Okay, I'm still waiting to find out how the Sopranos ends. Still waiting... Still waiting.

Oh, and as for stink signatures, yes my memory is embroidered with them. Grandma Rose's kitchen had a very distinct odor of broccoli and coffee grounds; her basement smelled like stale wine and plumber-putty; the B35 bus on Church Avenue had the subtle fragrance of foot disease and mop-water.

Smelling any of that now is like stepping into a transporter.