OK, so rather than sitting on a 747-400 right now, I'm sitting in Logan's terminal E, where I'm still a good two hours from boarding. Apparently, somewhere between Amsterdam, D.C., and London, there was a problem. So our getting to the airport nice and early, while a worthy plan, came back to bite us on the collective ass.

One could have presaged this from the cab ride to the airport, where the cab went no more than 20 feet from my building's front door before getting a flat tire. A second cab arrived in short order, but if you're into omens, it was an auspicious start. Did I mention that Sarah broke a mirror yesterday,too?

The good news? I found my tie. It was on the shelf in our closet, put up with some other clothes.

In any case, here's what I can tell you about our adventure so far:

* Duty free stores are kind of scary, like all the vices rolled into one. Multi-carton packs of smokes, big bottles of booze, five kilo Toblerones. And just in case you drink/eat/puff yourself into incontinence, you have the half-gallon sizes of perfume to cover up.

* The E terminal at Logan is the international terminal, and it sucks. It's just old enough to look shabby, is kind of dour, and has little by way of distractions (outside of this lone public access terminal). I get this feeling that a sister airport terminal opened in Prague in 1983 and was hailed as a Historic Achievement in Socialist Aviation.

The E terminal is Logan's answer to Foxboro Stadium.

* I think I've found the last Hudson News in North America that carries Games magazine. The article this month is about some family known for their flogging of novelties, like chattering teeth and huge sunglasses. Wow.

* I think I'm over my concern regarding the big plane. Now I'm just concerned about our big plane.

* We did get a food voucher, which for the E terminal means you're getting Au Bon Pain, Sbarro, McDonalds, or Wok and Roll. And, because the 4 of us got one voucher for the group, we all had to eat at the same place. We decided on Wok and Roll, and I've had dry mouth ever since. OK going down, but apparently all the MSG that the other Chinese places aren't using wound up here.

* The CNN Airport Network is showing the Niners-Cardinals game, which promised to only add to the tedium but has kept reasonably close. I do wish I'd gotten a chance to see the entire Fins-Vikes game. Saw the opening drive and figured Miami was en route to a big day. Wonder if our London hosts have sattelite TV, and if they get ESPN...

* The security procedures went fine. For all the hullaballoo, it's not that much of a bother. Unless you wear Rockport shoes, which have a steel shank in the sole. You have to wonder how many people will go barefoot in airports before the Rockport people go with something else.

Not much more to say about the terminal or the trip so far, unless I can find some way to further describe what's been pretty damn dull so far. Maybe I'll try to take a nap or something.

We're heading out for the airport (or, more correctly, the shuttle bus to the airport) in a few hours. This would be exciting except for one thing.

I've lost my tie.

The suit I'm wearing for the wedding is green, and I have a green tie that I bought with the suit. I took the tie yesterday and, so I think, put it over a door handle to give it a chance to hang for a while. That's the last time I saw it.

I know, I can get another tie, but it's the principle of the thing. Just as you don't walk away from a slow elevator because you don't want to let it win, I don't want to give up on the tie. I have a feeling that it was stuffed in a corner somewhere during a fit of cleaning (not by me!), and won't turn up until April sometime.

Anyway, this will probably be that last post for the year, so best wishes for the holidays. And if the holidays don't cheer you up, at least science has cleared up this grave danger to humanity.

I started with a larger post about each of the suggested designs for the new World Trade Center. I ditched that for a more general overview. Blogger ate that (note to self: talk to Boggie about moving to Moveable Type when I get back). So, my basic three statements about the plans.

1. I don't know if I'm crazy about building another really tall building. It's like the people who live on the Cape that rebuild their houses on the shore line after their old house falls into the sea due to coastal erosion. Nice to get back on the horse and all, but obstinancy has its down side, too. I suppose I'm OK with tall, but the 2100 foot tower that one of the proposals has seems a little much.

2. What's with all the bends and angles and crap? I suppose it's the thing now to create highly non-linear buildings, but in some cases the resulting design looks like something Frank Gehry drew to pay a bar tab. I tend to favor the more conservative plans. Boggie had mentioned being in favor of the one with the "kissing" towers, and I suppose if you have to go with something po-mo (or are we on po-po-mo?) this plan would be the least objectionable. I won't even go into the problems I have with THINK's World Cultural Center.

3. The general plans for memorials and public space are good, but I'm a little leery of the "sky gardens" and other crap on the top of towers. THINK has a "sky park" that's on top of some lower buildings, which seems fine, but I don't know if we need hanging plants at 1200 feet or whatever. I also tend to like the plans that leave the old building footprints open.

From looking at the designs, I'd actually like to take parts I like best from 2 or 3 of them to make one plan, but the resulting architectural goulash would be unsightly at best. I suppose that's why I'm not an architect. That and the can't draw thing.

It may not seem possible, but MTV is further limiting the videos it plays. Apparently, they'll be focusing on clips by big artists with proven drawing power, with some room left over for developing acts. Or, as they're known nowadays, groups who'll be playing the state fairs six months from now.

In large part this is a move by MTV to shore up its viewership base. Rather than serve the music industry by making stars, MTV is putting the onus back on the industry and artists to prove that they're worthy of heavy rotation. Probably a sound business decision, but one that further means the world of popular culture will be dictated by 14 year olds. Then again, that's probably always been the case.

Remember when MTV showed genres of music? When you could watch showcases like the Headbangers' Ball and 120 Minutes? Unless you're part of the readership here that's over 25, probably not (and even then, diversified programming on MTV may be a hazy recollection from your childhood).

In some ways this doesn't matter, as the proliferation of MTV and VH-1 channels provides an outlet for different styles. But it's hard not to lament the old days, when there was some mystery as to what video would get played next. Whittling down the rotation to a number I can count on my fingers and toes takes some of the fun out of things.

In a related note, if you can catch the episode of Frontline called The Merchants of Cool, do so.

One of the things I love about Amazon.com is how it recommends everything about a given subject if you do anything that suggests an interest in it. For example: I just added The Art of the Steal by Frank Abagnale (the Catch Me If You Can guy) to my Recent Reads list on Amazon (which should be linked over on the left if I've not screwed that up).

I now get recommendations for every book written about scams, frauds, protecting your identity, and so on.

You can imagine how the page looks after writing questions. The suggestions after researching a bonus part on Kim Catrall's book about female orgasms was, well, let's just say educational.

So I'm going to England on Saturday, and you know what my biggest concern is? That the plane is too big.

We'll be going to Blighty in a 747, a plane which has serviced trans-Atlantic routes for decades, never mind all the work 747s do around the Pacific Rim. The 747 is a popular plane, with millions of miles behind it, all culminating in the flight I'll be on.

But I'm sitting in row SIXTY-ONE. I've never been on a plane with more than, say 35 rows. I'm sitting in what amounts to a plane tacked on to the back of another plane. As I've been saying to people the last few days, it's going to be like flying an office building.

From talking to Sarah, you don't really even notice the flight as you're going, the size of the plane apparently negating the usual bumps. She did say that you spend a lot of time at an angle on take off, given how long it takes for the plane to get to altitude.

I'll take her word for it, but I have the final scene of Say Anything... running through my head, where Lloyd and Diane are sitting tight, waiting for the seat belt sign to dim, the final signal that everything's going to be OK. I suppose I can make do with that.

One of the features of the flight that I didn't know about before doing some looking around is that there's a map (either in the cabin or available on the seat-back monitors) that shows the plane's position in real time. This has two possible negative applications:

1. It may reinforce the idea that it's a really long flight. I don't think I'm going to look forward to spending some time in a book, looking up, and then seeing that, hey, we're still over water.

2. The reminder that we will, for large chunks of the flight, be over water. I've never flown for a significant chunk of time over the wet stuff, mostly just skirting the coast or going over or near a Great Lake. I've had a mental dialog going about which emergency landing would be worse, but have come to the conclusion that it probably doesn't matter. I do have bad visions of me manning a life raft in the north Atlantic, though. In mentioning this conflict, one of my RAs noted that she's heard that drowning is a very peaceful way to go.

I've already decided how I'm going to sabotage her performance evaluation.

Really, I'm not that nervous about this, but rather have some anxiety based on it being a new thing. I don't do many new things anymore, given that most new things would either be physically painful, embarrassing, or both. This is an exception, and outside of my combination of awe and fear at the combination of weight, speed, and height involved, am pretty excited for my first European excursion.

In other news, I am happy to see that at least two of my fellow bloggers have endorsed the idea of me taking over the Boston archdiocese. Then again, both are Lutherans (I think; one I'm pretty sure about, the other is a putative Lutheran, given his ethnic background suggesting it as the most likely choice), so the Vatican may not be sold yet.

My fantasy football season is over. Thanks to the 4 TD day from Clinton Portis, I am currently 30 points behind, with my opponent still having one player to go. I suppose Troy Brown probably won't turn the ball over 15 times, or become an emergency kicker and shank several extra points. Suffice it to say Oakland picked a bad day (for both of us) to have their offense turn in an average performance. Then again, I took Miami to win in all the pick 'em games I'm in. Had I been smart enough to play my backup, Brad Johnson... I'd actually be something like 32 points behind. Even with my best possible combination, I'd still be down something like 20 points. Sometimes, a loss is just a loss.

I suppose the only thing I can say about Carson Palmer winning the Heisman is meh. I'll agree with Cooch that Ken Dorsey finishing fifth is silly. Two words explain this turn of events: Gino Torretta. A Miami QB, led team to national title, won a lot of games, completely tanked in the NFL. All sounds pretty similar up to the NFL part, and you have to think that some voters (considering how many of them apparently don't cover football) made a connection that doesn't hold up.

The guy I feel worst for is Larry Johnson, the latest 2000 yard back to not win. It probably didn't help that the schedule included games against the likes of Central Florida and Louisiana Tech, or that he had less than 100 yards in Penn State losses. But still, you average 8 yards a carry, put in 20 TDs, and you finish third?

The Bruce has told us Sox fans to be happy about Jeremy Giambi, and to be honest I'll be happy about anyone not named Tony Clark. (though I'm sure I'll miss Tony the Tiger's defense when the other Giambi boots his first grounder). I also feel badly that this may be the move that sends Brian Daubach packing.

Unrelated to all of this, I pulled number 50, the next to last position, in the student affairs Yankee swap today. That's good, in that I get the next to last pick. What was bad was that there weren't any gifts left. Turns out that one of the participants had to leave early, planning to return it seems, but didn't. I was saved by someone who split their gift, giving me two of the Harry Potter books. As I already have them, I turned the books into a 27 piece tool kit. I now own a hammer, ready to nail more sneakers to boards.

So Bernard Cardinal Law is out as head of the Boston archdiocese. In for the moment is Bishop Richard Lennon, who was serving as rector of St. John's Seminary. The open question is who should get the job permanently. I have an idea.

Me.

I am Catholic, male, of Irish descent (not required but it helps around here), and a life-long resident of the area. I'm a genial yet no-nonsense administrator, maybe not so good with keeping my desk clear, but probably better at Law than seeing how having priests around who like to fondle kids could be a problem.

Admittedly, I'd be a non-traditional choice. I'm not a priest, monk, friar, or other clerical person. I am engaged to be married, and don't intend on changing those plans. I suppose that would preclude me from getting some sort of instant ordination (like they did way back when), but I'd be OK running the show without the title.

Heck, I'd even be happy splitting the job with Bishop Lennon. He can handle all the stuff I wouldn't be able to do, like say Mass, confer sacraments, etc., while I can take care of the other stuff.

To wit, the order of business when I get the job starts with these three things:

1. Settle all lawsuits. Should have done this before. It'll cost, but it would cost less than actually going to court or filing for bankruptcy (including cost to public opinion, prestige, etc.). The longer the media circus goes on, the less chance you have to start anew. I think of it as the penance required for decades of negligence.

2. Start getting people back on board. Not surprisingly, abuse charges have a way of driving people away. Work needs to be done to bring folks back into the fold. Getting out to talk to parishes, lay groups like Voice of the Faithful, and classes at Catholic schools would be one way to give parishoners a chance to address their fears in small groups with people who can effect change. Part in parcel of this would be verifying that the new policy regarding priests and abuse is solid.

3. Allow parishoners to stand during the Eucharist. When we were going to St. Ignatius over the summer of 2001, the parish allowed for either kneeling or standing during the Eucharist, noting that standing was consistent with early practice. I don't know if that's a diocese-wide policy, but if it isn't I'm making it so. Wouldn't be required (you could still kneel if you want to), but the way I look at it, standing simplifies the Mass by taking out one of the options. You either sit or stand. Also, at a time when there's a very modern scandal going about, it couldn't hurt to get back to some of the early traditions. Especially if they're this easy to initiate.

There are a number of issues I didn't touch on here, from priestly celibacy to abortion to ordination of women to the return to conservatism under John Paull II. I'm saving those for when I run for Pope.

I learned via the mailbox today that Lance Armstrong was named this year's Sports Illustrated Sportsman of the Year. Fortiuitous timing, considering I just finished It's Not About the Bike, Armstrong's autobiography written just after his first Tour de France win.

You'd have thought that Armstrong would have won already. Heck, Greg LeMond only had to win two Tours to gain the honor, and he only had to overcome a hunting accident. Double your wins and God knows how many times you have to multiply to equal Armstrong's cancer, and he should get something else, too.

I have mixed feelings about the book. It was detailed where it had to be, more vague in other places. We got the message that Lance has no time for his real or adoptive fathers, is as devoted to his mom as she is to him, and has a wife who he continuously calls a "stud." He also mentions that the cancerous testicle that started it all was the size of an orange when removed. Ouch!

The inspiration of Armstrong's story, from his childhood to his win over cancer, is palpable. But there's still something about the book that rubbed me the wrong way, and I can't quite put my finger on it. It may be that I wanted more about his fight against cancer, or more about pro cycling. It could be that he's still a bit cocky, and it doesn't sit right. It could be that I know more about his wife and what they went through to have a child than I wanted to.

But, in the end, I think I still have the same level of admiration for Armstrong now than before the book. Certainly, I've enjoyed watching him blow away the competition in the Tour every year. So good for Lance.

From the mailbag...

Chris Rosenberg notes that, when talking about ridiculous holiday parades, you'd have to include Philly's own Mummers parade on New Years. Consider that when Penn State played in the Fiesta Bowl for the national title some time back, the game was pre-empted for parade coverage.

On the Kikkoman front, Dwight passes along more scary Japanese-themed animation that you can check out here.

Finally, in linguistic news, Matt Boggie passes along the German word Wannefreude, meaning "fallen joy." Trust the Germans.

I was in the back room earlier tonight goofing off on the computer when I heard what sounded like a student in some sort of vocal distress. Or a child being smothered by hot asphalt. Or some sort of youngish animal being mauled by a jackal.

Turns out it was only Avril Lavigne performing at the Billboard Music Awards.

The three minutes or so that I was subjected to before walking out to the living room and shutting the TV off showcased perhaps the most inaudible musical performance I've ever witnessed. This includes nursery school graduations, drunken renditions of the BU fight song, and my own mocking of a variety of current musical faves.

It was enough to make one wish that someone would fire up her CD so Avril could mouth along. I'd take one more faked live performance over the earwax-curdling display that actually aired. One can only imagine the suits at Fox recoiling in horror, trying to gin up a technical difficulty so they could end the nightmare.

Lavigne was up for a couple awards, but women not named Ashanti fared poorly. Not surprising considering Ashanti apparently appeared on every R&B, hip hop, pop, rock, metal, country, adult contemporary, new age, gospel, Latin, jazz, Dixieland, zydeco, a capella, electronica, house, club, thrash, acid, trip-hop, folk, and easy listening single released in the past year.

On top of it all, Cher got some sort of career artistic achievement award. Still not sure if it was for music or the sculpting done to her face.

A few more pieces of mental detrius for you.

I want the tote bag with a picture of the umbrella So we're watching what's probably the five millionth broadcast of Fleetwood Mac's "The Dance" reunion concert on one of the PBS stations here (which tells you just how little is on TV tonight), and the shill hosting the pledge drive starts off her patter about giving us the programming we want by saying something along the lines of "we've heard you, and know that you like concerts."

Funny thing is, the only time they show them is during pledge months. Luckily for them, it seems like 10 of the 12 months of the year are pledge periods. Personally, I'm not giving them one thin dime until they fill a pledge month with science and history programs (The American Experience and the like, not Ken Burns' home movies).

Neologians wanted! In an email exchange, I was given a question: shouldn't there be a word for that feeling you get you find out that the woman you're just getting interested in reveals that she's got a boyfriend?

(I assume this works for all the various couplings, but left it in the original phrasing)

My suggestion was "oohh," as in "oh," but it's doubly disappointing. It's not bad, but may be a little on the nose.

So, I'm putting out there to all of you to come up with something. Drop me an email with suggestions, and we'll parade the suggestions out here.

Turn out the lights, the party's over... Roone Arledge, the man who created Monday Night Football, helmed 10 Olympics for ABC, and led their news division to new heights, passed away today at 71. Sports Illustrated once listed him third, behind Muhammed Ali and Michael Jordan, in a list of the 40 most important people in sports over the magazine's first 40 years. Life tagged him as one of the 100 most important Americans of the 20th century.

As sad as any one passing is, what makes this even worse is that the type of sports and news coverage he pioneered is out of favor, replaced by shallow commentary, flashy and pointless graphics, and softball, soft-light coverage that sucks drama and emotion out of even the most inspiring story. Just when we needed Roone Arledge the most, he's gone.

It's the blog equivalent of a clip show - the enumeration of random thoughts.

MedWatch Update Saw the doctor yesterday, and the rash on my legs is apparently "contact dermatitis," a moderately fancy way of saying a persistent rash caused by something that irritates the skin. From what I've read about it it can last 2 to 3 weeks if untreated, which would suck.

My doctor gave me a "dose pack" of medication that should clear it up. It's a six day course of medication, which started with six pills yesterday, five today, and so on. I was thinking I'd had some improvement, but I just had an itchy spell that makes me less excited.

As for the bumpy things on my hands, they are apparently viral in nature, and probably got some freedom to be fruitful and multiply when my body was paying more attention to the rash. They should go away, too. I used to get them from time to time in high school, but only one or two bumps at a time. It is apparently something related to (and I'm not making this up) hand-foot-mouth disease, something which usually affects children. My mouth and feet are clear, though. Good thing, as I' d be embarrased to have something that one of my nieces or nephews could have as well.

Hail the alma mater! The mighty Hornets of Manchester Jr-Sr High School (or is it Manchester-Essex Regional High School? I've seen both) are primed for their first EMass football title game since 1999, as they will take on Marian High School, the Catholic Central (Small) conference champs. Manchester bested the top defense in the division by beating Madison Park HS (Boston North champs) on Tuesday.

A quick word on how we do football in eastern Massachusetts: schools are in one of seven divisions, based on enrollment, with one as the biggest and seven the smallest (I'm still not sure how we're not in Division 7, given that we're one of the smallest high schools in the region, but it could be from added students from regionalization). Each division now has four conferences (with some schools moving to accomodate this), and each conference champ goes to the playoffs (Division 7 is the lone exception, where there are two conferences and three independents; I have no idea how the independents affect things). This sets up a game structure where most teams played on Thanksgiving, then on this past Tuesday, and will play in the finals (or "Super Bowl," as we're wont to call them) this weekend.

[Note that central and western Mass. use a different, three division system, which results in us not having a true state title game. So when I say "state title," it's actually "eastern Massachusetts title," but for all intents and purposes it's a state title.]

It's actually not a bad system, when you consider that the transitional system resulted in divisions having 2 or 3 titlists. That was the case when Manchester won its last title, a 12-6 win over O'Bryant (now in Divison 7's Boston South conference). Before that, there was a BCS-like ranking where teams got points for wins, added points for wins over teams in higher divisions (or subtracted points for wins over lower division teams), and then added points for each win by a team you beat. It was pretty complicated, but not that bad a system. Except that only the top two teams in each division got to play for the title.

That was the thing that kept us out of contention for the first three of my four years on the team, as we would win the conference but suffer one loss along the way (twice to non-conference, upper division teams). My brother got to taste the thrill of victory twice, being on the 1981 team that pasted Dorchester 49-6, and the 1982 team the beat our rivals from Nantucket 28-6.

Anyway, think happy thoughts about the boys on Saturday. Once again, I'll be out of state and won't be able to make the game. Fellow Gerbil Shawn DeVeau is in the same boat, as his Chelmsford Lions battle Acton-Boxboro, hoping to avenge a loss to the Colonials earlier in the season.

Bring our your dead My second attempt at entering a dead pool is nigh, with the season starting this weekend. My ten-person entry only saw two successful conversions, Dudley Moore and Milton Berle. My selections for the choir invisible this year are politics-heavy, based on seeing how many Cold War-era folks are still kicking around. Some of the perennial favorites are back (Hope and Pope), as are some of my upset specials (Shelley Winters, Harry Morgan, and Barbara Billingsley).

Part of me feels bad that I've passed a putative death sentence on June Cleaver for a second time, but I keep reminding myself that I don't have that sort of power over people. Yet.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow We're getting more snow today, after getting 3-5 inches before Thanksgiving. I think we've gotten more snow in the last week or so than we did in any single month last winter. Nice to see things righting themselves, I suppose, but I still think we've screwed the planet up somehow.

We're still in better shape than all those folks down south who still can't seen to figure out what to do when the white stuff falls. Two words: rock salt.

People hate us The results of a world-wide poll indicate that folks outside the US like our stuff, but not us. Which I suppose raises the question of who really is at fault with regards to cultural imperialism. I'm OK if people don't like the US (well, maybe not OK, but I can understand it), but don't call us the Great Satan and then go watch Corky Romano while drinking a Coke and eating Doritos.

They did it eBay! First you have the guy who bid $99.9 million for Eminem's old house and backed out, then you add in the California man who was recently arrested for allegedly scamming bidders for roughly a half million dollars by running fake auctions for computer hardware. Whatever happened to guys selling stereo equipment out of vans?

The Kikkoman soy sauce animation that I linked to a couple of weeks ago was hard to get out of my head, between the off-key singing, bulked-up men with non-human heads, and the fact that 96% of the thing was in Japanese. Having questions I couldn't answer, I called in a specialist. Kudos to Eddie Roth, a former BU colleague and current Northwestern University area coordinator, whose knowledge of Japanese allowed him to answer my three main questions.

1. Did the cat hang himself? Was he hanged by someone else? And what was the reason for the hanging? According to Eddie, our fish-headed hero belled the cat (so to speak) when the cat questioned what condiment he should use to top his food. To consider anything but Kikkoman soy sauce was an affront of apparenly homicidal proportions.

2. What's the deal with Fish-Head bedding the woman? Eddie's not too sure what's going on with that. There's not much by way of explanation. The writing on her shirt means "dragon girl," which may or may not have anything to do with their eventual coupling.

3. The fish-head guy is pouring out soy sauce, another guy's dispensing sugar cubes. What's the white stuff the third guy pours? That's apparently vinegar, based on what's printed on his shirt.

I hope answering these questions puts minds at ease. I know they've been keeping you up nights.

Back from the holiday weekend, having survived festive occasions involving family twice in three days and the horror of the Macy's parade (and its unusual pre-game coverage, which was heavy on Broadway show "performances").

I use the quotes because all of the live entertainment was apparently pre-recorded, sometimes in an incredibly obvious fashion. Seriously, at what point do we just stop expecting that musicians will actually perform live? At least the acts at halftime of both Thanksgiving day NFL games were plausibly live, even if they were incredibly intrusive (why is Vanessa Carlton playing at halftime? If she's a fan, can't we at least get her into a jersey?).

While in Maine, though, I did get to play another edition of Mystery Allergic Response. For those of you not familiar with the game, once every few years I have an allergic response to something I can't pinpoint that results odd physical responses. Past installments included:

* A fall 1991 attack that started as hives on my legs and ended with me double-timing it to Student Health Services as my throat narrowed (not the total closure seen with anaphylaxis, thankfully). Got to spend the afternoon napping in the infirmary, doped up on Benadryl.

* A late fall/early winter 1992 episode which let me spend some quality time in the St. Elizabeth's Hospital ER. It was actually less severe than the previous one, but happened at a time when on-campus health options were closed.

* Went on the road during the spring of 1994, as something in my grandparents' house sent me to the hospital in a wheezing fit (I had a pretty good write-up of this floating around somewhere).

No visits to the doctor (yet) for the latest chapter. At first I thought it was just my legs itching from dry skin, which I get when the weather turns cold and dry. Tried the usual creams, but rather than soothing the itch the affected areas of my legs turned red and kind of bumpy. I also have rashes on the inside of my upper arms, but they seem to be responding (slowly) to hydrocortisone cream.

The oddest aspect to all of this are a bunch of tiny bubbles that have appeared under the skin of my hands. Very strange.

So, while not the emergency assistance sort of reaction I've had to things in the past, my latest bout with mystery allergens (though I'm guessing there's some combination of cat, cigarette smoke, and down mixed with dry heat involved) may be more annoying, as it's slow to dissipate.

More than you probably wanted to know about the way my body like to have fun with me, I suppose. At least I didn't include pictures.