Stink City

So not only do I live in the stinkiest house on the block, but apparently also in the stinkiest city in the U.S. That's right! Las Vegas wins the grand prize, courtesy of MSNBC, of the #1 City With The Worst B.O. in America. I have to say I'm a little insulted by this. And frankly, I question just how scientific this "study" was. Was it based on rigorous scientific research? Did they send interns to every city in the U.S. to do some sort of sniff test of people's armpits? Is it based on litmus strip testing or some sort of measurable chemical analysis? Apparently not. B.O., according to Dr. George Preti, Ph.D, of the Monell Chemical Senses Center (which sounds pretty fishy and probably smells worse), is "caused by a complex cocktail of sweat, skin and bacteria." (Gaaah.) "Under the right conditions: hot, muggy weather, dry skin, stress and smoke, this aromatic stew can thrive and create body odor." And according to...wait for it...OLD SPICE (a company reknowned for its high scientific research standards, snort), Las Vegas is one of the hottest cities in the country and has a high percentage of smokers; therefore, we surely must smell the worst.

This kind of bugs me. So some quack doctor who holds a Ph.D in...what? Stinkology? That's something to brag about!...and a deodorant company deduces that since Las Vegas is a hot place and there are a lot of smokers, we must be the stinkiest?? Come on! It's not humid here, so that's an advantage over pretty much every city in the South or on the East Coast. We don't have the smog cover of some cities (cough*LA*cough) or the mix of methane/industrial waste of others (I'm looking at you, Fresno). So I'm sorry, but if you're going to toss out insults like that, you better back it up with facts.

Now don't get me wrong. Las Vegas does stink. Especially walking down the Strip on a July evening, shoulder (mine) to belly (theirs) with a pack of sweaty fat guys huffing and puffing their way to the next casino bar. Or entering the lobby of a movie theater for a Saturday matinee. Or standing in line for a PortaPotty in the wake of a hippie pothead at an outdoor concert. Or in the airport parking lot. (Or the airport, for that matter.) But I've lived in many different cities and recall several of them being a whole lot worse than Las Vegas. Riding the bus to work in downtown Pittsburgh was a thoroughly disgusting experience. Strolling the waterfront on an August afternoon in Baltimore was nearly as bad. And my personal vote for the all-time, #1 top stinkiest city is by FAR Washington, D.C. Now that's some stank. I don't know what it is about that city, but I've been there a fair number of times and I can smell it 10 miles away. There is literally a stink cloud in the air above the whole town. They should just put biohazard tape around the entrances to the Smithsonians in the summer months. It's not just sweat; it's a pungent, bone-deep funk that takes a few days and some heavy-duty body scrub to get out of your skin and hair after you leave. The stink molecules there must be bigger than normal or something.

I can even tell you the exact location of the stinkiest place in the city. When I was pregnant with the triplets--and, granted, I was extra sensitive to smell at that time; the smell of bread made me gag--Kurt and I went to D.C. in August and visited the National Aquarium. (Which, by the way, is a sad excuse for an aquarium. It has like eight tanks of trout and a stingray.) It is located underground, and to get there you have to stand in line outside in the blazing summer sun with all the other tourists, thus ensuring everyone is good and sweaty, then wait for your hand stamp at the check-in counter which is three feet from a unisex bathroom with bad plumbing. Then you walk through a slow-moving turnstile with stale breath-scented air, then down a narrow, windowless stairway with soggy wads of what I only hope is toilet paper ground into the grooves of the rubber stair mats. Even the handrails stink: a sharp metallic odor that makes you feel like you're living under a bridge. I can't even begin to imagine what this place must smell like when it rains. Through the door at the bottom of the stairs you enter a low-ceilinged tunnel carpeted (?!) in orange indoor/outdoor that's fraying at the seams and stained in suspicious places. Then, of course, you are trapped underground in the Aquarium itself. Can't go back; it was a one-way turnstile. The only way out is straight on, down the dimly lit corridor behind the sweaty hands and moist feet of hundreds of schoolkids trudging through on their class fieldtrips. The smell of fish is a welcome relief. At least to me. Animal stink is better than human stink, for some reason. (Dog poo being the exception.) After passing a few pictures of fish on the walls with signatures like "Marcus Jackson, May 1977" and some random thank-you notes to the "Aqwuariom" from Mrs. Sanchez' Fifth-Grade Class, PS 162, you come to an intersection. To the left, the trout. To the right, the stingray. Ahead, a tank of water and some sea snails. So, there you are. Trapped in the bowels of downtown D.C., and I mean do bowels. Breathe through your shirt and get through it as fast as you can. Push past the schoolkids if you have to.

(Sorry, this kind of devolved into a post about the dinginess of D.C.'s National Aquarium. I don't know why it's so lame. Maybe because it's free...? But the National Zoo is very nice and quite well-kept. (And also not underground.) It obviously got better funding for some reason. Maybe the NEA people like koalas better than fish, I don't know.)

Anyway, back on point, I have a feeling Mr. George Preti has never been to D.C. or he might not be so quick to point the Stink Finger at us. Las Vegas usually comes out at the bottom of all the good polls and on top of the bad ones, so maybe I'm just a little sensitive. But I really don't think we are the worst. Or it could be that it's so smelly in my own personal house that when I get outside in the fresh air of our fair city, it smells downright pleasant in comparison.