Good news, everyone!

The Earth was not swallowed by a massive black hole created when the Hadron Supercollider was fired up! Yay! Okay, well, TECHNICALLY, no atoms were smashed. And therefore no potential dark matter was created. That is tentatively scheduled to happen in October. So there is still a chance that this ball of dirt we call home could still be sucked into another dimension. This has the potential to ruin a really great trip I'm planning. On the bright side, it is far more likely that instead of a black hole causing a dimensional rift that allows the gates of Hell to open and all manner of demons to pour forth, the collider will just produce a bunch of heretofore-hypothetical particles called strangelets, that will render our planet a lifeless lump of inert elements floating in space. Instantaneously, I mean. So we won't know it's happening. Whew! I really hope that when the end comes, it really will be painless and immediate, and before the election on November 11th. Because if the light of this world flickers and goes out, I'll be damned if it goes out with Sarah Palin as the second most powerful person in America.

Where was I... no black hole... dimensional rift... slavering hordes of demons... oh yeah!

I did something rather impulsive. I am not unknown for this; as a matter of fact I am well know for impulsively purchasing everything from candy-red T-strap maryjanes to an upright bass sight unseen. I will put almost anything into my mouth, provided I have been assured beforehand that it is edible. I speak without thinking almost every time I talk. But this is different. I'm not risking $20 on ill-fitting shoes or having a friend storm out of the bar because I thoughtlessly insulted her (admittedly rather ugly) jacket or even accidentally consuming raw mackerel. I'm risking letting myself consider things. I'm risking opening myself up to possibility. Ack. I'm risking more melodrama even than usual, apparently.

What I'm trying to get at is that I made reservations to fly across the country to spend time in my favorite city with someone I barely know. Someone I would like to know better. And stuff. I'm a little worried that I might get... how shall I put this?... stood up, just like ninth grade homecoming. I'm a little more worried that I will come home after not being stood up even more hopeless than I am already.

If nothing else, I will be spending my birthday looking at this while chewing pensively on a beignet with a candle stuck in it:


I wouldn't trade the chance to walk those streets again for anything in the world. And there is no better music for heartaches, the pleasurable and the painful both, than jazz. I intend to let the cradle of it rock me.