A grin plays across my face, or more accurately, my mouth. It’s clearly a playful grin. It’s always there, even when or especially when there’s no good reason. And that’s fine with me, I can live with that. But just lately it, said playful grin, has been threatening to morph into a subversive smile. That’s downright dangerous, for obvious reasons. I took my sorry tale to the doctor, down at the health factory. He listened intently and prescribed jazz and egg whites. And that is the foundational myth of the Jazz Souffle. Who’s smiling now?