No Smoking Joint

Smog-Free. Shiny-White. Clean Lungs.

the subject of a recent lighthearted familial squabble was that esoterically-mushy Rupert Holmes song "Terminal"---which, for no reason at all, started after I announced the fresh news of Dan Fogelberg's death (something that Yahoo! inexplicably never fails to deliver--celebrity obituaries like drive-thru to-go's for the biz news famished). 

with a split-second plunge on the keyboard, came the flurry of strings on search engines. Terminal. Rupert Holmes. Interpretation. the debate on whether that love stricken womanizing sucker ever laid a hands on the poor girl whose fluky physiological vernacular might have derived a rather prurient connotation. 

if anybody, anyone. please spare us the mystery.