Benjamin Rubenstein

A symbol's meaning is subjective. The symbol, to me, has come to mean something other than what it used to represent. My new podcast story is about how I went full-on wannabe investigative journalist to uncover why I feel that way.

Benjamin Rubenstein — I Tried Getting the Black Lives Matter Sign Removed At My Apartment Building I made believe I was an investigative journalist to uncover why I feel the Black Lives Matter symbol has come to mean something other than what it used to represent. What I discovered led me to want the Black Lives Matter sign removed at my apartment building.

Deuces. 22 years ago today, I finished treatment for Ewing's sarcoma, a bone cancer. Now, my shirts have milk dribbles courtesy of the deuce-dropping creature created from the genetic material I left for a deep freeze before starting treatment. And I even work at the same place where I was treated. It's funny how things work out sometimes, how your life can look like the number 22: the same elements can show up again, just with different values.

Much love to the baby whose umbilical cord blood cells were transplanted into me 20 years ago and to her parents for choosing to donate her cord.

My latest podcast story is about one of those thrilling times in a desk job when I did something that may have really mattered. I mean, after all, I was just the guy who sends emails.

Benjamin Rubenstein — The Time I Told Myself I Saved a Life in My Job as Basically a Guy Who Sends Emails Covid-19 had begun spreading in the U.S. Leaders of organizations were scurrying to get their computer-based staff able to telework indefinitely. This is about one of those thrilling times in a desk job when I did something that may have really mattered.

Today, I sat on my apartment building's roof near the flower garden and thought about dirt. Some country singer instructs us to buy it, some parents tell their kids to play in it, and I'm confident one childhood buddy ate it. But 20 years ago, I wasn't allowed to be anywhere near dirt. My immune system no longer functioned. It had been blitzed in order for me to receive an umbilical cord stem cell transplant on April 24, 2003. The docs said if I neared dirt then I could breathe in its microbes, which could then harm me, so I kept my distance from plants, construction zones, and operating vacuum cleaners.

I no longer need to keep a distance from dirt. I don't really think about dirt any longer, except when I hear that country song telling me to buy some. However, I thought about it today as I considered how drastic a difference life can be from one moment to the next. Things can get better, and often do. Thanks to the umbilical cord stem cells that were transplanted into me 20 years ago and became my immune system, I went from being able to die from breathing air to living my current charmed life. S**t, I may even eat an apple later without scrubbing it first. Look at me go.

Happy 20th birthday to Bone Marrow, who is now T minus one year from the legal drinking age. As if she weren't already sneaking in a few brewdogs since toddlerhood.

My latest podcast story--a fictional one--considers a new hypothetical pandemic in which young adults instead of the elderly are most vulnerable. What would happen? See how the geezers would take over in this morbid and spooky story. , friends!

Benjamin Rubenstein — Geezers in the Age of the Youth Pandemic Welcome to another episode of Benjamin Rubenstein’s Storytells , where I typically share true and personal stories though today, I share a fictional short story. You can listen to this on Spotify , Amazon Music , Apple Podcasts , Google Podcasts , Castbox , Deezer , JioSaavn , Podcast Addic

Thanks to my spouse for the latte at the local coffee house yesterday to celebrate my 21st anniversary of finishing treatment for Ewing's sarcoma. The dressing up all fancy with a trilby was all Stef's idea, the owl-shaped tiny cake was all me, and the early rom-com before passing out early was a collective decision because that's how you do 21.

My bone marrow turned NINETEEN yesterday, and of course the princess made us spend the whole day celebrating her. But Bone Marrow—that’s the name of the umbilical cord cells that were transplanted into me on April 24, 2003--has been a BALLER addition to my body and has been part of why I haven’t gotten the Covid, a third cancer, and other unwelcome maladies, so we were happy to appease her. Happy birthday, my sweet little baby bratty diva who is all growns up in her final year as a teen!