Don't despair. At least there is music to pipe us into the Nothing.

Here's what you do, see: On Sunday, May "25," around 4 p.m., you head over to McCaw Hall in Seattle Center. Somewhere near the south end of the lobby (don't ask us what's south; it's toward the warmth), you'll find a space flatteringly referred to as "Cafe Impromptu." There will be four individuals smacking eight-shaped hollow wooden boxes with strings and singing like the end of the world is far, far off, not 98 minutes from now. What you do, see, is sit yourself down and listen. It's the only way the apocalypse can taste at all wholesome.

Seriously.