Jill has a brainstorm, Members. What do you think it is? Is she thinking, “Feathered hair. Fuck yeah” or, “The distance between Hollywood Boulevard and Sunset Boulevard in n-dimensional cellulloid space with a fixed-coordinate studio system is the sum of the lengths of careers for stars between jobs on Paramount’s lot” or, “Bosley is such a dick.” Whatever it is, Members, she’s obviously transfixed by the weather in her head. And this week, the climate is right to stare off into space for a little jaunt through the thought bucket. Whether you come up with something useful like a formula that helps put human feet on the moon (like today, way back in 1969) or you just revel in fantasies of the Bionic Man – it matters not. What counts is space, especially that between your ears.