Donuts, Chocolates & Life

In writing about donuts on Wednesday, I made a passing reference to Forrest Gump. Despite the fact that I brought the subject up myself, I despise that movie on any number of levels. Even so, I'm vaguely curious about the original novel, which I understand is quite different in tone from the movie. The book's first line, which only made it into the movie in highly paraphrased form, is "Let me say this: bein' an idiot is no box of chocolates," making me wonder if author Winston Groom was going for something closer to Jerzy Kosinski's Being There than what was depicted in the film. Being There, by the way, is a wonderful book that was made into a wonderful movie, and I recommend it highly in both forms. The book is a scant 141 pages and can be read easily in an afternoon or evening. Although I read it quite some time ago, my memory suggests that it might have something to say about our current political climate.

But back to Gump. As far as I'm concerned, very little of worth came out of that movie, but it did lay the groundwork for one of my favorite soliloquies. Reflecting on the disappointments of his life, the cigarette-smoking rogue government agent of The X-Files, or Cancer Man as he is sometimes known, took off from Forrest Gump's mother's original observation.

Life is like a box of chocolates. Cheap, thoughtless, perfunctory gift that nobody ever asks for. Unreturnable because all you get back is another box of chocolates. So you're stuck with this mostly undefinable whipped mint crap, mindlessly wolfed down when there's nothing else to eat while you're watching the game. Sure, once in a while there's a peanut butter cup or an English toffee, but it's gone too fast and the taste is fleeting. In the end, you're left with nothing but broken bits filled with hardened jelly and teeth-shattering nuts, which if you're desperate enough to eat leaves nothing but an empty box with useless brown paper wrappers.