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

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

#47. Scrub-a-dub dub.

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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.


Second step: Place shirt over head and onto torso.


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.


Written by mandudeman

May 4, 2011 at 1:22 pm

Posted in Week 9: Promise

#46. sevitcepsrep wen emos tuo gniyrT

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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.

Written by mandudeman

May 4, 2011 at 4:17 am

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

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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.

Written by mandudeman

May 4, 2011 at 3:23 am

#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

#43. Just look how far we’ve come

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This post is going to be something special. Something extraordinary, even. You see, it’s not often that I come across something so profound, so wonderful, that it changes my worldview in ways that would destroy a weaker, more fragile mind.

If you have a weak stomach, please turn away.

Please. It’s for your own good.

Okay now that everyone’s stopped reading and started doing something constructive with their time, here’s the scoop:

They make plastic packaging that’s not impossible to open.

Amazing, no? So here’s how I got started on all this. I was taking some super-terrific pictures of Band-Aids for this blog, but afterward I left the SD card in my Macbook during several shutdowns/restarts. Apparently, repeatedly doing this can, on occasion, lead to slight side-effects like the memory card being reduced to a useless piece of dull plastic.

Never fear, though. I bought a new one. But as I contemplated the packaging, fear set in. It was wrapped in thick plastic, like a Mace Windu action figure, or some kind of electric shave-razor. You know the packaging I’m talking about. You can cut it with scissors, but all you can really do is mangle the plastic so much that it becomes a razor-sharp hedge maze of crying and wallpapering my hand with Band-Aids. Naturally, I was upset.



I spotted a dotted line running across the top of the box. There was a little picture of a scissor next to it. After applying every ounce of knowledge in my college-educated brain to this problem, I finally chewed through the dotted line with my front teeth and watched the box open up like some kind of magic pirate gold chest. The SD card fell right into my hand. Angels sang. The clouds opened. A beautiful golden light rained down upon me. I retook the four pictures I had lost with the old card.

This is the greatest thing humankind will ever come up with.

All thanks to the progress fromĀ  Kingston Technologies. Progress that keeps jagged plastic shards from shredding my hand into deli meat and me having to restructure my whole hand with Band-Aids.

Written by mandudeman

May 3, 2011 at 10:07 pm

Posted in Week 12: Progress

#42. Ain’t no stoppin’ me now

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So the new directive is progress, huh?

I can do that. I even have an experience from just two days ago that demonstrates just how progressive and willing-to-continue-on-in-the-face-of-adversity I am.

So basically, I was totally photographing some Band-Aids on my back porch, and I was getting all artsy with it, and thinking like a Band-Aid, and doing all this awesome stuff that I thought was totally cool. It was totally hip. Like, you wouldn’t even know. And then in the blink of an eye, the wind kicks up and all my Band-Aids go tumbling off. It was horrible. All I could imagine was spending the next half an hour picking up Band-Aids off the cobblestones behind my apartment building. It was gonna be awful. Just… so… awful.

And yet when I looked down, ’twas not pain I saw, but a bunch of Band-Aids perfectly splattered along the ground. It was even artsy-fartsier then what I was doing before. It was great.

So I photographed the hell out of this new Band-Aid catastrophe/opportunity. I even imagined I was some kind of high class fashion photographer. I yelled at the Band-Aids about their motivation, how great they looked, how they were ‘really working it.’ My neighbors probably all think I’m nuts, but it was totally worth it.

So yeah, in case it wasn’t totally obvious, I’ve progressed from the point where spilling Band-Aids would just make me upset to the point where I can work each spill into something wonderful.

And did you know the Chinese use the same word for crisis and opportunity?

Yes you did. It’s called crisitunity.



Written by mandudeman

April 27, 2011 at 2:44 pm

Posted in Week 12: Progress

#41. My sense of self is like a Band-Aid dinosaur sponge.

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Just dampen me for dinosaur terror.

I’d like to, at this time, thank myself for all my hard work. Is it gloating? Yes. Do I care? Not as much as you’d think. And in the interest of being frank, let me just say I didn’t really enjoy this class as much as I thought I would. It’s nothing against the class itself, or anybody in it- I just thought advertising would be the right fit for me, and it turns out it’s not. No big deal. What Curiousness did make me realize, though, is that I need to find the thing that IS the right fit for me. And I totally did.

You see, fair, gentle reader, I was…. shall we say… a wee bit insecure about applying to film school, but I knew that I could write pretty well. Plus, having spent a semester writing about Band-Aids, I figured writing an essay or two on an application here or there wouldn’t be the most difficult thing in the world.

And it wasn’t (big surprise, huh), ‘cuz over the course of this semester I’ve been able to write from the heart about Band-Aids. Maybe not in every entry. Definitely not in every entry. But every once in a while I was able to really pull some stuff out about Band-Aids that I felt actually had some kind of emotional core to it. And I had done it enough times to know the basic avenues through my own emotions to reach that sweet, nougat-y emotional core. And through doing that, I totally got into film school.

So thank you, Band-Aids. Allow me to show my appreciation by putting you up on the wall.

(heh heh heh).

Disclaimer: Band-Aid may be accompanied by 'You've gotten into film school' letter.

Written by mandudeman

April 27, 2011 at 8:17 am

Posted in Week 12: Progress