Food substitute

Can you name this “food” item?

INGREDIENTS. CRUST: FLOUR, SUGAR/GLUCOSE-FRUCTOSE, WHOLE OATS, VEGETABLE SHORTENING, WATER, HONEY, DECSTROSE, MILK INGREDIENTS, WHEAT BRAN, SALT, MICORCRYSTALLINE CELLULOSE, POTASSIUM BICARBONATE, SOYA LECITHIN (EMULSIFIER), NATURAL AND SIMULATED FLAVOUR, WHEAT GLUTEN, CORN STARCH, CARRAGEENAN, GUAR GUM. FILLING: SUGAR/GLUCOSE-FRUCTOSE, APPLE PRESERVE (GLUCOSE-FRUCTOSE), APPLE PUREE, WATER) GLYCEROL, MODIFIED CORN STARCH, SODIUM ALGINATE, MALIC ACID, SODIUM CITRATE, CALCIUM PHOSPHATE, METHYLCELLULOSE, CINNAMON, CITRIC ACID (ACIDULANT), COLOUR.

On the bright side, it has only 3 grams of fat! It must be good for you.

It’s not dead. It’s just pining for the fjords.

It wasn’t supposed to be such an ordeal. I thought, “Hey, why don’t I finish that story I was writing?” and thoughtlessly threw myself into the fray.

I guess I panicked, because on the weekend I couldn’t put words on paper (or the screen for that matter). The Ready Or Not crowd brainstormed some excellent ideas on Sunday night, but to no avail. Last night, I packed it in. Seaton’s Journal was officially dead and buried.

Wow. What a relief to just give up. I went to sleep happy and relaxed, having been released from the chains of my hideous creation.

Until this morning, when I realized what the story was really about. The plot’s on life-support for now, but I think it stands a chance of pulling through. If it survives the next week or two, I’ll keep going. If not, there’s a recycle bin eyeing those files hungrily.

It’s the Cheops Show, tonight at 8 on Fox!

4,500 years ago, the Egyptian pharoah Cheops had the Great Pyramid built. Inside the pyramid, at the end of a long, steep shaft that is too narrow for human passage, there is a stone door. The door has remained closed for thousands of years, but tonight the seal will be broken on a live television broadcast. (Article on Canada.com)

Should some doors remain closed? This strikes me as a dangerous game. I’m not referring to the curse of the pharoah. I mean broadcasting the event live is a risky business, as Geraldo Rivera can attest to. So many things can go wrong in the brief two hour broadcast — the least of which could be the discovery of an empty chamber beyond the door.

If I were to be cynical for a moment… er… for another moment, I would predict one of these outcomes:

1.) The robotic probe breaks down or gets stuck before finishing the job.

2.) The door turns out to be far thicker than the measly 7.6 cm they detected.

3.) Should they manage to drill through the door, it will be too dark to see anything.

4.) They discover that it’s just a really elaborate cat door.

But will I be watching? Abso-freakin-lutely! I first heard about this mysterious door a few years ago while watching one of those educational (and entertaining) documentaries about the mysterious shaft. I was hooked — I love a good mystery.

I hope they brought Brendan Fraser with them, because the dreaded mummy of Cheops’ cat may not like being woken from its nap.

Love on the rock

On my way to the cube farm this morning, I spotted the same woman that I saw on August 21. And she did it again. At the boulder by the soccer field, she bent over and planted a kiss on it.

It’s not even a very attractive boulder — it’s all angular and pointy. Maybe to another chunk of granite, it’s a real hunk. But I personally don’t get it.

Am I missing something? Is this a religious observance that I should be aware of? Is it a fad, like pet rocks? Or does she hope that one day, the boulder will be able to return her affections?

Somebody help me out with this one.

Brain not think. Me need walk.

I have no more excuses. I need to write something. Tonight is the weekly Ready Or Not meeting, and as usual I have nothing to read to the group. I had planned to present the next installment(s) of Seaton’s Journal, but I have writer’s block. I know where the story is going, but the words are getting stuck somewhere between my brain and the keyboard.

And then there’s always the nagging doubt… is there any point in writing Seaton’s story? Or in the bigger scheme of things, why bother writing anything at all? Why not just shut down the computer and go for a walk in the fresh air, instead of cooping myself up in a darkened room with my face glued to a glowing screen? Don’t I do enough of that at the office?

I’ve had three coffees, but all the caffeine in the world can’t squeeze another sentence out of this cubicle dweller’s brain.