The German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer once said “The two enemies of human happiness are pain and boredom.” Recently, I spent six weeks with those very same “enemies of human happiness” while recovering from lower back surgery. Half way through week one, I decided to add daytime television to Schopenhauer’s enemies list.
For those of you who have never experienced the joy of spinal surgery, picture yourself sawn in half and held together with duct tape. Convalescing from such trauma consists of laying flat and praying that a rouge sneeze does not surface to quake your body in agony. There is very little you can do in this state other than watch television and relive your teen years through wonderful advances in pain management.
Immediately, I discovered that watching daytime television becomes much more bearable when one is less lucid. What else could explain viewing six straight episodes of “Mysteries of the Museum” without realizing that the television was not tuned to ESPN.
When I finally found the “World-Wide Leader in Sports” on my Direct TV menu, I was treated to two consecutive shows about baseball nicknames and a college football game from 1984. My chemically altered brain then danced through the on-screen menu until I found the History Channel. I must admit, I love the History Channel. My only complaint is that there is way too much Hitler. For a monster who has been dead for nearly seventy years he certainly gets a lot of airtime.
A great deal of the History Channel’s current focus is on the Mayan Apocalypse, which, at the time of this writing is just hours away. When December 21 passes into history, like any other day, what content will the History Channel have to air? All of these speculative programs will be rendered moot. Have the producers at the History Channel banked so heavily on Armageddon that they are resigned to not plan ahead?
I suppose they have enough Hitler footage to keep them afloat until they can create something new, so why should I worry?
From history I now move to food. The medicine is making me a tad queasy, yet, I am drawn to the Food Network’s Doughnut Throwdown with Bobby Flay. My son Will is a doughnut connoisseur who has an app on his iPhone that alerts him when hot doughnuts are cascading down the conveyor belt at Krispy Kreme.
Drooling as Flay displays his Southern Buttermilk Bourbon Praline Doughnuts, my stomach develops an insatiable doughnut jones which can only be quenched by a dozen hot Krispy Kremes. Although I do not have the Krispy Kreme “Hot Light” app on my phone, I remember that Android phones have the same app available on Google Play. All I need do is download the app and wait for the alarm. Nearly tasting glazed goodness on my lips, I realized several important obstacles to my blueprint, most importantly, that I should not drive under the influence of narcotics.
Desperate and doughnut-less, I pleaded with my Basset Hound Roscoe to trot down to Melrose and grab some Krispy Kremes. His left ear covering both eyes, he remained in nap mode with no response. Helpless and drowsy, I laid my head on my pillow and fell into a deep slumber.
I dreamt that I was walking onJefferson Streeton a dark, cold December night. Glancing towards MillMountain, I noticed something peculiar. In place of our beloved Mill Mountain Star, a giant darkened doughnut sat atop the star’s perch. Squinting at the imposing structure, I was struck by its blackened beauty. Suddenly, my eyes widened as the night sky became emblazoned with a scarlet light, a heavenly beacon which revealed an enormous red doughnut signifying the birth of a new, hot batch of Krispy Kremes!
Honestly, I had never seen a sight more beautiful.
Awakening to an episode of The Iron Chef hours later, I was still on the couch, sans doughnut. Disheartened, I flipped to a rerun of “Criminal Minds” and sulked. Weeks later, I was ambulatory enough to leave the house and enjoy a birthday dinner with my family.
Just as the dinner check arrived, son Will leapt to his feet produced his phone from his pocket and declared “The hot light is on, we need to get to Krispy Kreme, like right now!”
Running to the restaurants parking lot, we boarded our vehicle, and gunned the gas. Smoke rising from our tires, Janet and I shouted our navigational bearing to Will, providing the most efficient route to the doughnuts. Minutes later, my dream, though delayed, came true. Commemorating the anniversary of my birth, we toasted beneath the red neon window sign with a doughnut in each hand.
If only Schopenhauer lived near a Krispy Kreme, his enemies would have appeared a little less daunting.
– Jon Kaufman
