked Tannhahorens in the shins, as Ruth would have, and marched with her brothers no matter what he said? Ruth was right, he was nothing but an Indian! O Father! she thought. O Mother! I let you down again. I didn’t protect Tommy. I didn’t save Marah or Stepmama or the baby. And now the boys are gone. On her second screaming circle of the camp, Tannhahorens caught her. “Boys go,” he said. “But are they all right? I didn’t say good-bye! You never let me talk to them at all! I don’t even know their masters’ names!” A new and even more horrifying thought struck Mercy. It tore the wind from her lungs and her voice broke. “Will my brothers and I go to the same place? Will I see them again?” Poor Father, come home to find his entire family ripped away in a night. Father would comfort himself that Mercy was taking care of the boys--and he would be wrong. Tannhahorens had fewer English words than Mercy had Mohawk. He could not understand this outpouring. He steered her back to his possessions. “Raquette,” he said. Mercy jumped in front of him, blocking his path. He was hung with weapons in preparation for departure: knives, tomahawk, hatchet, gun, two bows, quiver of arrows. But something new hanging from Tannhahorens’ chest gave her pause. A Catholic cross. Although in her whole life, Mercy had seen only one spoon and a belt buckle made of silver, she knew this cross to be silver. She wrenched her eyes from its beauty. It would be a sin to find a cross beautiful. Religion must be heart and soul, not scraps of metal. Tannhahorens pushed her along in front of him. “Raquette,” he said irritably. “Raquette?” she begged. “Is that your town? Is that Sam’s master’s name? Are the boys together? Is Same going to be able to watch out for John and Benny?” This time, ragged trousers and a torn stained coat blocked Tannhahorens’s way The Indian looked harshly at the Englishman in front of him, and Mercy wished she had learned words like please. But Tannhahorens walked on and left them together. “Oh, Uncle Nathaniel!” she said, and they wrapped their arms around each other. He held her tightly. He had to clear his throat several times to find his voice. “Your brothers are not together,” he said, “but they seemed all right. They were not afraid. Benny’s Indian has a sled and he will ride as he did yesterday. John’s with five other English, all adults. They will watch for him. And Sam is with the Kellogg girls. He’ll be busy taking care of Joanna and Rebecca.” Her three brothers, going in three directions in the hands of strangers. “They took my Will and my Mary in the last band,” said her uncle. “I have some hope. The Indians treat my children tenderly. When nobody else had a morsel to eat, their masters fed them.” Sam. John. Benny. Will. Little Mary. Gone.

Kahnawake August 1704 Temperature 75 degrees “It’s me! Mercy Carter! Oh, Mr. Williams! Do you have news?” She flung herself on top of him. Oh, his beautiful beard! The beard of a real father, not a pretend Indian father or a French church father. “My brothers,” she begged. “John and Sam and Benny. Have you seen them? Have you heard anything about them? Do you know what happened to the little ones? Daniel? Have you found Daniel?” Mercy had forgotten that she had taken off her tunic to go swimming. That Joseph did not even have on his breechclout. That Mercy wore earrings and Joseph had been tattooed on his upper arms. That they stank of bear. Mr. Williams did not recognize Joseph, and Mercy he knew only by the color of her hair. He was stupefied by the two naked slimy children trying to hug him. In ore horror than even Ruth would have mustered, he whispered, “Your parents would be weeping. What have the savages done to you? You are animals.” Despair and shock mottled Mr. Williams’s face. Mercy stumbled back from him. Her bear grease stained his clothing. “Mercy,” he said, turning away from her, “go cover yourself.” Shame covered her first. Red patches flamed on her cheeks. She ran back to the swimmers, fighting sobs. She was aware of her bare feet, hard as leather from no shoes. Savage feet. Dear Lord in Heaven, thought Mercy, Ruth is right. I have committed terrible sins. My parents would be weeping. She did not look at Snow Walker but yanked on the deerskin tunic. She had tanned the hide herself, and she and Nistenha had painted the rows of turtles around the neckline and Nistenha had tied tiny tinkling French bells into the fringe. But it was still just animal skin. To be wearing hides in front of Mr. Williams was not much better than being naked. Snow Walker burst out of the water. “The white man? Was he cruel? I will call Tannhahorens.” No! Tannhahorens would not let her speak to Mr. Williams. She would never find out about her brothers; never redeem herself in the minister’s eyes. Mercy calmed down with the discipline of living among Indians. Running had shown weakness. “Thank you, Snow Walker,” she said, striving to be gracious, “but he merely wanted me to be clothed like an English girl. There is no need to call Tannhahorens.” She walked back. On the jetty, Joseph stood with his eyes fixed on the river instead of on his minister. He had not fled like Mercy to cover himself. He was standing his ground. “They aren’t savages, Mr. Williams. And they aren’t just Indians. Those children over there are Abenaki, the boy fishing by the rocks is Pennacook, and my own family is Kahnawake Mohawk.” Tears sprang into Mr. Williams’s eyes. “What do you mean--your family?” he said. “Joseph, you do not have a family in this terrible place. You have a master. Do not confuse savages who happen to give you food with family.” Joseph’s face hardened. “They are my family. My father is Great Sky. My mother--” The minister lost his temper. “Your father is Martin Kellogg,” he shouted, “with whom I just dined in Montreal. You refer to some savage as your father? I am ashamed of you.” Under his tan, Joseph paled and his Indian calm left him. He was trembling. “My--my father? Alive? You saw him?” “Your father is a field hand for a French family in Montreal. He works hard, Joseph. He has no choice. But you have choices. Have you chosen to abandon your father?” Joseph swallowed and wet his lips. “No.” He could barely get the syllable out. Don’t cry, prayed Mercy. Be an eagle. She fixed her eyes upon him, giving him all her strength, but Mr. Williams continued to destroy whatever strength the thirteen-year-old possessed. “Your father prays for the day you and he will be ransomed, Joseph. All he thinks of is the moment he can gather his beloved family back under his own roof. Is that not also your prayer, Joseph?

Deerfield, Massachusetts February 29, 1704 Temperature 0 degrees Joanna Kellogg, one of Joseph’s sisters, was stumbling. For Joanna, the world was blurred. Her eyes didn’t focus the way other people’s did. Leaves on trees were green blots against a blue sky. She couldn’t recognize people until they were within a dozen paces. When an Indian brave took Joanna’s hand, she had not seen her mother die and did not know this was the killer. She was only ten, but her pack was nearly as large as the ones grown men carried. Joanna did not complain or call out. She just walked more and more slowly. Ruth Catlin lost her temper. She flung the pack she had been given into the snow. She grabbed Joanna by the shoulders and ripped off Joanna’s pack, flinging that into the snow too. She hurled an iron frying pan across the snow and then a whole leg of lamb. Indian and captive alike were mesmerized. “You savages!” Ruth screamed. “Don’t you even think about hurting Joanna. She’s too little! You are vicious and mean! I hate you!” She dragged Joanna forward as if the two of them meant to reach Canada first, by God. “Go ahead and kill me!” she yelled, holding out her hair to be scalped. “I dare you!” She made a fist around her own hair, yanked it tight and waved the bristles in Indian faces. Nobody tomahawked Ruth. She stomped past Indian after Indian, calling them names. Ruth stormed right up to the front of the line, where the lead Indians were trampling out the path. She could go no farther. The Indians politely stepped back and gestured north, making it clear that Ruth was welcome to lead the way. Ruth kicked wildly at one of the braves, but he stepped back and Ruth’s burst of energy vanished. She wanted to lie down on her own soft bed, bury her face in her pillow and weep for the family that had died around her. Even more, she wanted to kill an Indian. Or ten of them. But she had no weapon and as for softness, even the snow was not soft today. Well, at least she would not give those Indians the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Glaring, dragging poor Joanna, she marched on.

Deerfield, Massachusetts February 29, 1704 Temperature 0 degrees We will freeze to death, thought Mercy. Why go to the trouble of carrying a hundred pairs of moccasins when they won’t make a fire? Her Indian knelt and, with his bare hands, scooped out a hole in a snowbank. She expected him to store his plunder in the cavity. He had to make a lot of hand motions before she understood that this was her shelter for the night. Not a house, nor a bed, nor even a stable. A hole in the snow. Mercy wanted to raise her head to the skies and howl like a dog. But she wanted to survive. There must be no more bodies along this terrible trail. “First, may I look for my brothers?” She held up four fingers. “No,” said the Indian, and motioned her into the cave, tucking Daniel in after her. Mercy would have felt much better if she could have rested her eyes on Tommy and John and Sam and Benny. From her hole she watched the others settle in for the night. Eben’s Indian collected the older boys: Eben, the oldest Kellogg boy, the two Sheldon boys and Joe Alexander, who was in his twenties but looked very young. They were pinioned to the ground a dozen yards from where Mercy was curled. For Eben, however, his Indian made a cradle of spruce boughs. He wrapped a leather rope around Eben’s wrists and linked the cord to his own. If Eben moved, his captor would know it. The rest were made to lie on open snow. There was nothing between them and the weather. No walls, no roof, no parent.

Kahnawake August 1704 Temperature 75 degrees “What do you mean--your family?” he said. “Joseph, you do not have a family in this terrible place. You have a master. Do not confuse savages who happen to give you food with family.” Joseph’s face hardened. “They are my family. My father is Great Sky. My mother--” The minister lost his temper. “Your father is Martin Kellogg,” he shouted, “with whom I just dined in Montreal. You refer to some savage as your father? I am ashamed of you.” Under his tan, Joseph paled and his Indian calm left him. He was trembling. “My--my father? Alive? You saw him?” “Your father is a field hand for a French family in Montreal. He works hard, Joseph. He has no choice. But you have choices. Have you chosen to abandon your father?” Joseph swallowed and wet his lips. “No.” He could barely get the syllable out. Don’t cry, prayed Mercy. Be an eagle. She fixed her eyes upon him, giving him all her strength, but Mr. Williams continued to destroy whatever strength the thirteen-year-old possessed. “Your father prays for the day you and he will be ransomed, Joseph. All he thinks of is the moment he can gather his beloved family back under his own roof. Is that not also your prayer, Joseph?” Joseph stared down the wide St. Lawrence in the direction of Montreal. He was fighting for composure and losing. Each breath shuddered visibly through his ribs. The Indian men who never seemed to do anything but smoke and lounge around joined them silently. How runty the French looked next to the six-foot Indians; how gaudy and ridiculous their ruffled and buckled clothing. The Indians were not painted and they wore almost nothing. Neither were they armed. And yet they came as warriors. Two of their children were threatened. It could not be tolerated. Tannhahorens put one hand on Joseph’s shoulder and the other on Mercy’s. He was not ordering them around, and yet he did not seem to be protecting them. He was, it dawned on Mercy, comforting them. In Tannhahorens’s eyes, we are Indian children, thought Mercy. Her hair prickled and her skin turned to gooseflesh. She had spent the summer forgetting to be English--and Tannhahorens had spent the summer forgetting the same thing.

When life gives you lemons, squirt your friend in the eye with it.

In morals the law of competition no more justifies personal, official, or national selfishness or brutality than the law of gravitation justifies the shooting of a bird.

Many traffic signs have become like placebos, giving false comfort to the afflicted, or simple boilerplate to ward off lawsuits, the roadway version of the Kellogg’s Pop-Tarts box that says, “Warning: Pastry Filling May Be Hot When Heated.

The more I drank to relieve my shame-based loneliness and hurt, the more I felt ashamed. Shame begets shame. The cycle begins with the false belief system shared by all addicts: that no one could want them or love them as they are. In fact, addicts can’t love themselves. They are an object of scorn to themselves. This deep internalized shame gives rise to distorted thinking. The distorted thinking can be reduced to the belief, “I’ll be okay if I drink, eat, have sex, get more money, work harder, etc.” The shame turns one into what Kellogg has termed a “human doing,” rather than a human being.

Toasted Whole Grain Oat Cereal 37 Kashi Heart to Heart Warm Cinnamon Oat Cereal 36 Kellogg’s Frosted Original Mini-Wheats

Granola Cereal 39 General Mills Cheerios Toasted Whole Grain Oat Cereal 37 Kashi Heart to Heart Warm Cinnamon Oat Cereal 36 Kellogg’s Frosted Original Mini-Wheats Bite Size Cereal 33 General Mills Total Crunchy Whole Grain Wheat Flakes 31 Kashi GoLean Crisp! Multigrain Cluster Cereal,

Winter's hard-packed snow Cedes to the fruitful summer; stubborn night At last removes, for day's white steeds to shine. The dread blast of the gale slackens and gives Peace to the sounding sea; and Sleep, strong jailer, In time yields up his captive. Shall not I Learn place and wisdom?

responsibilities of the colonial wife, who was “expected to cook, wash, sew, milk, spin, clean, and garden,” note Mintz and Kellogg. “Her activities included brewing beer [which was perceived as healthier than water], churning butter, harvesting fruit, keeping chickens, spinning wool, building fires, baking bread, making cheese, boiling laundry, and stitching shirts, petticoats, and other garments. She participated in trade—exchanging surplus fruit, meat, cheese, or butter for tea, candles, coats, or sheets—and manufacturing—salting, pickling,

Welcome to endless adventure! We bring you the best new issue & CGC DC and Marvel comics. Thousands of Magic The Gathering, Yu-Gi-Oh, & Pokemon signles. LA Mood also carries the best board games (Wingspan, Catan, Groomhaven, Ticket to Ride and much more). Godzilla, The Walking Dead, Funko Pop! Vinyl toys and collectables, graphic novels, dice, and deck boxes as well. Drop by out new store in the 100 Kellogg Ln complex and start your endless adventure today!

I was most grateful to have Ishi’s skills as a counterbalance to the eugenicists. Their excessively large booth was very well funded by Kellogg. They advocate for limiting reproduction to the original stock of this nation and forbidding immigration except from Northern Europe. Their dangerous Darwinian argument will lead to forced sterilization.

As a medical doctor, Kellogg claimed the moral authority to instruct parents on the proper sexual education of their children. If you’re unfamiliar with the writings of Kellogg and others like him, their gloating disdain for basic human eroticism is chilling and unmistakable. In his best-selling Plain Facts for Old and Young (written on his sexless honeymoon in 1888), Kellogg offered parents guidance for dealing with their sons’ natural erotic self-exploration in a section entitled “Treatment for Self-Abuse and its Effects.” “A remedy which is almost always successful in small boys,” he wrote, “is circumcision.” He stipulated that, “The operation should be performed by a surgeon without administering an anaesthetic, as the brief pain attending the operation will have a salutary effect upon the mind, especially if it be connected with the idea of punishment…. [emphasis

seems to be a rule of nutritionism that for every good nutrient, there must be a bad nutrient to serve as its foil, the latter a focus for our food fears and the former for our enthusiasms. A backlash against protein arose in America at the turn of the last century as diet gurus like John Harvey Kellogg and Horace Fletcher (about whom more later) railed against the deleterious effects of protein on digestion (it supposedly led to the proliferation of toxic bacteria in the gut) and promoted the cleaner, more wholesome carbohydrate in its place. The legacy of that revaluation is the breakfast cereal, the strategic objective of which was to dethrone animal protein at the morning meal. Ever since, the history of modern

The reason the growth in the standard of living has been understated is that the Consumer Price Index (CPI) recorded price changes for each type of merchant separately and did not compare prices between types of merchants. Thus if the price of a box of Kellogg’s corn flakes remained fixed at twenty cents in March and April in a traditional store and was seventeen cents in a nearby A&P store newly opened in April, the price would be treated as fixed. This error in the CPI is called “outlet substitution bias” and has continued in the past three decades as Walmart has opened stores that charge less for groceries than traditional supermarkets do.

of them

Brand Category Year of launch Schweppes Soft drinks 1783 Cadbury Chocolate 1831 Budweiser Beer 1876 Coca-Cola Soft drinks 1886 Heineken Beer 1886 Kodak Photo 1888 Lipton Tea 1890 Wrigley Chewing gum 1892 Colgate Toothpaste 1896 Campbell’s Soup 1898 Marlboro Tobacco 1902 Pepsi Soft drinks 1903 Gillette Shaving products 1908 Camel Tobacco 1913 Danone Yogurt 1919 Kellogg’s Cereal 1922 Duracell Batteries 1930 Nescafé Coffee 1938 Fanta Soft drinks 1940 Tropicana Juices 1952 Friskies Pet food 1956 Pampers Nappies (diapers) 1961 Sprite Soft drinks 1961 Huggies Nappies (diapers) 1978 Red Bull Energy drink 1987

P&G, Mars, Kellogg’s, Gillette and Coca-Cola all refuse private label contracts, while, on the other hand, Unilever, PepsiCo, Nestlé, Heinz, Playtex, Ralston Purina, Hershey, RJR Nabisco and McCain embrace them.

Oscar! You found it! Wow! A flying mitten! Oh, it’s only a little bird. I wonder if he stole my mitten to make a snuggly nest. No, he’s too small to carry off a mitten. But an eagle could do it! Maybe an eagle took my mitten to keep his baby’s head warm.

Do you think my mitten got tired of being a mitten? Maybe it just slipped off my hand and hopped away. There are no mitten tracks, but here are some mouse tracks heading toward the woodpile! Could that mouse be using my mitten for a sleeping bag? Or maybe he’ll wear it next Halloween and be a mitten mummy!

Finding missing mittens is hard work. It would be easier to grow new ones! Let’s try planting the other mitten right here in the garden. Next spring when the snow melts, a little mitten tree might sprout. Miss Seltzer and I would take good care of it all summer long. In the fall we’d pick the ripe mittens. Then I’d give mittens on Christmas. And mittens on birthdays. And mittens on Valentine’s Day!

Oscar, it’s getting dark and it’s starting to rain. We’ll never find that mitten! Come inside, Annie. I made some hot chocolate for us, and I’ve got a biscuit for Oscar. Look! The rain is melting the snowman. But what’s that spot on his chest? Gracious! Your snowman has a heart! My mitten is the heart of the snowman!

Is wanting others to be happy really such a bad thing?