The notion of fresh air is a crutch for the believers in insurrection by the cavernous. We who genuflect at the altar of big sky use our fresh air ticket to congregate where sanitation is just another word for "let the annointment by the clouds reset the soul by highlighting the immense understanding of the collective to affirm ones standing in the predestine's cornucopia". Today I scattered any thoughts of auto-immune recurrence by understanding we're OK and it's as ironic as hearing the phone ring on the movie you're watching but it's the same ringtone as your phone and you answer it and there's a person on the other end that called you but it never rang and when she tells you that and you say but it rang three times she thinks you're psychic instead of too stupid to differentiate between a movie on TV and real life. Conceptual thinking can be a cross between imagining you are on the set for a Jennifer Aniston nude scene and posing the question on Twitter that ultimately gets used in the last debate and influences the outcome of the election of 2012. Hamlet blew Polonius but nothing suggests he was trapped in linear thinking. As certain as I am that my favorite toy car was a Lincoln, smite the delusion that if you think in pictures, you must be a jock-sniffer. My liaison with Zooey goes back to the '60s when Mary Catherine lent me her Franny & Zooey because Salinger was all Woo-hoo back then, and I admired the sister rescue attempt even at a time of my life when touching myself while reading The Carpetbaggers was more defining. Fresh air - fill the lungs and pass the Blue Angels, sweetheart.