Unless I’m playing a Space Game RPG with Wil or explaining candy bars to Tim Maxwell, I’m generally not thinking about our galaxy–or as I call it My Home’s Home’s Home.
So, when “scientists,” who run a website called space.com (they’re giving urls to anybody these days), casually mention that a black hole is at the center of our galaxy, I’m a bit shocked by the news. It’s similar to the sensation I feel when Scott casually mentions that Chinatown is not a great movie.
Does it mean we’re going to die soon?
Yes. Yes, it does.
I hope it happens the moment after Scott apologizes and right before I can forgive him.
But that’s a topic for another day. What I want to talk about is: someone please explain the galaxy to me.
Does every galaxy have at its center a swirling, insatiable, indefatigable, inexorable hellstomach?
And if so, how the hell do you not worship it?
Basically, I’d like to be the soothing voice of reason that shouts in a crowded restaurant: What the hell is going on here? Why am I the only one panicking?!