#54. This is the end, my friend.

So my first post was about collapsing after my first day of hardcore working out, and how there’s no Band-Aid in existence that can deal with that kind of exhaustion. Exercise is great. I love exercising. I’ve been doing very little of it lately. Yet, even as I sit back and contemplate the last Band-Aid-packed semester, I can see all the changes in my life that have come crashing into view over the last couple months.

I have a girlfriend now.

I’m going to Italy this summer.

I’m in film school.

I saw a horse this one time.

And with all of those achievements, I’m not that upset that what started as WORKOUT SEMESTER!!! GONNA GET IN SHAPE! didn’t really end that way. I mean, I’ve started working out again. Just a little bit though- enough to even out the junk food I eat, but nothing really beyond that. I’m okay with things being like that.  And even though I despised most of my classes, the end results are clearly worth the struggles I had to… struggle… through.

I like the idea, though, of beginning with exercise and ending with exercise. Like a great man once said, this is “sort of like poetry, they rhyme, every stanza kind of rhymes with the last one.”

This isn’t going to be a super long post. I really just wanted to reflect on what I’ve gone through at the finish line of this semester.

Oh, and one last thing.

I never, never, NEVER want to see another Band-Aid as long as I live.

NEVER

#53. Dammit dammit dammit dammit dammit dammit

Hooray swearing!

But seriously, though. I knew this would happen. I have ten minutes left before the deadline, and a handy care-package of the last four posts I’ve been working on all morning, and everything’s ready to drop at precisely 11:57.

But I need one more post.

And I got nothin’.

I feel like I should be angry at myself for this. I promised myself I wouldn’t completely fuck this up procrastination-wise and have to do everything at the last minute. You’d think that anger would be coursing through my veins right now and I’d be this (puts hands really close together to signify that ‘this’ is a very very small measurement) close to screaming like some kind incredible hulk and throwing my computer out the window.

I’m not really that upset, though. Which is weird. Ignore the dammit dammit dammit part in the title- it’s like a ‘holy crap no time’ dammit rather than a ‘why am I such an IDIOT’ dammit.  And even though I’ve been churning out a ton of posts here at the endgame, I still feel like I put a whole bunch of effort into ’em. Maybe…. maybe not the Simpsons one. I just needed a break from blogging and figured I could kill two birds with one stone (Watch TV/Do homework at same time. You know the deal).

What’s weird, though, is that I knew, somehow, even though I promised I wouldn’t do this, that everything would come down to the last minute. So, I wrote out my very last ‘conclusions’ blog in advance, so that everything would have a finite cap on it even if I struggle through my procrastination-laden nature. So technically, this is my last blog post. Which feels reaaaally weird. Like, as I write a blog about struggling through Band-Aids and procrastinating even though I promised myself I wouldn’t, I can feel myself starting to relax. I feel relieved. I know, that even as I write about procrastination and screwing up, that I’m already at 335 words at this point, and everything’s basically set. So now I’ve got this weird combination of relief and anxiety in my brain. It feels super weird.

And you know what? At that, I think I’m done. So even though there’s one more post to go, this is, technically, the last thing I’ll ever write for this blog.

See ya.

#52. What. No. Title. In. Brain. Must. THINK. HARDER.

Alright so this post should be fairly straightforward- I want the pictures to speak louder than words on this particular day. All you really need to know is that I wanted to show a box of Band-Aids from the perspective of the Band-Aids inside, and the gathering loneliness as the number dwindles down to one lowly bandage.

That is all.

#51. The ancient art of paper Band-Aiding.

Would it surprise you if I said I was actually really good at origami?

It would surprise me.

I used to do it all the time when I was but a lad. Cranes, ladybugs, boxes, you name it. I origami’d all the origami you could shake a finely crafted paper stick at. And then I remembered the very first day we learned about Project 54. That guy who made all the skulls. Secretly (okay, not so secretly), I hate him, considering that it was his skulls that led me down this point of no return. This point of no Band-Aid-shaped return.

But I remembered he made a papercraft skull. And he printed out the pattern and a whole bunch of people made it. My origami days came back to me. I knew what I had to do.

So I made a terrible, awful Band-Aid out of paper. It was huge, and uneven, and horrible, and it made me cry. I used printer paper, ‘cuz that was all I could find, and it was thick and clunky and I hate it.

So I tried again. This time it actually came out okay. I learned from my mistakes. Folded right where before I had only folded wrong. This time, my creation looks like a Band-Aid. it’s still printer paper. It’s still… not great. The important thing is, now I know that, in a dire situation, I can totally make my own giant useless printer-paper Band-Aids in less than eight minutes. It’s an important skill.

I will end this on two points.

Point #1. I forgot how much fun this is and I’m totally going to go out and buy a ‘baby’s first origami’ book so I can re-learn some of this stuff.

Point #2. I forgot to show you my paper Band-Aids. Here they are, in all of their majestic wonderment.

First times are hard. This Band-Aid is unquestionable proof of that.

Conveniently, though, I'm a fast learner.

#50. But what about after…?

So I’ve been thinking about Band-Aids in terms of ‘finish,’ and what keeps coming to mind is what happens to a Band-Aid after it’s been used. Obviously, a sane person would throw out said Band-Aid and never think about it again. But, considering that ‘sane person’ is just about the last thing anyone would use to describe someone who’s constantly thinking about Band-Aids, I think I have a little leeway here.

Alright, so my plan is as follows:

Brainstorm a brazillion possible uses for Band-Aids after they’ve already been worn. Alright ready three two one GO.

Remove the sterile cotton part, melt down the latex and re-form it into new Band-Aids (after it’s been thoroughly cleaned, of course).

Build a car that runs on disgusting, unwanted medical waste (like used Band-Aids!).

Leave them in the forest, and when a hungry, mischievous raccoon chokes on one, give it the Heimlich maneuver and be a national hero for saving indigenous wildlife.

Throw them in a landfill. (‘a brazillion possible uses.’ Nothing about ‘insightful, creative uses’ in there).

Tie them together to form some kind of Band-Aid whip, and then hunt down criminals under my new moniker: ‘The Great Bandino.’

Keep them in a pile outside my house and let them fester and become this fetid stench-ridden pile of sickness. Spend the rest of my life never being bothered by a Jehovah’s Witness ever again.

Wash them off and sell them in shady back-alley Band-Aid black market deals. Those poor chumps will never know they’re being ripped off.

Send them back to Johnson & Johnson and ask for a full refund, claiming that the box does not explicitly say ‘Serious infection can occur if Band-Aids are re-used on open wounds.’

Sue Johnson & Johnson when the previous idea backfires miserably.

Use old Band-Aids as food when Johnson & Johnson countersues and leaves me penniless and broken.

Cover a sheet of posterboard with used Band-Aids, attempt to sell it to The Metropolitan Museum of Art as something ‘daring and unique.’

Use it to heal opposite-world children who need used, disease-ridden health products when they scrape their knees.

Sell them to rival bandage companies, claiming that I can unlock the moneymaking secrets of their competitors’ products.

Put it in my hand and flash it in front of a dog so the dog thinks I’m holding a dog biscuit, then run around the house and have the dog chase me.

Put a 2-page ad in Nickelodeon Magazine for “Super Gross Extreme Awesome ‘Used’ Band-Aid Fun Pack.” Sit back and let the money roll in.

#49. First, we take philosophy. Then, we dip it in rich, creamery butter.

Alright, so here’s an idea.

I’m… going… to watch……………. The Simpsons.

TV inspires me. And besides, it’s not like The Simpsons hasn’t given back to society, right? The whole idea of a prime-time cartoon aimed at adults hadn’t been seen in years, and led to countless similar cartoon wunderkinds. Plus, the golden age of The Simpsons can boast one of the funniest, sharpest, most culturally-relevant and lightning-fast senses of humor of any television show. Ever.

At least, that’s my opinion on the matter. Philosophy books have been written about The Simpsons, putting the ideas of Sartre, Plato, and other schlubs into a Springfieldian context, so that complex philosophical ideas could be easily understood by the masses, and a bunch of authors could write about The Simpsons. Because, as far as I’m concerned, everyone loves The Simpsons. Everyone.

So here’s my plan. I am going to watch one of my personal favorites- ‘Bart the Lover,’ from season three.
The episode’s B-plot is that a swear jar is introduced to the Simpson household, and Homer has to adhere to it even as he suffers hilarious injury after hilarious injury. I am going to watch this episode. I am going to notate every wound any character suffers (because suffering… equals Band-Aids). At that point… well, I don’t really know, but I suppose I’ll do something. Something great.

2:39- Rod Flanders takes a paper airplane to the eyeball.

4:17- Principal Skinner’s ear is grazed by a yo-yo. It isn’t much, but still.

4:55- Random child is smacked in the head with a yo-yo.

Kind of a slapstick-free stretch here…. don’t worry. It’ll all work out in the end.

17:26- Homer is attacked by bees.

(See, I knew something would happen that was excruciatingly painful. It’s alllll about trust).

18:11- Homer breaks his thumb with a hammer.

18:16- Homer steps on a rusty nail.

Well, there it is. A play-by-play of everything in that particular Simpsons that could possibly be related to Band-Aids. This is about the time where I’d wrap everything up with a closing paragraph that explains the deeper meaning of what I just did. Honestly, though, I don’t think there’s too much hiding beneath the surface of this particular post. I really just wanted to watch the Simpsons in this blog.

And in that sense, I accomplished everything I’ve ever dreamed of.

#48. At this point in Blog Crunch 2011, I’m out of cool titles. I… I got nothing.

Seriously, the cool titles are naught but a faded memory wafting away on the breeze of I-shouldn’t-have-waited-until-the-last-minute-to-do-all-these. But that’s not important. What is important is my thoughts on ‘finish.’

The first thing that popped into my head was, not surprisingly, not thinking about Band-Aids. Big shocker, I know. But what comes after Band-Aids? For me, at least, it’s film school. And right now, considering I’m not actually taking any film school classes yet (BRING ON NEXT SEMESTER! WOO!), what I’ve been doing is reading scripts online. You can totally do that now. There’s some section of IMDB that lets you read scripts. It’s great. I’ll read anything. and I mean that. Anything. Remake of A Nightmare on Elm Street? Check. Megamind? Check. That one movie where Samuel L. Jackson is a psycho cop who terrorizes the couple living next door to him? Oh, you better believe that’s a check. Even though two-thirds of that last script was just Samuel L. Jackson yelling obscene threats while brandishing gardening equipment.

But anyways, that’s what my mind turns to when I think ‘finish.’ And there has to be a way to tie Band-Aids into that somehow. In a sense, it’s like Band-Aids flow into screenplays. When one avenue ends, another opens up. And, as I wrote that last sentence, an idea struck me. Right in the face.

Print out the first pages of a bunch of screenplays. Stick them together with Band-Aids. Somehow… create art. Art from all of this. It’ll totally work.

So, I put ’em up on the wall….

Oh yeah.

That didn’t really do anything for me.

But then I had an idea… what if the scripts were in an arrow… an arrow pointing to my future?

Now we're getting somewhere.

That’s preeeeettty good, but it’s not great. Also, the arrow is, coincidentally, pointing to my bathroom as well.

I probably didn’t need to mention that, actually. But the important thing is, I had a real idea this time. These scripts are helping me climb my way out of Band-Aids and into film school. As I finish with Band-Aids, I’m using a combination of screenplay and Band-Aid to rise to new, never-before-seen heights.

Sounds good, no?

Looks pretty good, too.

#47. Scrub-a-dub dub.

Have you ever done the dishes?

It’s an intense experience, I know. There’s sweat. Pain. Life-threatening injury. Doing the dishes is something that takes an unrelenting willpower, a fire that burns within. Personally, I measure dish cleanliness by the amount of my own blood pooled around my feet. But that’s just me. Some people, they get upset if a little water splashes on to them. Conveniently, I have something for that second group. Those like me, the ones that view dishwashing as a gore-drenched life-or-death struggle… we have no release from the constant agony of our nightmarish existences. But if you get a little bit annoyed when dishwater splashes up and gets on a shirt you just cleaned yesterday, then you should be fine.

This all came to me while I was washing the dishes… obviously. After some dirty dishwater befouled my favorite Mr. Show T-Shirt, an ingenious new idea popped into my brain: if I coated my clothes with Band-Aids, they’d never get wet! Band-Aids are totally water-resistant. I think. Probbbbbably. Because I hate getting soaked with that awful dishwater. But if there was some way I could promise myself no splashes would occur, I’d do dishes day and night. Maybe.

But yeah, now that the idea’s in place, it must be tested. And a-testing I will go.

First step: Cover portion of now-ruined Mr. Show t-shirt in Band-Aids.

Check.

Second step: Place shirt over head and onto torso.

Check.

Third step: Splash foul, unholy dishwater all over Band-Aided region.

Feeling damp and sad. Also, check.

And finally, Fourth step: remove Band-Aids to reveal soft, warm, undamaged t-shirt, proving that when I promise something will work, it always does, no matter what, under any circumstances.

Or... to reveal intermittent patches of splotchy dampness.

So clearly this didn’t work. Maybe it’s because the unspeakable power of dirty dishwasher can conquer any foe. Maybe it’s because I used cloth Band-Aids and not the latex ones, because they were the only box I had in my house.

It could be any reason, really.

#46. sevitcepsrep wen emos tuo gniyrT

There may or may not be a puzzle in that title. I’ll let you figure it out. But anyway, I need a new perspective on Band-Aids, so I’m just gonna free-think some hot shit here. Might be insightful. Might be fuck-awful. Either way… it seems like there’ll be a lot of swearing. Maybe that just comes with the word ‘free-think.’

What’s a Band-Aid backwards? It’s a diA-dnaB. If it were a word, it’d be Diadnab. Sounds like a sexy jewel heist (diamond nab), or an 80’s cola that’s sugar-free (Diet Nab. Nab rhymes with TaB).

So…. nothing there.

Ok, so the intended effect of a Band-Aid is to comfort someone, and to imply that there’s someone else out there who wants to heal you, and cares about you. What’s the backwards-perspective version of that?

A Band-Aid that wouldn’t be comfortable, and would actively state that the person applying the Band-Aid means you harm. In this situation, I’m assuming the evil Band-Aid would be made of thin, stretchy sandpaper, and would have cyanide on the sterile pad. I think if someone was to give me one of those, and try to apply it to a fresh scrape on my knee, there would be no love lost between us. A Band-Aid of hate and sorrow. Also it wouldn’t be called Diadnab, or even Evil Band-Aid. It’d be something hip, and spooky-sounding, like Sick-Make, or Crap-Bandage, or The Squirminizer. Also I feel like I’ve run this idea into the ground, so I’ll move on to something else.

Oh! Oh oh ohohohohohohhohohohhhho I got something. Something I’ve always wanted to incorporate into this blog.

In Community (Thursday nights 8PM Eastern on NBC), Dean Pelton says, at one point, “Thought we should just rip that Band-Aid off quickly.” He’s using Band-Aids…. in a negative light. The quote above is stated right after the Dean (Oh the Dean. How wacky he is) gives some particularly bad news to a crowd.

I always come back to this when I’m thinking about Band-Aids, because no one ever, at least as far as I can tell, has ever mentioned the whole ‘ripping off arm hair hurts like hell’ aspect of a Band-Aid. Granted, it’s not something that would motivate people to start buying up Band-Aids by the truckload, but it IS an aspect of the product’s image.

And just like that, my blatherings actually found their way into something useful.

#45. Moneyyyyyyyy… burns a hole in my… finger.

So a bit of background:

I totally play in a rockin’ band with my bestest rockin’ friend Alex. It’s not anything serious. We have no aspirations of fame and fortune. We simply wish to get together once every month or so and repeatedly violate Virginia noise level ordinances for an hour or two. It’s great.

Except that it’s not great. Rock and roll has consequences. Dire consequences.

Drug abuse. Late nights in crude dive bars, forced to entertain the shirtless-est bikers Richmond has to offer. The unimaginable agony that comes with a life lived in the spotlight, without a single moment of privacy. Also blisters.

And guess which one of those has to do with Band-Aids? I’m sure you already know.

Now, I’d show you photographic proof of my grotesque finger injuries, but there are some things mankind was not meant to see.

What I will do is spew my feelings through pencil and paper until I have a stunning, life-like representation of the grisly horror that is my right index finger.

Like so.

Looks just like the real thing, right?

More or less.

I mean, you’ll never actually know if it looks totally realistic, ‘cuz there’s no way in hell I’m showing a nasty finger blister for some kind of cheap shock value. But believe me when I say that my drawing is so realistic it’s being placed in the Louvre in 2013.