Wenzda’s Wandering Thoughts

It’s Wenza. Middle and high school are in session. You know what that means.

2:03 PM, the murmuration of children begins. Noises double in decibels and echo like we’re in a gym. Screeches, shouts, laughter, blow out my ear drums in three second sound bites.

Cliques form. Tables and chairs are hunted. Backpacks are dumped. A line snakes out from the counter. Drinks are ordered, picked up, shared, consumed.

Happens every Wenzda when school is in session in Ashlandia.

Oddly, today, besides the sounds and visuals, the school children bring in smells of a lunchtime cafeteria. It could be roast turkey with mashed potatoes and gravy. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s just memory of another time making itself known.

Friday’s Wandering Thoughts

The weather has pressed pause on the rain. Shards of broken sunshine are coming through but as soon as they broach the dark clouds’ defenses, a new mass of clouds rush in to patch it up.

A refrigerating breeze circles the streets with a load of petrichor. Like a madeleine for Prost, the petrichor delivers stacks of memories. I flash to being a boy in Wilkinsburg and Penn Hills, PA, a young airman in Korea and Germany, a tourist walking outside a tavern on a darkening day to visit with Dad in West Virginia.

Such is the power of smells to foster memories.

Thursday’s Wandering Thoughts

Ever go into someplace and smell something that is almost nasty or appalling? You can’t quite ID it but you look around, thinking, wondering, is that me or something in here? Then you hope, of course, that it’s not you.

Wednesday’s Wandering Thoughts

As I embrace the new year and set out on 2024, I face the same question as my ancestors: is someone smoking skunk weed, or is that a skunk that I smell?

Friday’s Wandering Thought

Another coffee shop patron entered. Heavy cologne scents rippled out from him. After thirty minutes, he went out and smoke a cigarette. Now cologne corrupted by stale cigarette smoke spread from him like an environmental disaster’s odor.

Under Where?

My Great Underwear change is not progressing with the dreamed-of joy conjured when the great change began.

Setting the scene, I’ve been a boxer wearer for decades, migrating from other styles while I was younger. Recently, while shopping, I spied other underwear on the shelves. Why, the materials were different. And the shapes! Perhaps I will try these newfangled garments.

I bought two styles. One was purchased at Costco. Kirkland. The second, Body Glove, was purchased at Kohl’s. Both are elasticized cotton or something. Boxer shorts. That’s where their overlapping identities end.

The Kirklands went on first. Wow, comfy. Very nice. Useful and expected, it had that vent up front that negates the need to drop trou and sit to pee. I know females are shrugging, “So you have to pull down your underwear, sit and pee instead of standing? Welcome to my world. Is standing to pee really so special? Got any other tricks?”

No, that’s my one trick.

Standing to urinate isn’t the world’s most amazing feat but I’m used to it. I’m in my mid-sixties. Learning new information is challenging. Especially when it comes to the body. The body is already rewriting its rules on its activities, sending out new advisories without warning whenever it feels like it.

“Hey, don’t move like that!”

I was in the process of sitting down. “But I’ve always moved like that.”

“Well, stop it.”

“Why?”

“Don’t question me! I don’t like it. And put that doughnut down. What’s wrong with you? Now go pee.”

“Again? But I just peed two — “

“Don’t talk back! Pee! Now!”

“Okay, okay, okay…” Grumble, grumble, grumble.

That’s why I still stand to pee: because I can. I almost feel young again, you know?

So the Kirkland shorts work. The Body Glove? Umm, no.

They were comfy. At first. But, they didn’t have that useful front vent.

I was surprised. I thought the vent was a requirement. I speculated, maybe men are all starting to sit down to pee, so the vent isn’t required.

It is possible. I’m not always up on the latest happenings. Take, if you will, ball deodorants. I saw a post on Trouserdog while I was flipping through the net: “How to Stop Smelly and Sweaty Balls — Defunk Your Junk”.

Yes, it is an arresting title.

I’ve never considered a need for ball deodorant. Sure, my hairy sack sometimes sweats. Smells can ensue. That’s why I wash. A quick wash and they smell fresh as rain. A sweaty/stinky testicular area didn’t seem to be a problem. Maybe it’s been one and others are too polite to mention it. Perhaps, after walking away, people turn to one another and whisper, “Did you smell him?” My wife has never said anything. Neither have my cats, who are some of the most critical creatures I know.

The second offense against the Body Glove undies is a classic: they shrank. A lot. The comfortable tight fit now felt like a girdle or leather pants encasing my skin like a sausage, i.e., tight as hell. Now, it could be that I’d gained weight. I’ll give you that. But to have gained that weight, my other clothes would also need to no longer fit or fit differently. That wasn’t happening.

I gave the BGs two additional tries after that first washing. You know, more data. They became worse and worse. Waist bands flipped over. Legs rolled up. No, I told myself. I’m too old to endure this crap. Off you go. I banished them to the giveaway pile.

Yet, the experiments have intrigued me. I saw undies that have a cool sack to keep my Johnson more comfy on these hot days. They might even keep my junk from getting sweaty and funky. I’m willing to try them as long as they’re vented and I can stand and deliver.

If my body says it’s okay. It always has the last say.

A Dream of Smells

This dream happened just before I woke up. It was a very simple dream. Naked, I was in the bathroom using a blue washcloth to wash my body. As I ran the wet cloth over my face, a sweet smell rose. Stopping, I identified, watermelon. Where did that smell come from? I wasn’t using soap. My washcloth had no scent. Resuming, I washed my arms and chest. Then I smelled, cantaloupe. So fresh and sweet, it was a wonderful smell. After checking the washcloth, I sniffed my arms and hands. Yes, they smelled like cantaloupe. But where did the smell come from?

Continuing with my torso, the smell changed to blackberries. By now, laughing and mystified, I kept washing, but looking around. No others were in the bathroom; the house was silent. Washing my legs and feet, an apple smell rose.

Stopping, I smelled my arms. They still smelled like cantaloupe. When I moved my arms away, I could smell apples. Watermelon, cantaloupe, blackberries, applies: all fruits. What did it mean? I chuckled about smelling fruity.

At that point, I woke up to birds singing outside the window, but smelled…nothing… The dream’s vivid scents remained in my mind so I sniffed my arm.

Yeah; nothing.

Steelers Deodorant

Someone brought me some Pittsburgh Steelers deodorant. They know I’m a fan. They thought it was funny.

Coming in a black and gold container, it’s called “Steel Curtain”. Likenesses of Joe Greene, Troy Polamalu, James Harrison, and Ben Roethlisberger share the label.

I like it. The little paper that came with the box said it was formulated “through a variety of hands-on experiences” with the team. They were thorough, talking about “capturing the essence of watching film with Ben Roethlisberger in the quarterbacks room,” “the gritty combinations of linemen working out and running during OTAs,” and “the musky scent of proud men celebrating victory in the locker room,” among other aspects.

Yes, I catch some of that in its smell. It’s earthy, slightly woody to me, with a tincture of soggy, muddy grass and complex undertones of sweaty clothing, a spit of coppery blood, and the sharper, almost ethereal tang of victory. When I roll it on after my shower, my confidence vaults to higher levels. I’m ready to spring a hundred yard run. Passers-by are in danger of being tackled. The cats get wild-eyed as I sprint around the house, stiff-arming imaginary defenders, spiking the ball in the end zone, and loosing unbridled celebratory shouts.

My wife, on the other hand, raised her eyebrows at me. “What’s that smell?”

“What smell?”

Setting down her laptop, she’s glancing around. “Did something die in here?” She wrinkles up her face. “Did a cat shit in the corner?”

I sniff with indignation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

* NOTE: This is not a real product, that I know of. I’m kind of surprised. I figured someone would’ve been all having unique deodorants, or maybe colognes for all professional teams in the U.S. Maybe they do exist. If they do, I’m sure I would’ve seen commercials or adverts. I could google it, but I’m a writer and prone to lazy fantasizing, not working.

The Smells

Once again, we’re faced with some lies being spread. This time, it’s being claimed that Bernie Sanders said that he thinks black people smell.

First, WTF is off with our society that we carry the whole smell thing so far? We’re so aghast at gas from a fart, appalled by BO, etc.

Bad smells coming from somebody can be signs of things gone wrong, like emotional problems, economic strife, and health issues. Besides, as others have noted, everybody farts; everyone has odors. Eating black beans (which I love, damn it) (and pinto beans) will guarantee that I’ll fart. So will grapes (which I also love).

One lowpoint in my military career came about because of another’s body odor. A large white man working in another section and suffered from excessive sweating, which carried a pungent odor.

He came to me one day asking for advice, explaining his problem and breaking down in tears as he did. He’d been dealing with this, and with the taunting and bullying and looks that came with it, since he was a child. While talking with him about the multiple possible causes, I referred him to medical assistance. He’d already been there, of course.

The young officer who supervised him visited me a few weeks later, asking about the same problem. I pointed out at that time that the issue wasn’t really that the man had a sweating and odor problem, but that we had a problem dealing with it. I wasn’t forceful enough, though, looking back.

(Of course, our whole thing about smell is probably a defense mechanism carried to an extreme; smelling foulness off of another probably harkens back to diseases and are encoded in us.) (That’s just my speculation.)

Second, no one group smells more or less than another.

I’ve been with a number of races. None seems to smell better or worse than another to me. Nor can I declare that one sex or one political group or religion smells better or worse than another, as a group. It’s an individual thing. I, a white man who sweats often (and farts after eating certain foods) and walks several miles a day, can be the odor in the room, despite regular showers, clean clothes (well, they were clean when I put them on),  decent health, and deodorant. Deal with it.

Third, Bernie Sanders never said that he thought black people smell. The race card is being played, once again, and it’s a lie, once again.

 

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