Look at the blog, Larry. Just look at that blog.

This is gonna be about Band-Aids. It's pretty great.

Archive for the ‘Week 11: Philosophy’ Category

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

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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.


Written by mandudeman

May 4, 2011 at 2:32 pm

#44. Crap.

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Crap crap crap crap crap crap.

I promised myself I wouldn’t spend the last day of Project 54 doing the dozen entries I had neglected to think about for the last week and a half.

And yet, here I am.

The more time I waste wallowing in my own self-pity, the less time I have to hastily throw together a bunch of crap to finish out the semester. So without further adieu, here’s a short story about what I did yesterday.

Don’t turn green.

Don’t turn green.

No green no. No green. No no no no no green.


Why do you hate me, traffic light? Did I do something to you personally? Was it all the swearing I did right before this story started? If you would just do something as simple as staying red forever, I could just sit here. I wouldn’t have to take this left turn. I wouldn’t have to pull up in front of the Richmond CBS station and face the nerve-exploding panicky mess that is me trying to do some basic networking over the summer.

And yet here I am. The car’s parked. I am, technically speaking, on the sidewalk. I need something to do over the summer. Working, or interning, or answering phones or whatever at a TV station would be great. I love TV. I want to be TV. I’m scared shitless over the thought of being rejected from working in TV.

I take a step. And then another. The meth-addled butterflies in my stomach start to relax as my pace quickens a little bit. For some reason, I can hear someone narrating this in my head.

And so we bear witness to the first time Adam Bellotto will ever inside a TV station.

Things start to click. I look at my reflection in that shiny, CBS glass and see a boyishly handsome young man, hope glimmering in his soft green (and modest, too) eyes.

I see the door.

This is happening.

And by ‘This,’ I mean my face slamming into the clearly locked front door.

I take a step back and rub my wounded face and ego, only to see a woman inside the building flash what…. might be a smile and wave me in from behind the front desk. Gingerly, I open the no-longer-locked door, and calmly ask about any kind of unpaid volunteer/internship type things I could do over the summer.

“Oh. CBS don’t do no volunteer work.”

Oh joy. And all that build-up for nothing. As I headed for home, I thought about how it wasn’t just my face that was hurting, but also my soul, but that my philosophy on life had changed, if just a tiny little bit. Thanks to the now-needing-a-Band-Aid wound on my face, I had grown up some. I faced my fears. Even if it ended in a hilariously brief way.

Written by mandudeman

May 3, 2011 at 11:20 pm

#38. Short and sweet.

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Alright everyone. My mind was blown recently. By Ernest Hemmingway’s six word short story.

SIX WORDS. That’s it. And yet, it’s really, really, really good. Oh here’s the story:

For Sale: baby shoes, never worn.

Pretty neat stuff, huh? And, as a man named William Shakesman once said, ‘brevity is the soul of wit.’

So, in keeping with the philosophies of these famous literary strongmen, I will write a story about Band-Aids, using only six words. And actually, when I sat down to write, I came up with a bunch of ideas, and none of them really… separated themselves from the chaff, so to speak. So in lieu of having one really, really good ‘Holy shit it’s so succinct!!’ story, here are nine pretty good (if not great ones).

Mother of three. One less worry.

Parents out of town. Comfort isn’t.

“Aw, honey it’s just a scratch”

“It’s ok. I’ll get a Band-Aid.”

“Don’t worry. Sometimes these things happen.”

“We can get a new bike.”

That’s why I said “no skateboarding.”

“You can always try rollerblading again.”

“Yes, honey, it DID look sharp.”

In retrospect, some of those sound really, really, really slogan-like, and there was a recurring extreme-sports theme that picked up towards the end there, but I still feel like I actually put my brain to good use with the whole ‘creative writing’ thing.

Written by mandudeman

April 19, 2011 at 9:53 pm

#36. For I am… The Grillmaster. Bow down and worship my beef-soaked form.

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‘Sup guys. All you out in the (it pains me to say this) ‘blog-o-sphere.’ Any of you ever been to a barbecue?

They’re pretty cool. Hot meat cooking on the grill. The smells. The sounds. That feeling when your teeth cut through the smoky crackle of the charred outside of a burger, only to feel the rich hamburger flavor wash over your taste buds.

I like barbecues. A lot. Hell, one of my all-time favorite memories is manning the grill at a big family gathering last summer.

Sausage links. Barbecued chicken. Even asparagus. On a barbecue grill. Try it. You’ll love it.

I had ’em all grilling at once… watching for that tiny bit of char on the outside of the meat… keeping my BBQ sauce levels in check… maintaining an even color on all sides of the sausage. For that brief, brief summer afternoon, I was not myself.

I was The Grillmaster.

So when I was invited to a barbecue yesterday, I started to get flashbacks. I started thinking about how good it’ll feel to get a hot-off-the-grill burger in my stomach. And at this point, I realize that I was invited to someone else’s (I’m keeping all names anonymous for safety reasons) house for free food, but still it must be said:

The burgers tasted like Band-Aids.

Now, growing up, every dad had a different burger philosophy. It was all unspoken, of course, but over time one picks up on these things.

My friend Mark- his dad made burgers that were small but really thick. Each bite let loose an uproar of flavor, but were done after two or three bites.

My friend Jamie- his dad made fairly traditional burgers. Medium circumference, medium thickness, decent amount of char on top. The standard American hamburger.

And my dad- his were thinner than your traditional burger, but that means you get more surface area for griddle marks. Plus, a little extra meat sticks out around the patty, so overall you can get more bites out of one burger.

No burger is best, but each burger is unique.¬†And the burgers from yesterday… Pre-frozen patties cooked by the one vegetarian attending the barbecue.

I didn’t want to be a bad guest. I didn’t say anything. I thanked everyone for the food. But something inside me… It cried out for barbecue.

And real barbecue tastes nothing like Band-Aids.

That is all.

Written by mandudeman

April 19, 2011 at 6:39 am

#35. Don’t know much about philosophy…

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So for philosophy, my idea was to tie in Band-Aids… somehow… to ‘What a Wonderful World’ by Sam Cooke. Because, in my broken lopsided brain, philosophy was totally one of the subjects that Sam doesn’t know much about. He didn’t care about his studies. Just his lovin’.

Also it turns out the word ‘Philosophy’ is nowhere to be found in that song. Butttttttttttt… that’s ok. Because it got my brain thinkin’ bout philosophy, and I found me a new topic!


So this was the loopy stream-of-consciousness thought process that led me from Band-Aids to philosophy after Sam Cooke provided no help whatsoever.

(I choose not to edit the following paragraph because it feels more stream-of-consciousness-y).

My hand hurt. It hurt because I was playing keyboards the other day and took a whole bunch of skin off my finger (it happens- keyboards are more dangerous than you think). As per my usual brand of forgetfulness, I forgot to Band-Aid the finger in question and now it’s all scabby and gross (I’ll spare you the picture I could have taken of that). And then I started thinking about my earlier days playing the piano. Back when I was really good. REALLY good. Like, Kennedy Center/famous jazz clubs good. And I was playing this one place with my buddy Wendy. And before the show started she was grilling me with questions for… some reason. I’m not really sure why. But there were a lot. A lot. lot lot lot. of questions. Who’s your favorite pianist? What’s your favorite book? What’s your favorite bone in the human body? Who’s your favorite philosopher?


I remember this clearly. She actually asked me who my favorite philosopher was. She mentioned something about Plato being overrated (or underrated… or something), and all I could do to respond was shrug my shoulders and emit some monosyllabic grunt like the non-philosopher-knowing caveman I was.

A caveman with gross-looking cuts all over his fingers and knuckles. ‘Cuz this caveman didn’t remember to use any Band-Aids. Yes it’s a stretch. And yes, I don’t really care that much.

Written by mandudeman

April 18, 2011 at 4:13 pm