Chris Orcutt, Writer

Dear Dunkin' Donuts,

As a native New Englander, I have enjoyed your donuts since the early 1970s. Some of my fondest childhood memories include picking out a dozen donuts at shops in Rockland, Maine; Bangor, Maine; Augusta, Maine; Portsmouth, New Hampshire; and Worcester, Massachusetts. I even remember your slogan and theme song from this period: "Dunkin' Donuts...it's worth the trip!"

However, all of this nostalgia may be coming to an end. I am concerned about recent changes to your menu, because I sense you are forgetting your core value proposition: donuts and coffee.

The bagels were a nice addition, as were the muffins. But everything you've added to your product line since then has been a mistake. I'm sorry, but when I think personal pizzas and flatbread sandwiches, I'm NOT thinking Dunkin'. I don't know what I'm thinking about, but I know it's not Dunkin'.

Come on, who's buying this crap? It's disgusting. What's more, it's taking away from your core business because loyal donut & coffee customers like myself do NOT want to wait on line while self-loathing "gourmands" order up one of your Bacon Lovers omelet things, wherein the eggs resemble the prototype for some new bulletproof material.

Two weeks ago in Manchester, Vermont, my wife and I waited on line at one of your "express" locations for at least 15 minutes. I'd like you to time fifteen minutes on a stopwatch and think about how interminable such a period is when you have to listen to all of the gross combinations of food items people are ordering at your locations. (Note: It was 7:30 am.) To wit,

"Yeah, gimme two flatbread pepperoni pizzas, two Bavarian cream and a vanilla latte."

"I'll have an egg white flatbread, one Bacon Lovers croissant and a Box of Joe."

[And my favorite—he was a large fellow and alone...]


"I'd like three supreme omelets, three white hot chocolates, three 3-cheese flatbreads, and a Dunkin' Donut."

It's time for you guys to get back to what you're good at. Go back to your roots. Maybe invent some new donut combinations. I'm no business expert, but I have to believe the opportunity costs of offering all of this superfluous crap on your menus (i.e., the amount of time on line it adds for those of us just buying BLACK coffee) outweigh whatever gains you might be making.

If you don't change, if you stick with this flailing, "throw it up there and see what sticks" business formula, I predict that Dunkin' will be taking a dive. I don't care for Krispy Kreme donuts, but they're already gaining market share on you folks and will certainly continue to—unless you get your act together and go back to basics.

Don't let me down.

Sincerely,

Chris Orcutt
A Loyal Dunkin' Patron since 1970

P.S.: I buy a 5-pound bag of your beans online every month (or thereabouts). Your coffee is still the best, but don’t take it for granted!

Posted by Chris Orcutt at 08:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

As part of my recent interest in (obsession with) film noir, I recently stumbled upon one of the best in the genre: THE KILLING. It's one of Stanley Kubrick's first films; he wrote the screenplay and directed it.

Long before Tarantino's Pulp Fiction, in THE KILLING (1951) Kubrick chops up a linear storyline, peppering the film with enticing snippets from the climatic scene, then going back in time to the planning of the caper. The way he maintains narrative drive by never taking you where you want to go—to the getaway—will leave you breathless.

I loved this film so much that I ripped the trailer off the DVD and uploaded it to YouTube. For your convenience, the trailer is offered below. Enjoy.

Trust me. If you like noir, or even if you just like good heist movies, you have to rent THE KILLING.

Posted by Chris Orcutt at 05:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Recently an old friend and fan remarked that she loved the pictures of my office. "Particularly your inspiration," she said.

They are pretty good photos, so I thought I'd share a few of them with you.

The high-tech area. My iMac faces a Bond poster.

The low-tech area with Royal Quiet Deluxe and "inspirational" pulp fiction covers.

Close-ups of Royal and book covers.

Last night, Alexas reorganized my supply shelves (behind the door—not seen in these pictures). The space is still cramped, but at least everything has a home now.

Has this been an amazing entry or what?

Posted by Chris Orcutt at 08:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

In case you can't tell, this is an opinion piece. If you enjoy Classmates.com or other "let's reconnect after all these years" websites, this entry is not for you.

This entry is for the rest of us—the Classmates haters.

The annoying ad that's showing up everywhere. Like I'd link to it.

There's not much to say except that I hate this stupid "service." You set up a profile on their site, give them your email address, and then if anyone wants to contact you, they leave you a message on their proprietary system, which, if you don't pay to have a Classmates.com account, you can't get access to.

This is basically tantamount to someone sending you a letter to a PO box for which you lost the key. The sh-t just gets crammed in there, and in the meantime your former buds think you're a prick because you never get back to them.

Instead of stupid reunion or high school class websites, I strongly suggest getting a Facebook page for making contact with old friends.

Thank you for indulging this rant.

Oh, and if you'd like to read a no-holds-barred polemic on Classmates.com, check out this entry by Twisted Princess.

Posted by Chris Orcutt at 02:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Yesterday was an odd day in the Village of Millbrook. The strangeness began at 7am, when a black bear was spotted walking straight down the center of Franklin Avenue (our Main Street).

My father and a group of his cronies were having their morning coffee at the Millbrook Deli when an adult black bear (300-400 pounds) loped down Franklin Avenue, turned up Church Street and disappeared into the woods behind the new high school. The map below should orient you.

Shortly thereafter, Joey Velletri (of Velletri's and Sons Paints on Franklin Avenue) jumped in his truck, followed the bear and got a blurry cell phone picture of it. He then spent the rest of the day driving around and showing people a printout of the photo.

The picture had that quick-snap-it-before-the-damn-thing-runs-away quality—much like pictures of this guy.

Not the picture of the bear, but a black bear nonetheless.

Once Joey had shown me the photo, I was inspired to go find the bear. Yeah, I know—crazy—but I am a little nuts. Besides, I was armed with grizzly spray from a Montana trip seven years ago. I wrote about the spray here.

With my grizzly spray, insect repellent, a pocketknife, a bottle of Poland Spring and a book on animal tracks, I set out to find the bear. (For some reason, I forgot a camera.) I hiked up Church Street and into the surprisingly deep woods that flank the new high school. On the edge of the treeline, I discovered some tracks and the reason why the bear had ventured down from the hills—raspberry brambles. The fruit was in season, and I stopped to pick some.

Well, I'd love to be able to report that I found the bear, snapped photos of it and returned a conquering hero, but aside from the tracks and the mauled raspberry thickets, I found nothing. I did, however, manage to eat about 2 quarts of raspberries along the way, so the day wasn't a complete waste.

What I found instead of a bear.

I'll probably go out again today. For the raspberries, that is.

Posted by Chris Orcutt at 06:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Over the past couple of weeks, I've been on a noir spree. It began when I saw Out of the Past with Robert Mitchum and Jane Greer. Confusing as f-ck, but it has some great lines in it. To wit,

Femme Fatale: I don't want to die!

Detective: Neither do I baby, but if I have to die, I'll die last.

After the Mitchum flick, I reread James Cain's Double Indemnity and The Postman Always Rings Twice, as well as re-watched the films. I bought two of my favorite films—Chinatown and Sweet Smell of Success—and a film noir collection with 10 movies in it. Of those, I hadn't seen four because they were so obscure: The Hitchiker, The Strange Love of Martha Ivers, Detour and one in which normally wholesome Mickey Rooney is transformed into a crazed lunatic—Quicksand.

Why do I love these films so? Let me count the ways.

I love the sharp and sassy dialogue. I love the deep shadows and high contrasts in the lighting. I love the economy of storytelling (Detour is only 67 minutes long!). I love that the stories teeter on the edge of melodrama. I love the sexy dames, the bitter broads. I love the tough guys and the rich crooks. I love the clothes—especially the hats. I love the inexpensive sets. I love the cars, the crimes, the comebacks.

But I think most of all, I love that if you freeze a good noir film, the frame is a piece of art in itself. As I understand it, this is because after the war (WWII), many German expressionist artists made their way to Hollywood and influenced the look of these films as directors and cinematographers.

On my office wall, I actually have framed stills from films that I love, including Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Used Cars, Goldfinger, Raiders of the Lost Ark, The Natural, and The Empire Strikes Back. I know it's a little geeky, but it's my only geek vice, I swear.

Well, inspired by all of this noir stuff, I decided to do some screen captures from films I've enjoyed so I could show you what I mean by each frame being a piece of art. So, without futher ado, here are some stills from movies I've enjoyed. (In some cases, I've used someone else's still because I don't have it or it's better than my own.)

Robert Mitchum and Jane Greer in Out of the Past.

Peggy Cummins and John Dall in Gun Crazy.

Peggy Cummins's marvelous backside in Gun Crazy.

Tony Curtis and Burt Lancaster in Sweet Smell of Success.

Lana Turner and her legs in the original The Postman Always Rings Twice.

Barbara Stanwyck and Fred MacMurray in Double Indemnity.

The two of them almost caught by Edward G. Robinson.

Stanwyck and MacMurray in a famous scene in a grocery store.

A still from an unknown noir film.

A still from Fallen Angel. I love the composition of this shot.

The end scene in The Big Combo.

And if you're interested, here's a mini-"movie" of the above photos, set to theme from Cape Fear. It may take a moment to load, so be patient.

Posted by Chris Orcutt at 09:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

In case you didn't guess it from the title of this entry, I saw the new Batman movie twice over the weekend, and my ass, neck and lower back hurt because of it.

It wasn't the seats that caused my pain, nor was it where I was seated, nor was it just me. Alexas had similar complaints after seeing the film with me Friday afternoon.

We were leaving what I thought was a thoroughly enjoyable film, yet her face was pinched up.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"My back hurts," she said. "I was tense through that entire thing."

"My ass hurts," I said.

"Why is that?"

"I think I know why..."

I went on to describe my theory, and mind you, it's just a theory.

It's no secret that for years the U.S. military has been developing weapons based on low-frequency vibrations. Low-frequency sounds—particularly frequencies below the range of human hearing—have been shown to instill fear and discomfort in people. My theory is that the sound people with THE DARK KNIGHT are hip to this information and applied it liberally throughout the movie.

To get an idea of the effect THE DARK KNIGHT has on your body, do this: While sitting at your computer (as I presume you are now), tighten up your buttocks and tense your shoulders like you're a turtle pulling its head into its shell. Now, hold that position for two and a half hours.

In my own case, seeing the film twice in two days has made my ass so hard, I can bounce quarters on it.

The film is great fun, by the way, and if you need to work your glutes, I highly recommend it.

Posted by Chris Orcutt at 01:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I bought a new typewriter over the weekend. And when I say new, I mean a near-mint condition Remington Quiet-Riter from 1952.

I found it on Craigslist for 15 bucks. The woman who sold it to me is a retired schoolteacher, and she'd kept it in her closet for thirty years. All I had to do was replace the ribbon. I was so pleased with my find, and for the fact that the woman didn't try to gouge me, that I gave her 20 bucks. Yeah, I know—generous.

Photos by Kangster. I didn't bother to take new ones since my Remington looks identical to his, and his pics are better.

I've written before, and in greater detail, about why I like to write drafts on typewriters, so I won't do that here. Instead, let me tell you why I bought it.

First of all, it's not because it's pretty. Compared to my sleek, sexy Royal Quiet DeLuxe the Remington is a dog. It's battleship gray with green keys, and it wouldn't surprise me one bit to learn that it was constructed of salvaged ships from Midway. It's the girl you ask to the prom after everyone else turns you down. (Not that I would know about this. I went with a girl named Lisa, who, at the time, was the school hottie—and that's before the term hottie was even invented.)

Recently I finished a "vision statement" for a prospective publisher/marketing company, arguing why my detective series and I are worthy of investment. I put a lot of time and energy into that document, and when it was finished, I wanted a way to start a new project with no physical or emotional ties to the two books that have kept me chained to a desk for the past four years. I wanted to start fresh, on a "new" piece of equipment that doesn't know me, my writing, my history.

That's why I bought the Remington.

Unfortunately, the 1952 Remington did not come with a barefoot 1952 Alice Denham.

The new piece is going to be noir, and although I'm not sure what form it will take yet—novel, screenplay or stage play—I'm glad I have the new typewriter to work on. I'm going to wear my fedora every day to get into character. I'm going to buy a pack of filterless cigarettes and handle one once in a while. And most importantly, I'm going to write whatever it is on the gray and sullen Remington.

Posted by Chris Orcutt at 09:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

This morning, while partaking of my daily coffee at the Millbrook Diner and making notes for that day's writing, I was interrupted by an old woman shouting, "Call 911!"

In the booth across from mine, an old man was slumped over and a couple of people were taking his pulse.

This was a job for...

HELPERMAN!

Jumping out of my seat, I rushed to the stricken old-timer and asked what pain he was feeling. He said his entire chest felt tight. He was having trouble breathing. Just as Helperman thought: a possible coronary thrombosis, a.k.a. myocardial infarction, a.k.a. heart attack.

Baby Aspirin: The panacea for heart attack victims.

A former Boy Scout, Helperman took charge of the situation, moving the tables out of the way and making the old man lie down on the long bench seat at the end of the diner. A waitress brought a cool, damp cloth for the stricken man's forehead. Helperman then ran down the street to Vincent's Pharmacy and purchased a bottle of adult low-dose aspirin (a.k.a. "baby" aspirin).

Aspirin alone has its greatest impact on improving survival among patients with heart attacks. Numerous studies have shown that aspirin reduces mortality (by 25%) when given to patients with heart attacks. Aspirin is easy to use, safe at the low doses used for anti-platelet action, fast acting (with an onset of action within 30 minutes), and cheap. Aspirin is given at a dose of 160 mg to 325 mg immediately to almost all patients as soon as a heart attack is recognized.

Not having any cash, and not wanting to waste a second, Helperman dropped his credit card and ran out, tearing open the package on his way back to the restaurant. The man's wife gave him one of the aspirin and we waited for the ambulance to arrive. It was there in five minutes.

I mention all of this not to brag but because it reminded me that despite how predictable Life may seem, we never know what's going to happen. I've sat in that diner for thousands of hours and not once have I encountered a situation like this. And since it was the most exciting thing to happen to me in months, I thought it was worth sharing here.

It's also a nice feeling to know that when the sh-t hits the fan, you remember what you learned. Say what you want about the Boy Scouts, but their motto is "Be Prepared," and part of being prepared is knowing how to act in emergencies.

This experience also made me appreciate even more what my uncle, Paul Knowlton, does for a living. He's a paramedic in Bangor, Maine, and situations like the one I dealt with are routine for him. How he does this stuff without having a heart attack himself, I'll never know.

In case you're wondering, I left the bottle of baby aspirin at the diner.

And if you're interested in reading about the earlier adventures of Helperman, click here.

Posted by Chris Orcutt at 11:14 AM | Permalink