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 5: Social’ Category

#21. Band-Aids + Friends = Friend-Aids? …No. That’s awful.

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This one’s an idea that was stewing around in my brain-parts for quite some time now.

Here’s what was a-stewin’: How well do Band-Aids work as gifts?

Are they met with open-armed gladness? Or are they met with confusion, and an uncomfortable, stilted “thanks for giving me such a crap gift” hug?

Well, gentle wanderers of this world of Banded Aid, I have the definitive answer.

She looks thrilled. Or terrified beyond words any human could utter. Those two sorta go hand in hand.


Now what I could have done was just given her a box of Band-Aids, with like a bow or something on them. That would have been neat-o. But that wouldn’t really have been a ‘gift’ gift. Or, as an articulate person might say, ‘a gift with thought.’ That’s what I wanted. The gift that has thought.

So I thought and thought till my little brain pounded like a churn full of rich, creamery butter. And once I ate that butter, I found a pretty great gift idea.

See, Leslie up there, she’s a gym buddy of mine. And she hurt her shins a few weeks ago. And I distinctly remember her saying something about having to tape up her shins, and not having enough medical tape to do so.

From here, you know where this is going. But you actually don’t. I’m always four or five steps ahead- like the time I not only bought Johnson & Johnson brand  Band-Aid leg tape but ALSO a pack of Band-Aid brand blister removal Band-Aids. Do they sound kinda gross? Yes. Do they look weird, too? Ohhhhh yeah- imagine a little oval filled with some kind of hermetically sealed medical liquid, and you place it on a blister or something. Honestly, I bought ’em because they sounded practical and the box was shiny. It’s hard to see in the picture. But it’s soooo fucking shiny like you don’t even know, man.

But you don’t care about that. Maybe you do. Hopefully, though, you don’t. What you care about is poor Leslie’s reaction.

And here it is, straight from the Leslie’s mouth. And by that I mean I’m gonna type what she said. Here goes:

“I’m excited. But also confused.”

She later clarified that ‘excited’ was for the extra few leg-wraps she’ll able to accomplish. ‘Confused’ was why I bought her blister thingies.

She agreed, though, that the box was shiny. And in the end, that’s all I ever cared about.



Written by mandudeman

March 7, 2011 at 12:38 am

Posted in Week 5: Social

#20. Who’s the social Band-Aid man. I am. I am.

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Well, there’s a first time for everything. First time riding a bike. First time baking a souffle. First time slapping Band-Aids all over my face in a vain attempt to mine a blog entry out of my own humiliation.

And you know that last one was too weirdly specific to be anything but what I just did six minutes ago.

The plan was simple: Put Band-Aids on face. Have someone comment on my (presumably) horrible face-injuries. Rope them into a lengthy conversation about the meaning of Band-Aids as a brand and as a method of covering up face wounds. Write about it in blog.

At least I got the last one right.

Here’s how the plan actually went down. You know, in the real world. First I put Band-Aids on my face. That went ok, I guess. I mean, there were Band-Aids. On my face. It would have been really hard to screw that up. And the walk to Subway went about as well as I expected it to. A couple people gave me weird looks. One guy flat-out stared at me. That was kind of awesome. I make it into Subway. Approach the lady hiding behind her plexiglass shield of emotionlessness. I can see she’s ready to crack- ready to forgo years of carefully fine-tuned social graces and ask me what the hell happened to my face. I can feel this blog post writing itself. This is happening. She speaks:

“You gotta move to the other line, hon.”

I’d like to think the ‘hon’ was her way of softening the hypothetical blows my face had suffered. But to the next line I went. This time my sandwich-maker’s a guy. We’ll bond over the rugged masculinity of rock climbing using only your face (the reason I had concocted for my hypothetical injuries), and spend hours drinking beer, lifting weights, and grunting in approval at each other. I tell him I’d like both kinds of peppers on my sandwich. He puts some of each on.

At this point, my imaginary Ignatius Reilly bravado is failing fast. I have to act.

“So you know what’s weird?”


“I’ve had these things on my face all day and NO ONE has asked me about ’em. Not a single person.”

“Well, I was gonna say something, but… you know. I didn’t wanna say anything.”

“It’s cool. And in all honestly, there’s nothing under these. I’m doing this for a school project.”

“Ok well if it’s for a project, that’s cool. Like if there’s a grade and all.”

“Oh there is totally a grade involved in this. Grades are the only reason I’m walking around with these things on my face… Yeah.  Ok on a scale of one to ten, how weird is it that I did this?”

“Oh there’s a grade involved, I don’t think it counts.”

“I get a free pass?”



So if no one really commented on my Band-Aids without me prodding them about it, are Band-Aids not the social stigma I thought they were? Or, inversely, are they not the awesome testosterone-fueled battle scar coverings I thought they were?

Maybe Band-Aids are just a normal part of social interaction. Maaaybeeee.

Written by mandudeman

March 2, 2011 at 8:46 pm

Posted in Week 5: Social

#18. Hey there, Game-y Boy. Flying through the sky so fancy free.

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This one starts off with a picture (usually I build up to my meager photography, but I feel like a change of pace).

Both of those hands are mine. No one helped me take this picture. I'd like you to think about that for a minute.

And yes, I do still play my Game Boy. For a couple of reasons.

1. Aw hell, I’ll say it. It’s ever so much fun.

2. That’s… well… Ok so I can’t really summarize this in a pithy one-sentence blurb, as it’s the focus of this whole post, so let’s just continue on, shall we?

So if you didn’t notice already, my thumbs are all Band-Aided up in that alluring photograph you saw a few seconds ago. Technically, I didn’t actually injure myself playing a Gameboy -you would have known if I had, as I’d have died in shame within seconds. At that point I assume some spunky young reporter would hear the news and write an expose on the dangers of being bad at old videogames, which would sweep the nation. I’m getting a little ahead of myself here. But the Band-Aids symbolize something much deeper- I play videogames a lot.

Okay, that wasn’t that much deeper. But still.

Now, how many of you out there still keep in contact with your best buds from youth? I do. My childhood friends Mark and Jamie (I’ve known Mark since I was four, Jamie since I was fourteen) and I are all still thick as thieves. Right now the two of them go to school in Pennsylvania and Maryland, respectively, but thanks to the internet that’s really not a problem for anyone at all anymore. For me, however, it’s ceased to be a problem thanks to the internet… and video games.

Even though I haven’t videogamed my way into a pair of bloody thumbs (thus requiring a Band-Aid or two), it sure feels like I’ve played enough to deserve those fake injuries. You see, for those of you who might not relate to this, I’ve spent my whole life (and in the case of my friendship with Mark, it’s literally been my whole life) playing video games with my friends, and the ability to turn on Skype and grab a Gameboy brings with it a feeling of comfort that’s so strong it’s hard to put into words. Even today, bogged down with two papers, two quizzes, and a slew of blog entries all due this week, I saw Mark was online and spend ten minutes discussing our latest Pokemon strategies before he left for lunch and I went back to my (sigh) overwhelming workload. And just those ten minutes of being a kid again helped me relax my way into what I hope will be a successful week. So I plan on continuing to play way too many video games for as long as I physically can, to the point where my thumbs might actually bleed (if it comes to that, and realistically… it won’t), because not only is it:

1. Super terrific double-happy  fun time

but also:

2. Everything you just read.

Blam. Pithy one-sentence blurb. And just 500 words ago I said it couldn’t be done.



P.S. I actually tried playing with the Band-Aids on my thumbs- my hands are in a constant state of sweaty nervous horror, and the Band-Aids actually reduced that a little bit. Hooray for me.

Written by mandudeman

March 2, 2011 at 9:35 am

Posted in Week 5: Social

#16. Stealing ideas from class is a great way to boost my self-esteem.

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I’m sure all of you remember that exercise we did in class last week. With new perspectives? New perspectives… on Band-Aids? No? Well, ok then. I guess this idea just came to me with no outside influences whatsoever. Yeah, that’s believable.

So, hypothetically, if one were to try to imagine things from the perspective of Band-Aids (on the shelf, in the store, in the factory, on the patio, in the car, or on the boat), what’s a perspective that’s a little farther outside the box? A perspective both new and different, that could shine a shining light on a shine-less Band-Aid stage? Something I was thinking of in class but then opted out of raising my hand so I could use it to fill up one more blog post?

That third one sounds right.

So let’s begin our story with a lone Band-Aid. I call him Bandy. Now, Bandy’s a precocious little scamp, but he doesn’t have a friend in the world. Not a single solitary soul to call on the phone, or carpool with to work, or even watch The Big Bang Theory with. No one. I guess you could say his SOCIAL interactions are very limited, in a SOCIAL sense (subtlety is not my strong suit).

But why, Bandy? Why are you so alone? What sets you apart from everyone else? How come other Band-Aids have five or six hundred facebook friends (all other Band-Aids, of course) while you only have eight?

There’s a reason, of course. Bandy’s no ordinary Band-Aid. He’s not hermetically sealed in a little white box, just waiting to help prevent all kinds of infection. He sits alone.

At the bottom of a swimming pool.

YEAH. Gross, huh. The slightest of shudders ripples through me when I imagine a swimming pool Band-Aid brushing up against my leg. The hair on my arms stood up just from typing that. It doesn’t matter if I care for Bandy. I may even love him. But swimming pool Band-Aids are waaaaaay too icky for me to ever do anything about Bandy’s plight. I guess he’ll just be alone forever.

Just assume my shower is an olympic-sized swimming pool. It's what I do every night.

Oh and for the record, that’s not actually an old used Band-Aid. It was a new one I put on for half a second to make it the right shape. I’m not a monster.

Written by mandudeman

March 2, 2011 at 6:40 am

Posted in Week 5: Social