Hmmmmmm sandwich #2

Because sometimes, spread in between two white-bread slices of everyday life something happens that’s… hmmmm… weird, or interesting, or eyebrow(s) raising.

My Nostrils Smell…

“Of course they do!”, I hear you cry. Well no, I don’t mean it like that. I mean they smell funny. They stink.

“Of what?!” I hear you cry. Well, it’s like a tub of parmesan did a fart, shortly before crawling up my nose and dying.

“All the time?” I hear you cry. Well, no. Think about when you crush a lavender flower to activate the scent. It releases all those lovely frangrant oils all strong and sleep-inducing. Well this is similar, in that he smell is activated when I touch the inside of my nose. However, although strong, it does not induce sleep! Whether it’s blowing my hooter or mining for green gold, touching the nasal wall seems to crush the stink right into life, inducing the most almighty urge to fling my guts through my face and splatter them artfully over the nearest wall like some tuberculic Jackson Pollock. BTW that’s defo my new DJ name.

“Why does this happen? Why are you telling us? Is this just you?” I hear you cry. Well, hold your horses, one at a time. Firstly, I think it happens as a result of the frankly rank (which is, BTW, defo my new DJ club night name) Shanghai air. So rank is the air in fact that, according to the latest Environmental Performance Index compiled by Yale University, China ranked 128th out of 132 countries for air quality. And I would lay down my hard-earned kuai on a bet that Shanghai’s car-choked streets are amongst some of the most air-polluted in China. So that’s why.
Why am I telling you? I’m a sharer. I’m raising awareness. Some people do it for conditions like dyslexia, medical issues or for a political cause. I’m a one-woman nostril-whiff warrior. There’s hundreds of us out there, so rise up and declare “MY NOSTRILS STINK, AND I’M PROUD!”
So no, it’s not just me. One particular friend told me a story in empathy that’s just begging to be the first scene is some14-year-old-boys-just-love-this stoner comedy:

[Int. Hancock’s apartment. Evening]

The camera pans through the small bachelor-pad. Hancock’s belongings are scattered haphazardly, very obviously turned out of place. We can hear him frantically rustling around just out of shot. At first we can’t be sure what story this scene of destruction has to tell. A recent earth-tremor? Robbery? Psychological breakdown? At the end of the panning shot, the camera settles on Hancock, and tightens focus on him. He is naked, and intently picking up items, sniffing them, and tossing them in frustration.

[V-O:] Sometimes days are lazy and short. They get lost on the couch or in movie-marathons. Others just won’t let you rest; you HAVE to fix this wire that’s been bugging you for weeks, or clean even though no-one’s coming over, or make those lists that cement your life plans into some kind of order. Today was the restless kind.

[Int. Hancock’s apartment. Earlier in the day]

Hancock is leaving the bathroom, just having showered, his towel wrapped around his waist, hair still wet. He reaches for a tissue and blows his nose. Immediately his face wrinkles in disgust.

[V-O]: What is that smell? Sniffs his arms. I just showered, it is not me. But… His face continues to wrinkle. He knows it can’t be him, and yet he definitely smells that smell on his arm. He sniffs at his towel. Woah… this stinks too. Can’ t be… Very fast cut to laundry basket, as if to suggest it’s fresh from the laundry. Hancock proceeds to sniff things around him. Each time his wrinkly nose non-relenting. EVERYTHING stinks.

Cut to rapid-pace montage of Hancock increasingly frustrated and sniffing at everything. Becoming more frantic, his towel drops, but he keeps on sniffing as though he hadn’t even noticed. The montage shows his obsession escalating, and eventually we see him as we first found him: amongst piles of his dislodged belongings, nakedly scrambling around and sniffing as though possessed by the spirit of some meticulous blood-hound.

Cut to Hancock, sitting, silently exhausted on his couch. Depressed and blankly staring into the lens of the camera, which is slowly zooming in on his face.

[V-O]: That’s the day I learnt my nostrils smell.

The camera zoom speeds suddenly and we disappear into the black holes of Hancock’s nostrils. Black.

Hmmmmmm sandwich #1

Welcome to the new feature on me blog, yo – “Hmmm… sandwich”: Because sometimes, spread in between two white-bread slices of everyday life something happens that’s… hmmmm… weird, or interesting, or eyebrow(s) raising.

Walking down the street. Need to find an ATM. Oh, look! Here, outside this restaurant, FOR NO REASON, there’s a bra on the floor. Now THAT’s an eeeeepy sort of welcome-mat. I also distinctly think that maybe it’s a covert sign this place is the kind where you might get a happy ending to your duck a’l’orange. However, mainly I am struck by the fact that when I walked past this place 5 minutes earlier, the bra wasn’t there, and instead there was a granddad, who had his toddler grandson’s tiddler out so he could answer nature’s call. ON THE VERY SAME SPOT. I have clearly found a mystic and ancient layline, where the distinction between public and private is seriously out of whack. Maybe I’ll go there tomorrow and try do a poo on a velvet cushion. See if anyone bats an eyelid.

Hmmmmm… brothely