March 25: Nothingth, Monday Night, Pasty

And now for the rescue of Ford and Arthur . . . or the start of the chapter where they are rescued . . .

A computer chattered to itself in alarm as it noticed an airlock open and close itself for no apparent reason.

This was because reason was in fact out to lunch.

A hole had just appeared in the Galaxy.  It was exactly a nothingth of a second long, a nothingth of an inch wide, and quite a lot of millions of light-years from end to end.

Okay, I know that's not a whole lot from Hitchhiker's, but I don't have a whole lot of time.  It is Monday, and, therefore, I have less than an hour in between teaching classes to post something.  While I am blogging, I also have to wolf down my dinner.  Basically, what I'm saying is that you should expect me to say nothingth very profound this evening.

Mondays always feel like a race to me.  I race to work, at work, race to the university, at the university, and then I race home and collapse.  In between all that racing, I try to squeeze in a few moments of self-care--like eating.  My quick dinner of choice tonight is totally Yooper:

For those of my disciples who have no idea what that is, you must lead very sheltered and boring lives.  That is a pasty.  Basically, it's a Cornish meat pie.  In the Upper Peninsula, Cornish immigrants who worked in the mines used to pack them in their lunch pails and take them underground for their ten- or twelve-hour shifts.  It has everything you could want in a meal--bread and potatoes and meat.  Some people include onion and carrots and rutabaga, as well.  It's a hearty and satisfying meal, especially if you don't have a lot of time to eat.

I don't have a whole lot of time to eat tonight, so I grabbed a pasty from my refrigerator at home.  It looks and smells delicious.  I know that this isn't normally a food blog, but I will say that some of the best pasties around are made by the folks at my wife's church.  The crust in brown and flaky.  The insides are peppered to perfection.  Just sprinkle a little salt on top, and I would spend a weekend in a cheap motel with it.

I have three hours of teaching left.  My eyes are burning a little, and I can feel sleep settling into my muscles.  I need a nap.  So, you will excuse me if I eat and then close my eyes for a few minutes.

Saint Marty's pasty is getting cold.