Got Crohn’s and a Colostomy bag? Be proud!


BsHwq1gCcAEjHDa.jpg-large

I’ve never seen a colostomy bag. Have you?

As a culture, we hide so much that makes us modern humans. And rather than embrace the things that make us, well, us, we do a great job of keeping that stuff under wraps.

I have a love/hate relationship with Photoshop for this very reason. While I think every image needs photoshop, sometimes I want to show people with all their bare flaws.

The issue is that most people don’t stare at another person, closeup with nearly as much detail as a person might when hit with tons of light. And while people look better in studio lighting, their blemishes are highlighted in ways that are unavoidable.

This conundrum is partly why I love this story/photo of a woman Bethany Townsend, just 23 years old, who has had Crohn’s disease since she was 3, who has decided to embrace her colostomy bag while on vacation in Mexico. Instead of hiding it directly, she put it out there … even decorated it.

It’s given legs and strength to others with the same condition to shout loud and proud.

Love it.

More here.

Via TYWKIWDBI.

 

My new hero: Casey Neistat and his BAMF’ing videos


Over at Kottke, he posted this amazing video from filmmaker Casey Neistat and his son having a blast at a German waterpark that is built in an old airplane hanger.

I didn’t recognize Casey right away, until I went through some of his other videos. I found this one about the time he took an entire budget Nike was going to pay him to create a film and traveled the world in 10 days.

If by the end of the video, you don’t buy or at least make some mental promise to yourself to buy a plane ticket, you’re an idiot.

But then there’s the video below, that makes me crazy with jealousy and inspiration.

Casey takes $25,000 of the marketing dollars for The Life of Walter Mitty, goes to the Philippines and helps with the relief effort after that huge typhoon destroyed so much of their people and land.

This, dear readers, is something I’m dying and longing to do. If for nothing else, the kind of notoriety that Casey gets for doing such things. What a great guy, great photographer, great filmmaker and great editor.

 

Tina was gone for the weekend. Great father/dogger time. Kept my traditions sacred



burns

Tina was gone for the weekend.

Annually, she and some women plan a girls’ weekend in nearby Michigan. They rent a house and spend about 48 hours figuring out why they love their lives outside of Michigan. :)

They have a good time, and Tina always looks forward to going.

It’s good for us, too, because we spend almost every waking hour together every day. We both experience a little separation anxiety when we spend any time apart let alone over night.

Weekends like the last one are good exercises in 1st world pain and torture.

Whenever Tina leaves me, or vice versa, for any spell of time, I’m sure to hurt myself quite badly and/or incur some large bill as the result of — what I’ll blame on — separation anxiety.

When I was in Thailand, I caught an acute stomach bug that laid me up in a Thai hospital over night. Tina was gone to dinner with a friend once and I cut my finger on a shard of glass while cleaning a glass tea kettle. I needed seven stitches. No matter what, if Tina’s gone, I’m a mess.

This weekend was no different.

On Friday night, I found some leftover potatoes in the refrigerator that I was going to cut up and make into fry up as a cubed hash brown type side for some chicken thighs I was grilling. Since they were covered in the fridge, condensation had accumulated in the Tupperware.

I heated some oil in a pan and cut the potatoes. When the pan and oil was hot, I threw them in, resulting in that cataclysmic snap and pop when water meets hot oil. Hot cannonballs of oil splattered out all over my right arm. It looks like a shrapnel wound on my forearm.

That night I played 2.5 hours of pickup soccer at a nearby field and largely forgot about the burns, although, I could feel them from time to time, reminding me of my idiocy.

The next day, all of the red spots turned into blisters.

On Saturday, I biked to the gym to relax by the pool and soak up some sun for awhile. I also wanted to sit in the whirlpool to soak after soccer. But the whirlpool was closed for maintenance.

After strapping my bike helmet on and exiting the gym, my water bottle’s top opened and leaked enough water in my bag that it was dripping on my legs as I walked.

“Shit!” I said to myself. “I hate this bottle.”

So I started turning my bag over to get the puddles out, when my phone slipped out of a front pocket, hit the ground and spiderweb cracked in that all-too-familiar way you’ve seen everyone else’s phone do, but you’ve been so good at avoiding for the past few Smart Phone years.

“Figures! Tina’s out of town.”

Frankly, I’m glad those were the only things that happened. I thought playing soccer, I’m in for it. On Saturday, I did my self portrait which involved fire. That could have been disastrous.

These things likely would have happened whether Tina was here or not. It makes for a better story, though, if everything bad happens when she’s gone.

It’s the closest I get to being superstitious.