There Is More To Smog Than You Think Here in Atlanta, the Air Quality Index--the measuring stick to determine smog severity--is a regular part of the weather forecast. On the web, both the Doppler radar and the smog alert are updated hourly. Access Atlanta, the newspaper's web site, even has a service which e-mails smog alerts to a cell phone. Smog has become so much a part of our daily lives, we talk about it as if smog is the neighbor down the street we're aquainted with just enough to gossip about, but don't know from Adam. "The smog is bad today; I hope it rains soon." Common lunch time conversation. While the smog is a regular part of our daily conversations, there is one side effect we don't discuss. We have a hurricane season, tornado season, Braves season, hunting season, and a smog season. With cooler weather around the corner, the World Series not that far off and grown men cleaning their hunting guns, smog season is near its end. In case you didn't know, smog season officially runs from May 1 to September 30. Only, you don't need permits or tickets to participate. During this time, Atlantans can get all kinds of information on the quality of the air. On the web, one ash gray, cloud-shaped pie chart makes you choke just looking at it. We're cautioned on spending too much time outside. Excessive exposure to ozone, one of the secret ingredients of a good, healthy smog, can cause all kinds of ill side-effects. To avoid the ill side-effects, we're encouraged to stay in between 3 p.m. and 9 p.m. when the smog is at it's thickest. Electronic reader boards throughout the metro area flash the mantra: "Smog Alert Today: Drive Less. Dine In. Combine Errands, Carpool. Use Transit." A Smog Alert Day occurs when the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency deems air is unfit for human consumption. On those days, volatile organic chemicals (VOCs) and oxides of nitrogen are spewed into the air by thousands of automobiles. Once in the atmosphere, they mix and cook as the day gets hotter, forming ozone. High in the earth's atmosphere, ozone is good, but down here where we mix and mingle amongst it, ozone is bad. At the same time cubic tons of ozone are floating around, "particles of particulate matter are produced in the same area from the same sources," reads an article in the Atlanta Journal Constitution. What this informative statement (which echos of government brochure) means is that fine particles of garbage are tossed into the air. When particulate garbage mixes with ozone, you get a good, heavy, hazy fog that blankets the city like gravy on biscuits. The EPA says smog can cause one to start coughing or have an uncomfortable feeling in their throat. Smog makes your lungs less effective, thus making it more difficult to breath, especially when you have to breath deeply and rapidly, such as while exercising. Obviously, this could adversely affect those with asthma. And, for all people, smog can damage the lining in your lungs, causing your lungs to peel as if they were sunburned. We hear about all this stuff daily, as near-panicked morning show hosts exclaim, "Somebody do something! My kid can't go outside!" But there is one side affect produced by smog that no one speaks of, and we don't read about it in the papers. The EPA doesn't tell us about it. In fact, no one talks about it as if it's the wicked step-mother of the atmosphere--present, but please, let's try to forget it. This is a sensative topic, and some may get choked up, so be fair-warned. But it's a conversation we must have for our collective good. This non-spoken side-effect is more obvious than my singed lungs. I'm talking about snot, more specifically boogers. Big, hard, crunchy, flaky boogers the color of dirt. The kind that refuse to dissolve when you accidentally ingest too much spicy salsa. The kind that become permanently wedged in your nose, bursting out your ear drums if you attempt to blow them away. I know it's not pretty, but then, no one said smog was pretty, and if I don't start the snot dialogue, who will? We discuss openly when we should exercise, when we should stay inside, and even where we should eat so that we can help reduce the amount of smog each of us produce. But we never mention a word of the snot that's been lodged in our sinuses since the first Smog Alert day last May. When you blow your nose you're expelling a piece of last June's commute. I take issue with those--and some of them are my friends (and they know who they are)--those who insist on driving down the street for a gallon of milk, or who run out mid-day on a Saturday for a hair cut, return home to wash the clippings from their ears, then leave again to grab lunch. Can't they do those errands on their way home from work? Or the gym? Those who insist they can't carpool because it's--whine--not convenient. Or don't use transit becasue--bigger whine-- it takes ten minutes longer. Hello, the reader board flashes "Drive less. Dine in. Combine errands. Carpool. Use Transit." It's not just an issue because the flashing reader boards say it is, but for months now, I haven't been able to breath and chew at the same time. I know it's ugly when food falls from my mouth at the table, but I'm just trying to breath. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to spit that wedge of lettuce at you; it's just that the smog is really thick today." Ignoring the warnings, like a fool, I went for a bike ride two weeks ago at 6 p.m., when the smog prevents you from seeing much more than a mile. Atlanta has a river running through it's downtown area, like many other cities, only it's not water. It's a four-mile river of pavement where Interstate 75 and 85 merge together in a 14-lane gridlock. I cross over the interstate only four blocks from my house, and on this day, I almost passed out. Not from the extraordinary southern summer heat, but from the exhaust fumes spewing up from the Connector like a gyser. The exhaust rises so fast and intense, it burns your boogers, and gives the horizon a wavy, mirage-like look, which you notice just moments before black out. "Ride to the light, Tim. The traffic light. Just 50 more feet," coaches my inner voice. I got to the Amocco station safely, barely, and looked to see if they have bottled air. It's not available yet, but I'm sure Atlanta will be the test market soon. Determined I'm minutes from CO-2 poisoning, I called Tony. "What's wrong," he said. My breath is short, mucilage clinging to my upper lip: "Amocco. Smog. Come get me. Poison boogers." I didn't think I could ride, walk or even crawl back across the overpass. "Okay, I'll be there in 10 minutes with the the traffic," said Tony, on the line only four blocks way. "Bring. Mercury. Mystique. With micron. AC. Air Filter. System." Somebody do something! I can't breath!