9:37 am | 31 March 2003 | flesh-toned

So this weekend i burned the hell out of my left forefinger's knuckle (like, blistering, knobby coxcomb-red-scaldedness) and then, while cutting a plank, proceeded to rip it open (thankfully on the edge of the lumber, not with the saw, at least). It hurt quite a bit; i stalked around the apartment muttering variations on "fuuuuck" to myself for a while. Then i went for a Band-Aid.

For my money, the only variety of Band-Aid worth its salt is Flexible Fabric. This Band-Aid does not fuck around. It gets grimy and haggard-looking really fast, it's true, but it stays on like nobody's damn business, even on a prominent joint such as a knuckle. (I just saw, too, that there are now Band-Aid TOUGH-STRIPS, which sound radical; they are purported to stay on longer via "super-stick." Sweet!)

The only real drawback to the Flexible Fabric Band-Aid, as far as i can tell, is its colour. I was under the impression that Band-Aids were meant to be "flesh" toned. The only flesh i've ever seen that is this tone is George Hamilton's. The Flexible Fabric Band-Aid is a florid orange which (as i said before) attracts dust faster than EVERY SURFACE IN MY HOUSE* so as to soon be orange ringed with black. Gross!

I wonder if Band-Aids are different colours in other countries, or if there is some local brand that is differently toned. Like in the Sudan--do they wear these freaky, pinky-peach bandages? On someone like the incredible Alek Wek, such a bandage would look totally stupid (sorry, Nelly). They make clear Band-Aids, true, but even those aren't perfect. I guess it's just one more thing for me to spend two pointless hours thinking about. clm.

* I spent the weekend attempting to clean. Well, actually, i spent Friday night performative-dancing to Depeche Mode with the hilarious Jacob, and then i spent the wee hours of Saturday morning throwing up (i had five beers--fine. I had a giant glass of 60-40% Bacardi-and-Coke [thanks Mike]--fine. THEN SOMEONE GAVE ME GIN. Not fine. Since an unfortunate episode in Kalamazoo four years ago, GIN DARETH NOT TOUCH MY LIPS. I flung myself into my bathroom and impersonated Old Faithful. Saturday afternoon, looking as though someone had scraped me off the pavement with a spatula, i accompanied Tape to IKEA and then slogged home. But Saturday night and all day Sunday i cleaned house. And between a German shepherd in spring, my being a smoker, it being an old building, and having cottage-cheese-stucco ceilings, there is more dust in my house than there is gold in them thar hills. My poor, poor books, coated and powdery like the snow-dandruff scene in The Breakfast Club. Argh. Even the Swiffer hath not the power to tame it. ANYWAY.

H A P P Y * B I R T H D A Y * P O R K C H O P !