The Embedded Theologian

This Is Not The Samantha You Are Looking For

A while back, a young lady in the UK managed to mistype her email address for an online Victoria's Secret order, and I ended up getting all her shipping updates. I would have let her know, but... wrong email address. I am pleased to report that her shipment arrived on time and (as far as I can tell) she got what she ordered.

Now, though, I am getting daily email updates on specials from Victoria's Secret. I would unsubscribe and/or relegate them to the spam folder, but I've put it off for too long. I mean, after their Panty Party Sale emails, it really feels like we've bonded, you know?

Plus, how else will I know that the "#1 New Sexy Summer Bra" is on sale? (Though they never seem to have it in my size, for some reason.)

Pi Time

All families develop traditions. One of ours is texting each other (with out without some silliness) at Pi Time - 3:14 in the afternoon. Setting an alarm to warn you of the approach of Pi Time is one of those things that is Not Done, though. You have to encounter it on your own - or, more frequently, notice that it's 3:12 and not allow your attention to wander too much.

If you miss Pi Time, but not by too much, it is acceptable to text at 3:15; or, as Eldest Daughter refers to it, Pi's Overlooked, Unloved Older Brother.

12:34 is also significant, though not nearly as fun as Pi Time.

Al & Mel

I'm not sure what I can say, other that that (a) I think this is probably the funniest thing I've ever written, and (b) I must have re-read it a dozen times, and it still makes me laugh.

What can I say. I amuse myself.

Zaravorkal the grad student sorcerer discussing fatherhood with his best friend, former roommate, and current DARPA Dark Projects employee, Melchior the lich...

“I’m telling, you, Mel,” he said. “I love her more than life itself, but I’m not sure I can take much more of the pooping.”

“Wait,” said Mel. “Is this about Betty? Because that’s way TMI.”

Al punched Mel in the shoulder. “No! It’s Grace. She’s a freaking little poop machine. She just started walking, too.” He shuddered. “So now she’s cute little walking, cooing, poop generator.”

Mel shrugged. “That’s kids for you, man. How bad is it, though? Really?”

Al started at him. “It. Is. Vile. Amazingly vile. Sometimes, the smell is… ugh.” He gulped. “I get nauseous just thinking about it.”

“Seriously?” said Mel. “Didn’t you have to visit the slime pits of Maduphari as part of a graduate seminar?”

“Yeah,” Al said. “I had to wade through the sewers of Calcutta just to get to the pits. This is worse. She kicks when you change her.” He reached over and grabbed Mel’s shoulder. “She kicks. Mel, she gets it everywhere when she kicks.” He shook Mel. “Everywhere. Everywhere. WHICH INCLUDES IN MY MOUTH.”

Mel opened his mouth, then closed it again. After a moment, he spoke. “Al. Al. I am animated skeleton. I completely lack a digestive system. Despite the fact that it is absolutely physically impossible, I am pretty sure that I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.”

There Are Holes In Our Reality

The things that you come up with when you're sitting by the fire late at night...

(Sung to the tune of "There's a Hole at the Bottom of the Sea")

There are holes in our reality.
There are holes in our reality.
There are holes,
Squamous holes,
There are holes in our reality.

Oooh-wooo!

There's a universe beyond the holes in our reality.
There's a universe beyond the holes in our reality.
There's a universe,
It's the worst,
There's a universe beyond the holes in our reality.

Oooh-wooo!

There's a sun in the universe beyond the holes in our reality.
There's a sun in the universe beyond the holes in our reality.
A sun that's really old,
With fusion burning cold,
There's a sun in the universe beyond the holes in our reality.

Oooh-wooo!

There's a world near the sun in the universe beyond the holes in our reality.
There's a world near the sun in the universe beyond the holes in our reality.
Ancient and dry,
Where Things go to die,
There's a world near the sun in the universe beyond the holes in our reality.

Oooh-wooo!

There's a sea on the world near the sun in the universe beyond the holes in our reality.
There's a sea on the world near the sun in the universe beyond the holes in our reality.
It's calm and green,
With an oily sheen,
There's a sea on the world near the sun in the universe beyond the holes in our reality.

Oooh-wooo!

There's a city under the sea on the world near the sun in the universe beyond the holes in our reality.
There's a city under the sea on the world near the sun in the universe beyond the holes in our reality.
The angles are all wrong,
You can't look at them too long,
There's a city under the sea on the world near the sun in the universe beyond the holes in our reality.

Oooh-wooo!

There's a thing in the city under the sea on the world near the sun in the universe beyond the holes in our reality.
There's a thing in the city under the sea on the world near the sun in the universe beyond the holes in our reality.
Not dead which eternal lies,
Showing even death may die,
There's a thing in the city under the sea on the world near the sun in the universe beyond the holes in our reality.

C'thu-loooo!

There's a dream in the head of the thing in the city under the sea on the world near the sun in the universe beyond the holes in our reality.
There's a dream in the head of the thing in the city under the sea on the world near the sun in the universe beyond the holes in our reality.
It's good it dreams so slow,
Trust me - YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW!
There's a dream in the head of the thing in the city under the sea on the world near the sun in the universe beyond the holes in our reality.

Oooh-wooo!

How I Feel...

... when I see people saying that it's time to "fall in line" and vote for Trump:

I'll be voting for the Unicorn Cavalry in November.

Alien Long Pig

"Eating E.T." is a mock alien barbecue, because... well, I really don't know.

Eating E.T. is a hands-on exploration of our intimate relations to other species, real and fictional. A life-size, gluten replica of E.T. The Extraterrestial, roasted whole on a spit and eaten together at festive social events, provokes discussions and questions on what is a stake in our practices of eating.

Oh. That explains... nothing, really.

In Which I Learn I Am Not The Flash

Youngest Daughter was home "sick" today. She was running a slight fever last night, and school rules say no attendee if you had a fever in the past 24 hours. Understandable, really - sick kids plus norovirus equals justifiable paranoia. Meanwhile, Eldest Daughter had a college visit scheduled for today, and while I can work from home, I can't work from a college visit... so the lovely Mrs. escorted the Alldaughter on her visit, while I stayed home with my poor, sick little kiddo fiddo puddin' pie.

Who, of course, woke up feeling just peachy keen. Sigh... kids.

Meanwhile, my team lead ran in the Boston Marathon today. While he's a hair older than me, he's in excellent shape, and enjoys running. In the time that I've known him, I think he's easily run probably a dozen marathons. Not my cup of tea - I struggle with a 5K - but hey, good for him, right?

So I was at home this morning, doing code reviews, and keeping track of the race results. Pulling for my boss, don'cha know. Around 11:30, I knocked off, and told the youngest we were going to head out, take the dog for a walk, and then go get a special treat. She loves Taco Bell, her sisters despise it, so she always gets outvoted when we get something on the go. So whenever I can, I try to take her out for her favorite fast food concoction: two steak quesadillas, which are apparently made with a grilled meat-like substance, spicy cheese, and a sprinkling of crack cocaine.

I admit that I tried to talk her out of her last slice. I have no shame.

We had a lovely stroll through the park, perhaps a mile and a half all told, with a very happy black lab who wanted nothing more than to stop and sniff all the sniffs he could sniff. Once we were done, he got to hang his head out the window as we took the back route from the park and headed for the Bell. A nice, leisurely eight mile drive there, a quick jaunt through the drive through, and...

You can see where this is going, right?

We get home, I check the race results, and... HE'S FINISHED THE RACE.

In under three hours.

OK, yeah, it was a long lunch break, and we weren't walking particularly fast, but... seriously?

HE RUNS MARATHONS FASTER THAN I CAN EAT LUNCH.

Ima go stuff another quesadilla in my face to comfort myself :-(