Walking down the Moonlight Mile
Relieving boredom takes a lot of forms for me. I read a lot, play games, mess around on this godless contraption, and rent a lot of movies. One I had wanted to see in the theater but never got the chance was
Moonlight Mile. A primary reason I had for wanting to see it was the leading presence of Jake Gyllenhaal, on whom I have had a major non-sexual man-crush ever since I first saw
Donnie Darko. If you haven't seen that one, check it out. Anyway, Moonlight Mile also starred Susan Sarandon (who could make peeling an orange very interesting and vaguely erotic) and Dustin Hoffman. I'm not going to go into some semi-literate movie review here, but I just want to say it was a very good film. It doesn't romanticize love (I know, sounds like an oxymoron), but really shows that the person that makes you feel the most comfortable, that can allow you to be the most you, is often the place your heart will go. So, I definitely recommend that one. Now, before I go any further to the Sap Side...
I'd like to rant a bit on something I really hate. Sometimes I feel grumpy. Who doesn't, really? And one of the things in this life that I truly despise is someone trying to
force me out of my grump. "Why are you frowning? Smile!" (or one of its many forms) is a phrase that nearly incites me to acts of extreme, graphic violence. I'm talking lots of hair pulling and eye gouging (let's face it--I'm sort of a wuss when it comes to fighting) and maybe a little blood letting. Sometimes I feel grumpy, and that's just how I am. I'll come out of it eventually, and sooner rather than later if you just leave me to fight through it on my own. So please, let me be a grump for a while, or you're likely to see my very dark side. Also, don't tell me "You need to do such-and-such." Offering your opinion is one thing. Telling me how to live and act is entirely another and not welcome, my Emily Post friend. I have a friend who dated a girl in college who used to say that very thing to him, repeatedly, and it pissed me off on his behalf, that's how much it bothers me. Anyway, just some thoughts based on a really cheery coworker who climbs up my ass if I'm not happy all the time. If you see my name in the arrest report of the
Dallas Morning News, you'll know why. But at least the grumpy bastards in my cell won't be trying to cheer me up.
Ka, fate, or just some schmuck with a shovel?
So I'm pretty sure that Krispy Kreme is out to get me for my post. Remember the part where I made the analogy to the water company being out of water, and good luck showering, and so forth? Well, this morning I got up and sure enough, no water. None. Had to brush my teeth at work. It's scary to think their donut spies (and they have them, dear Reader, you're fooling yourself if you believe they don't) are watching me so closely now, pulling their powerful strings with the water company and other utilities. Good thing I stopped with the water company. And yet, despite all this, I still have the KK craving. Damn that sugary devil! Damn him to hell!
Krispy Kreme--Ghetto Style
First day, first post. Bound to be dull, but who's really going to read this thing, right? For starters, my name is Bill Chandler. William Casey Chandler, Jr., actually, but that makes me come off sounding like either hoity-toity royalty or a redneck, depending on which part of the name you read. So I simply go with Bill. Kinda mundane, but what're you gonna do? It's actually surprising to me in a way that I don't know more Bill's. It's supposed to be this completely common name, or so I've gotten the impression, but I don't actually know any other than myself and my uncle (yeah, I know, it's kinda weird, but he's a whole other story, one which I will tell in due time). Anyway, enough about my name. I actually have a brief story for my first post. It's about the delicious goodness that is Krispy Kreme donuts.
I was hanging out with a couple of friends this evening (Neil and Lane...Neil publishes Bathtub Gin, also found here on blogspot), and we decided to make a run to the newly opened Krispy Kreme establishment. Let me just say right here that having a Krispy Kreme less than 45 minutes away, (which is where the previous one was located), is a real delight. Yeah, I said it, and I'll say it again. It's a damn DELIGHT. I love Krispy Kreme donuts, but I hate buying them at my local Albertson's, where, despite daily deliveries, they always taste stale. Being able to go straight to the KK shop itself and watch them roll straight off the conveyor belt and into my waiting donut receptacle is like a little slice of heaven, minus the puppies and chocolate milk river. Anway, we availed ourselves of the opportunity to go there. I pulled up to the window, and should have immediately known something was going to go wrong.
The girl who came to the window was giggling before she even got there, (what she had to giggle about, I have no idea; maybe she inhaled too much sugar), was obviously eating something and doing a horrible job of covering it (talked behind her hand the whole time), and didn't look too interested in helping us. I ordered a half-dozen original glazed, and before I could say anything else, she said "We don't have any. We're out."
Well, I was utterly flummoxed. Here I am, at a KK shop, where they actually make the damn donuts that end their life either in the store dumpster (I was waiting in line there one night and saw two women come out with trash bags so full of old donuts that it took both of them to heft them up into the bin), or stale at Albertson's. They have the actual machine that extrudes (I love that word) the little gloops of dough, and then the machine that glazes them, and despite all this, THEY....WERE....OUT! How in the holy hell does that happen?
Now dear Reader, (if anyone is actually reading this), maybe you're thinking to yourself "Hey, cut KK some slack; they were probably about to close." Well, that would be a fair assumption, but they were still open for another two hours, and they had customers in the store. So I ask again, how in the world does the donut store, where they actually make the donuts, run out of donuts? That's like the water company calling you up and saying, "Hey, by the way, good luck taking a shower...we're fresh out of water! Sucker!" Well, maybe not exactly like that, but you get the point.
Anyway, we settled for a half-dozen chocolate glazed (ice cold, I might add), and I pulled out my debit card (I'm a cashless society, baby) to pay the nice lady who replaced Munchy McChew. She then spent the next five minutes or so trying to run my card, even having to go get her manager to try it. Finally, she hands out this little handwritten chit with my total and my CC# on it. Totally ghetto. I signed it and drove off, still boggled at the notion that the freshly made donut store was out of donuts, freshly made or not. We heated them up, and they turned out to be decent. Not as great as warm, fresh KK originals, but better than nothing.
Anyway, I have more musings to write about, but since the donut story became overly long and overly dramatic, I'll save it. Not bad for a first try, if I do say so myself. Still to come: my Uncle Bill,
t.a.T.u., and the
Godspeed You! Black Emperor show I'm going to on Friday. 'Till then, dear Reader, I leave you with this: Bear suits are funny. So are bears.