Self-Aggrandizement: Consumer Whore Week: Mr. Clean Magic Eraser

Arthur C. Clarke once observed that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic; Mr. Clean's Magic Eraser is a case in point.

Because, even as a dyed-in-the-wool tech dork, I have absolutely no clue why the Magic Eraser works. All I know is, holy crap, it does.

About the size of decks of cards, these white squishy squares don't inspire much confidence out of the box; I wouldn't even have given them a try, had a free sample not recently appeared in my mailbox.

But, as most of my family and friends can attest, I've grown increasingly anal about keeping my house scoured clean. After nearly a year in my current apartment, wear and tear had begun to show in ways that, I assumed, were only arduously reparable: dark streaks left from heavy objects banged up against white walls or dragged across wood floors; scratches in the porcelain of the bathtub and kitchen sink.

All of them resisted a parade of home-cleaning products, from Fantastik and Formula 409 to Scrubbing Bubbles and Orange Glo. None were a match for Mr. Clean and his magic erasing.

Despite it's super powers, the Magic Eraser is actually one of the easiest cleaning products I've ever used: simply rinse it in water, squeeze out the excess, then rub away any stain on pretty much anything at all. No additional cleaning agent, no preparation, just rub.

Why does it work? Is it also secretly eating away layers of my skin in the process? I don't know, and I don't care. I'm not one to look gift horses in the mouth, or gift sponges in the whatever is metaphorically equivalent to a mouth on a sponge.

These things are solid gold, though far cheaper ounce-for-ounce. Pick up a two-pack for $2.50, and observe your smile shining back off any previously crud-marred surface.

Consumer Whore Week: Mr. Clean Magic Eraser Filed Monday, October 10 2005.

Consumer Whore Week: Mr. Clean Magic Eraser
Filed Monday, October 10 2005.