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 7: Experience’ Category

#30. Deep thoughts. Deep, deep thoughts.

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I’m feeling very… emotional. Right now. Which is odd.

One of the big things behind the ‘Band-Aid’ brand is that sense of comfort when you put one on. I think it’s because pain is, at least to me, something so intense and so unique that I flash right back to childhood- for the briefest moment after I stub my toe, or smack my forearm against a doorframe, everything washes away. The sense of adulthood I’ve built up over the years is gone- I don’t care about how I look or how I act or how I’m doing in school or what I’m doing socially. The things I’ve spent years obsessing over and building up to make a life for myself are gone in an instant, and when it’s gone I feel like a child again. The only thing I want is for someone to comfort me and make everything better.

I bring this up because something other than physical pain gave me this same sensation recently. To make a long story short, a friend on Skype changed his profile picture icon thingy to Totoro (You know, from My Neighbor Totoro). I’ve seen the movie before- I have an old, weird memory tied to it, something that’s so far back I can’t really tell whether it really happened or was a dream or my young mind warping the memory after so many years, but whatever.

The memory is as follows: I remember being around seven or eight, watching Totoro on VHS at my cousin’s house in Pittsburgh, and then borrowing the tape and bringing it home. At this point, things get fuzzy, but I remember watching the it at home two or three times without stopping, until either the VHS broke or the VCR broke or my parents just made me stop. Now, I was one of those kids who would cry at almost anything vaguely upsetting, but something about not being able to watch it a third (or second, or fourth, or whatever) time triggered something serious in me. I couldn’t tell you why. All I remember is feeling awful about the whole thing.

The problem with this is that it was so long ago I don’t remember what I was feeling, but there’s this vague feeling of guilt I still feel over whatever the hell happened with that VHS tape. I think I broke it, maybe. Honestly, I can’t really say.

Anyway, so I saw the Totoro picture on Skype, and, as a lark, figured I’d look up some videos on Youtube. One of them was the last minute or so of the movie, and when the ending credits rolled up, blammo.

You know how you can smell something from your childhood, and it brings back a rush of memory all in an instant?

Same thing here. I still don’t know why this VHS tape-related incident freaked me out so much, but all the weird upset-ness came flooding back in an instant. I can still feel it while I write this.

I’m starting to ramble, but the point is, I can, now, without a doubt, recall that childhood, can’t-stop-crying-and-just-want-everything-to-be-better feeling that, more often than not, would end itself in a Band-Aid.



Written by mandudeman

April 5, 2011 at 5:41 am

Posted in Week 7: Experience

#29. Oh, the journeys a Band-Aid can take.

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So way back when I did the amazing Band-Aid race (Post #24… March 8. For those keeping score at home), I took all the Band-Aids I had raced with and stuck ’em on the back of my computer. I had two reasons for doing so.

1. It’s not gross, the Band-Aids were only on my arm for like 15 seconds each.

2. For all those times I don’t have Band-Aids on my person, it would be totally useful to have a bunch of spare ones stuck to my computer.

Now as it turns out, I never really used those spare computer Band-Aids… but that doesn’t mean they still aren’t useful. Consider this: If a Band-Aid sticks to my computer for a month… would it not be a Band-Aid with experience? Huh? Huh?


So here’s how the back of my computer looks as of the beginning of this blog post:

Ahhhh, the inflated sense of self-worth that comes with Mac ownership.

As you can see, it has Band-Aids on it. Just like I said. But remove a month-old Band-Aid to see how experience has changed it- that’s the real meat and potatoes of what’s going on here. And when I remove said Band-Aid, I get a near-useless piece of cloth and latex and sticky goop.

Apparently, if you leave them on a hard surface (much like the back of a laptop) for a month, they stick really, really, really, well, and lose all of that stickiness in the bizarre struggling dance of I-can’t-get-this-stupid-thing-off-my-computer. And after all that, there’s no real stick left and it flops around like a dying fish.

To illustrate my frustrations, I attempted to take some arty photographs. I even incorporated in a tasteful, professionally done photograph to make it seem more art-like. So, as you look at the following (wildly amateurish) photos, consider just how useless a Band-Aid becomes after a month’s worth of experience.



Written by mandudeman

April 4, 2011 at 7:39 am

Posted in Week 7: Experience

#28. That new Band-Aid smell. Just breeeeaatthhhheee it in.

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So it’s been like two weeks since I last blogged, but I’m lifting myself up out of this rut. This rut made out of an absence of Band-Aid posts.

So the plan for this particular entry is as follows:

I need experience. And Band-Aids. Band-Aid experience. So I’m gonna open up a box of Band-Aids, take one out of the box, unwrap it, and put it on my finger. All while describing the experience (EXPERIENCE) of doing so in painstaking detail. I’m aiming for something that’s almost like poetry, what with the detail put into words and lines and stanzas and so forth, but I don’t actually want it to be poetry. Just detail on an awesomely intricate level.

Ready? Cause I sure am!


The tiny film of sweat on the pad of my thumb sticks to the navy blue smoothness of the box.

As the box opens, each cardboard tab grinds against each other- the friction, the noise, the vibrations it sends up my arm are just enough to make the inside of my ear twitch and the hair stand up on my arms. I can’t stand the sound of paper-on-paper. It makes me queasy.

There’s enough empty space in the box for a whole ‘nother boxful of Band-Aids- the ones in there are all huddled to one side. The folds and crinkles at the corners of each wrapper jut out- some synchronized with the Band-Aids around them, some corners rogue-ishly poking into the sides of their cohorts.

I reach in to grab one and the side of my thumb hits the carton- all the Band-Aids inside jump and jostle from the sudden movement. One lone bandage sits free from the others once the pandemonium has ceased, and the paper surrounding it feels dry against the tip of my finger as it slides out of the box.

The wrapper makes slight crackling noises as I move my thumb with the navy blue arrows at the top. When it first begins to separate my fingertips cling on for dear life- there’s barely any paper to hold onto. I pull and thousands of minute strands of glue show themselves before breaking off and vanishing forever. I start to pull faster, and the Band-Aid peeks its head out more and more, the rustle and pull of the paper causing it to twitch from side to side.

When there’s no more paper left to pull, the Band-Aid plummets into my lap with a quick ‘fluhmp.’ The Band-Aid jumps in anticipation as I prepare to pull the tabs off- the ends of the Band-Aid bend as the tabs peel away from the sticky underside. When each tab disappears, each end flops over, having lost the firmness of the paper keeping it sturdy. It holds close to my finger, the individual grains in the cloth shining golden in the light, and it’s around my finger with a snugness that has just a tiny amount of pressure- enough for me to notice, not enough for any discomfort.

Written by mandudeman

March 30, 2011 at 4:43 pm

Posted in Week 7: Experience

#27. Ah-hyuk hyuk hyuk.

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I… I got nothin’. Well, maybe something.

For example, what if I could tie Band-Aids into an important life experience of mine? Like this one time, where I was taking horseback lessons as a child, but I got thrown off my horse and into a briar patch, and had to wear Band-Aids all over my body for weeks. Then when I went to Disneyworld and tried to ride Splash Mountain, the part where the car/boat/old-timey log goes over the waterfall into the bramble patch gave me horseback-riding-war-flashbacks and I spent a year in a psychiatric ward.

Also none of this ever happened. But I did go to a preschool where we got to ride horses. And I fucking love splash mountain.

Ok this is like the closest I can get. So here goes:

Since I was thinking about Splash Mountain (SO FUCKING AWESOME), I remembered this little vignette from Childhood Adam’s Boyhood Memories.

So I’m in Disneyworld, right? And it’s like, the quintessential childhood experience, right? Only it’s like, totally not. Now, I know Band-Aids are supposed to fix actual, physical injuries, but what about emotional ones? What about the pain I feel inside my very soul? If you’ve been to Disney World in the last 10 years or so, you know what I’m talking about. First there was the A Bug’s Life ride.

That ride is NOT for children. Not in the least. Now, my memories are pretty fuzzy, because, let’s face it, I was ten, but I’m pretty sure there was a giant flyswatter smushing the people in the front row. And an evil grasshopper with the voice of what I assume is a Kevin Spacey sound-alike informing the audience of their imminent, insect-related demise. Also the seats would move like swarms of bugs were under my butt and there was a wind thing too.

My point is…

Well my first point is this- that specific ride/section of Disney World can jump up its own ass and die.

But my main point is that I’m still haunted by that ride. A ride at Disney World. Seriously. Also there was a dinosaur roller coaster where a giant dinosaur head reaches down and tries to eat you. That one scared the fuck out of me too. And I remember reading in the Disney guidebook my parents bought that there was a ride where a cute little character gets ‘discombobulated’ (I STILL REMEMBER THE EXACT WORD TO THIS DAY) by a giant horrific alien.

Maybe my problem was just that I was ten years old and riding all of the big-kid rides. But still. Disney World.

Anyway, the main idea of all this was that, since it’s no fun being scared shitless at the Happiest Place on Earth, my parents bought me this awesome stuffed dinosaur. And an awesome stuffed dinosaur can heal any wound inflicted on a ten-year old boy.

Sorta like a Band-Aid. See what I’m getting at here?

This one was a bit of a reach, but… Life experience. Emotional agony. Solved with toy dinosaur. Just like a Band-Aid would heal a physical wound.

Not too bad, I guess.

Written by mandudeman

March 23, 2011 at 4:09 pm

Posted in Week 7: Experience