For Dad

So. Before we moved to London, my Dad had a request. He wanted me to describe things. How things were different. How when you walk into a shop it smells different and sounds different.

Well. As the 15 of you know. I haven't done this yet. So today. I'm going to talk about a place I've been to 3 times now. You got it. McDonald's.


OK. That's fine. Noted. I'm not proud that I've been to McDonald's 3 times since we've moved to our new apartment. But I've needed lunch. And we don't have groceries. And sometimes I only have 3GBP - and in this neighborhood - 3GBP gets you lunch at McDonald's.

We're living in a very "smart" neighborhood. You and I would call it "posh," but apparently, people in the know don't say posh anymore - they say smart. If you say posh - you are labeled as middle class (Oh, the humanity!) or American (I'm sure, a fate worse than death).

Sometimes...smart neighborhoods don't like to have things like Wal-Mart or McDonald's tarting up the place. So these stores - if they can ever get into the neighborhood, sort of have to hide who they are. This McDonald's is in a store front. With a tiny M sign hanging down over the sidewalk. Sort of like the kind of signs they used in the 14th century with a bandaged arm or a boot to show that this place was a barber or a boot maker (I'm not making that up. I read it in a book). Big glass windows. The windows are trimmed in wood, smartly painted black. In side, there are (or is it is) no obvious McDonald's paraphernalia. Because you might be able to see it from the street. I had to look for the menu.

There are water colors (maybe acrylics, I'm not an art expert) of the comely streets in our area hanging on the walls. Someone is always mopping. Usually, it's the manager. And she is wearing a black skirt, hose, black shoes, and a black blouse with tiny white polka dots. No Ms anywhere on her either. The workers behind the counter are dressed in McDonald's uniforms. And there are no kids working. Everyone employed there is an adult through and through. Not even early 20s. Which I think is odd.

The weirdest thing though, and this is for Dad, is the smell. I should say: The lack of smell. You know what I'm talking about. Every McDonald's smells the same. You can even smell it in the parking lot. I think it's the fry grease.

They don't have that here. Walking past the entrance on the sidewalk - you can't smell it. Inside the store (I was going to say restaurant, but that made me uncomfortable) you can't smell it. The food basically tastes the same. I would actually venture to say it tastes better. The buns seem fresh, the lettuce isn't wilting, the chicken nuggets had a weird texture, but I think that might be because they don't use liquid chicken.

So we have a McDonald's that doesn't smell like McDonald's. It doesn't smell like anything. You might even think it smells like mopping - but it doesn't. Do they have really excellent ventilation? Or is something more sinister going on here?

I prefer to think it's something sinister. And that's why I've been 3 times. Because I'm trying to figure it out. Solve the mystery for you. Making sure that everything is safe for your arrival. Because you are coming to see me, right? RIGHT? I'm hungry.

Michelangelo's David McDonald

What's this all about?

Well, as you know, I lived in NYC for about 10 years. And while I was there I never once saw anybody get hit by anything. But since I've been in London, let's see...about 2 months and 1 week, I've seen 2 bike and car collisions. TWO! I think that's kind of a lot. Thankfully, both times no one was seriously injured. Yes. Thank you very much.

Granted, today was a bit more of a bike running into a car.

But.

What's going on? Are Londoners bad drivers? Do they not have the ability to see bikes? Are bikers terrible people? Do they deserve to be hit by cars?

From now on, I will only travel by...

Ooooo...you should fill in the blank!!!

Sitting

You all know I am very good at sitting. We're talking Olympic ability to sit. Much like Michael Phelps has been genetically designed to swim (remember the time filler during Summer Olympic Coverage? Spinning image of Michael detailing why he's such a good swimmer. Long arms, short legs, big feet.), I have been genetically designed to sit. A lot. I'm really good at it.

However. My abilities are failing me. I have found a type of sitting that I am not good at. AND...more disturbingly, that I don't want to do anymore.

It's sitting on the floor.

I hate it.

I think my butt is going to die. Excuse me, bum. I guess what you call it doesn't matter much if it's DEAD!