Crazy Ass Nite!!, originally uploaded by Jeremie Dela Rosa.

How May I Take Your Order?? So We Were At Mickey D’s Just Ordering Some Foood Cuz We Were All Hungry! lol Especially Me lol nd I All I Got Was Some Melting Cinnamon nd Mike Got A Sandwich, While Brenden had a 5 Star course meal.

By:Jeremie D.

I’m a huge Thomas fan. I always have been. I even named my first car ‘Percy’ after the little green engine featured in the books.

I’m also a huge fan of the Daily Mail – not because of the quality of the articles, you understand – but because of the scaremongering headlines and the hilarious articles it sees fit to print. Whenever I pick it up, I know that I’m sure to find at least one thing to set my blood boiling. And today’s example is this little gem – Thomas the Tank Engine is apparently sexist.

//begin rant.

I mean, honestly! Who could hold a grudge against the Thomas the Tank Engine Books?  They are quite possibly the most innocent set of stories since Beatrix Potter put pen to paper. Twilight has more blatant ‘women-should-be-submissive’  themes than Thomas could possibly have subliminal sexist undertones – why not attack that pile of tripe and leave things penned before Political Correctness went mental alone?

When I was little, there were only two girls in Thomas the Tank Engine – Annie and Clarabel – and I never even noticed. At that age, it hadn’t really occurred to me that there was an opposite sex – boys were just like I was, only they tended to have blue lunch boxes and got cars in Happy Meals instead of miniature Barbies*. Kids are wonderful – they notice differences, but they just accept that they’re there. It’s the way of the world and they’re largely happy to leave it at that and just get on with things. The fact that these so-called ‘professors’ draw attention to the lack of female characters in such a negative way can only really serve to highlight any absences that were present in the texts to begin with.

‘Professor’ Shauna Wilton also seems to have forgotten that these books were written at a time when girls didn’t really have access to things like train sets and sooty engines – in the 1940s when the Rev. W. Awdry put pen to paper, girls were expected to play with dolls and pretty things. And besides, the books were written for a little boy, which would naturally make the characters predominantly male**.

I also notice how Wilton fails to mention modern television programs such as Angelina Ballerina where only two characters featured on the website are male. I don’t think she’s as ‘all-about-equality’ as she makes out. That’s what really gets me about this whole thing – I want equal rights and I want to be taken seriously. When I do think that I’m being unfairly treated as a woman – and if you don’t believe it still happens, try being the only girl on a factory floor – I’m never taken seriously because crack-pots like this academic goit give anyone who still believes that feminism is about choice and equality a bad name.

Also, did you notice the section of the article which said:

In one episode, for example, Thomas whistles impatiently at a police officer and is replaced with a different engine as a punishment for showing dissent.

Umm … scary PC lady? Where I come from, not respecting a police officer is something that should be punished. It’s called discipline. I dread to think what your daughter will grow up like if she isn’t told off for being naughty. Heaven forbid that good manners are more important than over the top ideals of political correctness.

As one of the comments on the Daily Mail site said: rather our children be confronted with slightly outdated stories with good social morals than toy adverts like pokemon.

//end rant.

_______________

*Thankfully my parents refused to take me to MacDonalds – something that at the time I thought was grossly unfair but now realise was for the good of all concerned.

**I actually had a large discussion on bookarmy not long ago about how readers tend to identify more closely with a main character of their own gender.

Background; Market research found that, as the recession subsides, lower tier ranges, such as Tesco’s Discount Brands, introduced to safeguard footfall, will loose momentum and consumers will return to  higher end ranges including organic and Fairtrade.

What this research invariably points to is the requirement of food retailers to have a malleable consumer image. This allows them to tailor their appeal according to the economic climate. In a recession, focus on cheap, honest food and when we emerge from this, provide a more high-end appeal. Thus, we arrive at the golden arches of Macdonalds, generally agreed to be monsters of fast food and rightly so. However if you cast an analytical eye of their public relations you will see an image which ebbs and flows with the economic climate. When times were good, we were subjected to new ‘gourmet’ offerings like glorious salads and even ciabatta bread was recruited in this market push. However, at the earliest sign of consumers tightening their purse strings Mcdonalds were able to retreat behind their Big Macs and Cheeseburgers, and to good effect. So maybe all brands can take a leaf out of Maccy D’s greasy and sugar filled book.

What a way to make a day happy!

after my CLUBCOUTURE meeting yesterday, i called ben to see if he was still at the clinic…i was just itching to see him for some reason. he was halfway through, so i went to the post office, and then to kino… and guess what? i picked up the most awesome bag!

this YSL tote comes with the Yves Saint Laurent Beaute Official Book and costs just S$29.60! i love the embroided logos along the handles and the interior is hot pink! this will be my most used bag from now on i’m sure…

and when i was done with retail theraphy, i took a train back to the north to meet ben to get dinner… well we ended up buying macs on the way back and see what good they did to my filet-o-fish…

stuuuuuuuupid i tell you.

who makes burgers like that?

and whatever i managed to scrap off the box didn’t even cover 1/4 of my burger. what is this? but yea, i ate it anyway… what to do? i was really hungry. if we didn’t do takeaways and had it there, i would have blown my top! at least then i would get a proper one….

back to ben’s medical, so it turns out his knee cap is slightly… how do i say this, out of alignment? looks like we all got bone problems… haha! well, at least he gets physio, i don’t!

so running around all day… was it worth it? you bet…

cos i got my hug, and kiss too

…only you can make me smile like that

and i’m an ace at packing bags! ben was trying to squeeeze everything into the bag but he was just doing it all wrong… i took everything out and repacked it all in with ease… you should have seen his face! LOL!

4 cup noodles, 1 bag of ruffles, 1 water bottle and his other stuff all nice and snug!

check!

time really flies so fast when you don’t want it to… by 730 ben had  to leave for camp again, and i went to gardens to meet with Neng to catch up and talk about photoshoot ideas… and then he told me about the photo of me that everyone has been raving about on facebook…

my reaction : a photo of me on facebook that everyone is raving about?

how come i don’t know?

so it turns out this is the photo he was referring to…

this was taken in like december last year for a competition held by The National Heart Foundation… it’s one of those random shots that wasn’t submitted… i had seen this photo so many times over, but i only found that this is actually me today. is that dumb or what? to not recognise yourself in a photo when you see it… i think i’m the only idiot capable of that. >_<

anyhoos, it’s 125am, and i’m going to wash up and go to bed. i’m so tired today really… and i can’t wait to jump out of bed refreshed in the morning and start getting creative and getting down to replying emails!

good night!

xoxo

Fred Bloggs.

Now this is just being silly. I mean, that’s just being malicious. I like my sausages, stay away from them, they’re mine I say, they’re MINE!.

Ahem…

Sorry for the outburst, but this is a subject that I feel very strongly about.

You still can’t have them…

McUptown Girl

By Ashley Scrace

Following frightening consequences from other fat, greasy entities – the 1,600 pound Carol Yager springs to mind – McDonalds has decided it needs to shake up its image and go uptown.

Venturing to McDonalds is a hateful chore. The burgers are like roof-tiles; the chips are like twigs; the staff are arrogant and the decor is just awful.

Yet my most recent visit proved shocking and amazing, for it seems McDonalds had changed.

It was a warm evening, the temperature resting in the mid-teens, with the sun slowly burning in the west, sinking down behind the green hills of the South Downs, throwing an emerald haze across the simmering sky, casting lurid shadows across the ground.

A fine evening for a glass of Red Wine and pasta, it would seem. But the recession has forced otherwise, so to McDonalds it is.

I parked up, got out of the car and walked towards the establishment.

Carefully opening the door, avoiding the grease drenched handle, the sour repugnant smell of microwaved codswallop smacked me right in the face.

So no change so far.

I approached the counter, knowing full well what I wanted. I usually try and decide before I get there on principle – I simply hate the area in front of the counter where everyone stands around gawping up at the menus, frantically deciding what to eat.

“A Big Mac, please”, I said.

I reached into my pocket and was ready to hand over the money when the girl (allegedly so, only through my observations) behind the counter looked at me with disdain, her eyes piercing my very soul.

“Sorry mate but you’ll be better going through the Drive-Thru. I’ve had an accident.”

She stopped abruptly. Nothing. I said nothing – a sort of understanding silence. I did not want to question the accident; I did not want to hear of possible involuntary bladder movements.

It was as I was walking out I noticed the difference in the place. It had been redecorated. No longer were there red and white seats, with stupid veneered plywood tables. Instead there were sofas, hardwood sideboards, metal chairs, chrome strips and a clean tiled floor.

This was amazing. McDonalds looked smart. You can’t polish a turd, or so it is said, but this was rather shiny at least.

I turned round towards the counter. I looked for the girl. It must have looked pathetic, turning around in a similar way to a dog looking to its master for appreciation.

I don’t know what I expected to gain from this gesture, but never mind.

Taking the advice of my master, I went back to the car.

Going through the motion of clicking the keys through their various positions, I still thought of the Big Mac.

The car revved into life. Into first. Clutch up, gas down. We’re away.

Off to the ‘Drive-Thru’ – almost literally.

Speeding round the narrow lane designated for the on-the-go types, I almost crashed into McDonalds due to manic confusion.

Usually there is a little window where you stop and politely ask for a Big Mac. This time there was no such stage.

I could see what was ‘step three’: collect your order. ‘Step one’ must be decide what you want, so I’d seemingly missed out ‘step two’: place your order. Everything went a bit Travelling Wilbury’s baffling for a moment until I realised I’d overshot it. So let’s go round again.

Slower this time, eyes peeled for the window, I still missed where you ordered your food – as did the four or five cars behind me. It was beginning to turn into the 2005 American Grand Prix, dubbed ‘Indygate’ ever since – six cars aimlessly ambling around a mundane circuit.

Finally I found the problem: there was no window. Instead technology had usurped humanity.   

The ‘Drive-Thru’ (spelling not a forte of the McDonalds management) has always been very much human run in the sense that there is a person in his/her own little window who takes your order, another person who steals your money, and a final person who spits in your food.

This whole process of human interaction has been cut recently in favour of the cheaper and (supposedly) more effective method of talking into a microphone implanted into a solid metal pillar. You talk. Someone talks back. All very clever.

Whether this development actually benefits the whole ordering process though is another matter. Sure it is simple and takes out one stage in the interactive ordering process. However, it is somewhat disturbing to think that someone has lost their job to a microphone and a warm, clammy headset.

This type of Americanisation in the fast-food sector is new to us. I guess we British just like talking more than most. Look at the reluctance to install fast broadband – it’s deemed much easier and quicker to just go and talk to the person concerned.

And look at the shying away from fast rail links – again, walking and talking is quicker in the event of an urgent business meeting.

Anyway, eventually finding the pillar, I stopped to be greeted by a droning employee, not talking but merely dribbling the words from his droopy mouth.

“Ca’ I tak ya order pleez?” he asked.

“Yes, you can. A Big Mac. Actually, a Big Mac meal. Push the boat out.” I chuckled a little.

I don’t know why I feel the need to comment on everything I say and then let out a little laugh after. It happens every time I ask for something. Embarrassment I suspect. Or just a worrying high level of suicidal tendency, so high that I need reassurance in what I have just said.

The process was now simple: pay and collect. I did so.

My efforts had produced the most unhealthy, vile creation known to man: a Big Mac meal.

It was horrid.

But my trip to McDonalds was still worthwhile.

It is nice to see that the downmarket establishment-slash-global-rip-off-corporation has tried to improve its image.

But it’s a bit of a token effort really.

A trip to McDonalds is, ultimately, for the food. No matter what your opinion of the food, to buy food is the aim of a trip there. Yet although the facelift may seem all well and good, don’t be fooled by cosmetics – nothing has changed.

So it could be true. Maybe you can’t polish a turd.

Or maybe you can. What’s in a Big Mac these days?

Oh dear…

Para os que adoram um bom fluxograma mas que não ligam tanto assim para uma alimentação saudavel.

Está sem tempo e precisa ir até um fast-food qualquer, mas não sabe ao certo qual escolher? Está viajando e com a grana curta a única coisa que você pode comer é um lanche. Mas qual? Não se preocupe mais com isso. Agora, basta seguir os passos deste fluxograma e pronto, você sempre vai acertar na escolha.

A única coisa que você tem que pensar agora é se vale mesmo a pena ficar comendo esta porcariada toda, mas o fluxo… este sim é ótimo! E funciona!

Fluxograma do fast-food

It had come to AAN’s attention that there are hidden charges when purchasing non-chicken food items. If you order a hamburger item and when you get your order, if you ask for BBQ or Honey Mustard, there is an extra charge for the packet(s).

Jeremy was on his was to a Beer Pong Tournament and stopped at the “Trinity” Macdonald’s in Cordova TN to get a quick bite to eat.  When Jeremy received his order he asked for some BBQ sauce and was promptly charged 15 cents for each packet.  On a second visit by Jeremy to the same Macdonald’s for his lunch break he was charged 20 cents per packet.  On this occasion Jeremy called the manager and argued the point that the ketchup and mustard condiments are free so why the extra charge for BBQ?  The manger hem-hawed and gave Jeremy the BBQ for free.  Jeremy told AAN that this has happened to him on several other visits to Macdonald’s in other parts of the country.

Because I frequent Macdonald’s I now began paying attention and just last week I was waiting in line at the “Dexter” Macdonald’s in Cordova TN when a customer was called to the pick-up counter.  The pick-up order was a Quarter Pounder and when the customer came to pick-up the order he asked for BBQ sauce.  The attendant gave the customer three packets without asking for anything extra.

AAN has talked with several other folks about this issue and the consensus seems to be it depends on where you are in the country.  The fact that these extra charges are not clearly posted or known to patrons leaves a “bad taste” with this reporter.

So we think Macdonald’s Corporation needs to investigate these extra charges at some of the Macdonald’s throughout the country.  Are some stores charging for condiments without the knowledge of Macdonald’s Corporation?  I happen to know that there are strict rules included in the franchise contract and the store owners are required to follow these rules as governed by corporate.

Normally I would call all the AAN Team members scattered throughout the country to investigate these charges but I happen to know that they all only eat organic and have not been to any fast food restaurants in years so I ask the readers of this article to please leave your comments.  If you have ever been or are currently an employee of a Macdonald’s restaurant your input would be greatly appreciated.

I have nothing to add at this time except that AAN is now going to investigate other fast food restaurants as to determine if they have hidden charges for condiments.

On Tuesday, I went to Nice to conduct an interview for a university project with a former resistor (World War Two, learn). Initially, I had been nerdily excited for the meeting; after all, I had ambitions to have the project published if it was good enough, which I was confident it would be. That all evaporated after the events of the weekend. It wasn’t helped, either, by the 5am wake up, followed by a four and a half hour train journey. By the time I arrived, I felt exhausted – I had grabbed a small amount of sleep on the train, but I have enough trouble sleeping during the day as it is without all the thoughts that were going around my head then. The first thing I did upon arrival was buy two bottles of Dark Dog energy drink (not a patch on Red Bull), which did very little except make me need a piss. I then sat on a bench by the beach and watched the Med for an hour or so to kill time. Sitting there, all I could think about was Jen and what had happened. I had brought my English phone with me, telling myself that its camera would be useful if I wanted a picture for the project, but I was finding myself checking the internet with it every few minutes, or more accurately, checking Facebook, waiting for any possible reply to my message. I returned to the train station for two o’clock to meet my resistor, an Italian immigrant to France. The man certainly loved to talk – I would have liked to shut him up at certain points, but he had made a point of telling me that he had killed around 40 Germans, so I kept quiet. He was both a communist and an Italian, which disgusted me somewhat, but I tried to keep my historical cool and objectivity. To be honest, it was all I could do to keep my eyes open: I have rarely been so happy to have an espresso bought for me. The old man managed to insult my level of French once, the bastard, pointedly demonstrating the dangers of Polish immigrant resistors being caught with fake French papers when they spoke “le meme francais que moi”. Outrageous, I thought, but I had no energy to defend my linguistic skills. After an hour, the interview was concluded as he had to leave to collect his daughter from the airport, but he claimed he would have liked to talk for much longer in order to ‘make me understand’. Frankly I understood perfectly well: he and his mates killed Germans, lots of them, but, because they were foreign, the French didn’t want to know. A 5,000 word project distilled into an easy to digest sentence. Still, it was jolly nice of him to talk to me, even if he was Italian. At this point, it was 3pm, and my train wasn’t due to leave until 5.30pm. My original plan had been to try to see a bit of Nice, but having sat by the beach, I felt like I had done all the interesting sightseeing, and I had no energy to discover if there was anything else worth looking at. Continuing my unfortunate habit of raping my bank account when sad, I paid an extra 20 euros and changed my train reservation to an immediate departure. Once on the train, I was sat at the end of the carriage in a bank of four seats, two opposite another two, with a mirror behind the two seats facing me. I was sat next to a girl who looked about my age, and was rather pretty, as far as I could tell from my little glances. Whenever I caught the train in England, or in France for that matter, I always used to hope I would be sat next to a nice looking girl of my age. ‘Maybe she’ll talk to me’, I used to think. ‘Or maybe I’ll even talk to her!’ Fat chance, but still. Yet it finally happens, and all I could think about was Jen, and getting home. I had zero interest in speaking to her, even though she was pretty, and seemed to keep glancing at me as I read The Economist. It could just have been because I was looking rough as fuck, but I’d like to believe it was because she was enthralled by my rugged good looks and damaged personality. She might have thought I was intellectual, reading The Economist – I certainly felt it. The first part of the journey passed smoothly; I read The Economist cover-to-cover (well, up till the business section anyway – no one reads that crap) and listened to my iPod. But she was still on my mind. I kept imagining getting a message from her, where she’d decide that she wanted to give it a go with me; that she took back what she’d said the previous day. I imagined how I would react – my brain came to the conclusion that I would be the happiest I had ever been in my life, or at least since simpler times, when a new toy was enough to put me in a state of ecstasy. I realised this was the behaviour of a madman, or at the very least an oddball, but I carried on regardless. I’m constantly imagining and enacting in my head scenarios that will never ever happen. Then, I checked the internet on my phone at a station, I think it was Aix-En-Provence, and there was a message from her. And I was disturbed to see, in the mirror opposite, that my face had lit up like a priest at Disneyland. The girl opposite me must have thought I was a mentalist. I honestly believed that she had messaged me saying she wanted to be with me after all, that my niceness and sweetness had worked. I was sickened at myself. Though not as sickened as I was by what I read in her message:

“aw you are so sweet (not patronising). dont ever try and be a twat lol. and this guy does mess me round a hell of a lot. but dont think the girl always chooses the twat – its just that the twat happened to be there first in this case, and after two years together its hard to let go. anyway, im sure ill see you again, so until then, rip up this year as god knows what terrible work awaits us the next!

xxx”

The fact that she had to spell out that she wasn’t being patronising pretty much meant the opposite, that she was giving me a massive pat on the head like one would to a small child. I felt like the kid who’d come last in sports day in primary school (a scenario I am familiar with) being consoled and told ‘it’s the taking part that counts’. Fuck off is it. The ‘it’s hard to let go’ line gave me a certain amount of hope though, that maybe she wanted, in some small way, to be able to move on. But overall, I would have described my state of mind at that point as ‘crushed’. If I hadn’t been surrounded by people, I would probably have cried. It’s certainly what I felt like doing, but on a busy train full of people, it’s not the British way to make a scene. Stiff upper lip and all that. So I kept it together, until eventually I rolled into Part-Dieu at 19.50, and not a second later. Even when I’m broken hearted, as an Englishman I can always take solace in a train that runs on time. This was only a small comfort: I also had a throbbing headache from the previous night’s concussion, felt physically and mentally sick and wanted to sleep for a few years. I returned home on the metro like a zombie, pausing only to stop off at MacDonald’s to buy my dinner. The meal basically served to make me feel dirty, but I had no food and no desire to cook. In fact, I spent the whole week eating like a retard, skipping meals and eating junk. So I sat, and ate my Big Mac, and watched ‘Forgetting Sarah Marshall’, and wallowed in my depressed state. Then I went to bed, and slept until 1pm the next day, thereby avoiding any potential April fools. If anyone had tried anything…well, I’d like to say I’d have gone mental and fucked them up, but in reality I’d probably just have passively accepted it and then visualised myself pushing them over a cliff. Still, no fucker’s pinning a poisson on my back.

Contrary to what you are probably thinking… this post is not about me getting a job at MacDonalds. 

It’s actually not about my job search at all. 

It’s about a trend that I see becoming more prevalent everywhere I go.  It’s a sly little way that businesses are trying to give themselves a boost.

It’s all about the Upsell or… Suggestive Selling. 

Now, I come from the world of sales and marketing and I know how successful this strategy can be.   I’d even admit I’m a firm believer that it CAN make a big difference in your business.  And, I oftentimes applaud the companies that have learned to successfully use this tactic in their business plan.

It’s based on a few underlying assumptions: 

• People love to feel like they are getting a great deal. 
• People like to get more for less. 
• People feel that bigger is better… (oftentimes, even if it comes at a greater cost)

And, let’s be honest, most people are highly suggestible.  It’s why impulse purchase items do so well.   It’s also why a motivated company can train their employees to suggest things to you so that you spend more money without ever really thinking about it.  

And after all, why wouldn’t you want fries with that? (what’s the point of going out for crappy fast food, if you’re not gonna go all the way??)

Anyhow, here are some places where I’ve recently seen this strategy at work… places where I applaud their efforts.

MacDonalds – (Probably one of the best examples of upselling) Do you want to supersize?  Do you want fries with that?

Ruby Tuesdays – Would you like to start out with an appetizer?  Would you like to add the salad bar for only $1.99 more?

Old Navy – (as I’m buying 2 t-shirts) These t-shirts are 3 for $15.00.  Don’t you want to go grab one more?

My Local Bar – Would you like that margarita with Patron?

As you can see, there’s a time & a place where this sales tactic can work very well, and I bet that at least 50% of the time, you can get a customer to say “yes!”.  But……… 

There’s a time & a place where I don’t want to see this strategy.  Namely……. My Eye Doctor. 

Yes… I did say my Eye Doctor  (this is not a euphemism for a high pressure, boutique sunglass store).  It’s my actual licensed, yearly check-up, new prescription, Eye Dr. 

I went there today, and under the guise of concern for the future of my eyesight, they tried to upsell me to do some sort of eye mapping picture that’s, and I quote “not covered at all by your insurance”.

And, ok, I’ll admit it……I’ve fallen for this tactic before.. I mean, you can’t skimp on your eyesight right?  So, the last 2 times I’ve paid an extra $65 (not covered by insurance) for this special eye mapping picture to ensure that there are no horrible changes to my eyesight since my last visit.  

But, now that I’m unemployed and I’m counting my pennies.  Instead of being bullied by fear into paying for this service, I asked more questions.  And, I determined that I’d pass on having this done today, and I’m pretty confident that with all the other eye tests they ran on me, that my eyesight will be ok until my next visit.  Unless of course I have to keep looking at rejection emails about jobs in which case I may just poke out my own eyes with my pen… but, even then, I don’t think this mapping picture could have saved me! 

So, here I sit thinking about my decision and feeling good that I didn’t fall prey to the upsell at my doctors office… and, somewhere in the back of my mind I’m celebrating this tiny victory over the suggestive sell!

I may still get the fries, the better tequila and the extra t-shirt but, at least today, I’m basking in the joy of saving $65!

9 november 2009.

För exakt tjugo år sedan öppnades portarna till Europas eget Nordkorea. Berlinmuren – den starkaste symbolen för det kalla kriget och potentiell tändhatt för det överhängande tredje världskriget som varit en del av vardagen för min egen generation – där människor riskerade livet, och ett tusental dog i desperata försök att ta sig till friheten i väst. Den 9 november 1989 började den så sakteliga knackas bort.

För en vecka sedan var jag och R i Berlin och pejlade jubileumsstämningarna. Förberedelserna för dagens mur-dominospektakel var i full gång. Själva valde vi – som så många andra – att bo i forna Östberlin. I Mitte. Som guide hade jag lite goda tips från två berlinveteraner, gode vännen Jonas och Carl-Johan Vallgren genom dennes utmärkta bok, Berlin på 8 kapitel.

För besökaren framstår Östberlin idag som den absolut mest intressanta delen av Berlin, den mest konstnärligt spännande, sympatiska, utvecklande, avantgardistiska, kulturella…etc, etc.

Och visst är det intressant. Som den fula ankungen i sagan framträder idag den tidigare utskällda, efterblivna Ossi-delen av Berlin, den onda sidan av Midgård som beboddes av de där människorna med städrockar och nikotingulpermanentat tanthår eller otvättade hockeyfrillor och trockabottenglasögon (det här filtrerat genom en omogen tonårings minnen från 80-talet) – ja dessa människors hemmaplan. 

Allt detta har nu vänts upp-och-ned. 

Idag FLYR (eller aktivt söker sig) istället människor till Östberlin för att hitta en kreativ kontext som ännu inte Macdonalds, Starbucks och skrytskrapor hunnit sluka i marknadsekonomins och globaliseringens förkvävande rättvisas namn (läs: stick ditt författarslödder, här ska renoveras och hyror ska höjas).

Man kan lära sig mycket i och av Berlin. Passa dock på innan gentrifieringen renat staden från vanliga människor med vanliga jobb. Processen är nämligen i full gång.

Aseara muream de foame, era vreo 19:30, faceam pe noi de frig, eram in Romana, hai la KFC. Zis si facut, intram noi zgribuliti in magazin si ne asteptam la 2 lucruri cu care eram obisnuiti din partea KFC. Spun ca eram obisnuiti pentru ca n-am mai fost cam de multisor pe acolo, cam de cand am citit articolul legat de felul in care prepara mancarea…

Cum ziceam, ma asteptam la 2 lucruri:

1. Sa fie cozi mari si sub forma de gramada.

2. Sa fie cald.

N-am nimerit nici unul dintre puncte. La fiecare casa era cam 1 om, iar in magazin era frig rau. Din economie n-au mai dat astia drumul la caldura, desi cred ca pe seara se facusera afara cam in jur de 2 grade, daca nu zero, si cam era indicat. Am stat zgribulita rau, in timp ce Sarik a stat la coada de 1 persoana, apoi in timp ce ne-am mancat strips-urile si cartofii mici mici pitici. Portia de cartofi mare e chiar patetica.

Bai, chiar nu mai iese lumea sa manance in oras ca inainte! OK, criza, stiu, dar parca nici chiar asa! Bine, poate ca e si din cauza ca toata lumea a fost luata prin surprindere de frigul instalat de Halloween (ca tot e valva mare pe faza asta) si ca or fi stat mai mult prin casa sau prin barurile cu petrecere de Halloween.

Am observat fenomenul si la Mac, unde cica e mai multa vanzare decat la KFC. Habar n-am de ce, ambele au mancarea cam la fel de posirca si de scumpa. A da, sau vesnica rivalitate Mac vs. Burger King…in fine…

Deci romanii chiar au strans cureaua! Stiu ca peste tot, la tveu, in ziare numai despre asta se vorbeste, dar acum chiar se vede.

Acum un an ziceau toti ca o treaca criza in 2 ani. Anul asta zic ca o sa treaca criza in 2 ani. What the fuck?

Des milliers d’Islandais attendaient en rang ces dernières heures devant les trois restaurants McDonald’s de l’île avant leur fermeture prévue samedi à minuit. Lire la suite l’article

Les trois restaurants, détenus sous franchise par un même propriétaire, sont combles depuis l’annonce, cette semaine, de leur fermeture.

Dans celui situé dans l’est de la capitale, Reykjavik, la file d’attente aux caisses s’étend jusque dans la rue. Vendredi à l’heure du déjeuner, il ne restait plus de place de parking et les employés bataillaient pour satisfaire les clients.

“C’est ma dernière chance d’avoir un vrai Big Mac pour un moment”, a déclaré à Reuters Siggi, vendeur de 28 ans.

“Vu comment va l’économie, je ne vais pas me rendre à l’étranger de si tôt, a-t-il ajouté. Ce n’est pas que je sois un grand amateur de McDonald’s, mais un Big Mac de temps à autre, ça change.”

Le propriétaire des trois restaurants, Jon Ogmundsson, poursuivra ses activités sous une autre enseigne lorsqu’il aura décroché le célèbre M jaune du numéro un mondial de la restauration rapide.

Il a expliqué s’être retrouvé à court de Big Mac jeudi pendant quelques heures mais dit avoir réussi à répondre à la demande, qui s’élevait ces derniers jours à 10.000 sandwichs quotidiens – plus qu’il n’en a jamais vendu.

L’Islande a été un des pays les plus affectés par la crise financière et a vu ses banques faire faillite en une semaine sous le poids de milliards de dollars de dettes.

La couronne islandaise s’est effondrée à son tour et McDonald’s a invoqué sa faiblesse, ainsi que le coût très élevé des importations de produits alimentaires, pour justifier la fermeture des restaurants.

Le groupe n’entend pas revenir sur l’île, où il ne manquera toutefois pas à tout le monde, à en croire Thora Sigurdardottir, une aide soignante de 35 ans qui a réagi à la fermeture des restaurants d’un simple: “Bon débarras.”

Omar Valdimarsson, version française Grégory Blachier

Milhares de pessoas fazem fila para último Big Mac na Islândia
Crise financeira obrigou lanchonete a fechar as portas no país

.Texto: Milhares de islandeses fizeram fila nas lanchonetes McDonald’s para comer seus últimos big macs antes que a rede de fast-food norte-americana abandone o país à meia-noite de sábado (31).

A maior empresa de fast-food do mundo disse no início desta semana que vai fechar seus três restaurantes na Islândia em 31 de outubro.

As lanchonetes ficaram lotadas desde o anúncio, com filas que chegava até as ruas. Em um dos restaurantes da capital Reykjavik, ao meio dia de sexta-feira, o estacionamento estava lotado e os funcionários trabalhavam furiosamente para atender aos pedidos.

O vendedor Reuters Siggi, de 28 anos, que esperava na fila, disse:

- Essa é minha última chance por um tempo de comer um big mac. Como está a economia, não vou viajar para o exterior em breve. Não é que eu seja um grande fã do McDonald’s, mas um big mac de vez em quando é bom para variar.

Jon Ogmundsson, que administra a franquia na Islândia, disse que continuará com as lanchonetes, mas com um nome diferente e sem os arcos dourados. Ele falou que na sexta-feira houve um momento em que os big macs acabaram.

- As vendas não subiram apenas. Elas explodiram.

Ogmundsson disse que ele conseguiu atender à demanda e está vendendo cerca de 10.000 hambúrgueres por dia – mais do que nunca.

A Islândia está sofrendo os efeitos da crise financeira desde outubro de 2008, quando seus bancos entraram em colapso no espaço de uma semana sob o peso de bilhões de dólares em dívidas.

O fechamento dos bancos abalou a confiança na economia da Islândia e derrubou sua moeda, a coroa islandesa. O McDonald’s disse que a fragilidade da coroa foi parte do motivo para sua retirada, junto com o alto custo da importação de alimentos.

O McDonald’s disse que não pensa em voltar para o país.

Copyright Thomson Reuters 2009
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Nada contra o MacDonalds, mas sim contra as gordura trans!!!

Old MacDonald again, but this time it’s not the farmer, it’s the restaurateur (I use the term loosely). Carrie had the day off work today so we went early morning shopping with Gracie and started out with breakfast at MacDonald’s. Gracie had a go at the syrup pancakes but she was really more interested in all the balloons that were there.

Wow! big letters! After two years of blogging I’ve finally discovered how to adjust the size of font. You learn something new every day.

Fred Bloggs.

“Anti-Social Behavior”; it’s a word you hear alot these days, often when referring to people with racing stripes on their trousers and who are under the delusion that it is always raining. Examples of “Anti-Social Behavior” include; throwing bricks through windows, shoplifting, destruction of property, and all sorts of thing that you hear about in the news regulary.
The thing is, it’s not “Anti-Social Behavior”, it’s crime.
I don’t care how you spin it, it’s still crime. But the gorvernment continues to look at these people and says that “It’s not these peoples fault, it’s societies.” What is society made up of? People.

In my opinion, i think that the government is trying to brag to other countries by saying “Crime is down for the 12th year running”…..But this
so-called “Anti-Social Behavior” is on the rise. I wonder why.
Could it be that crime has been re-labled “Anti-Social Behavior” in an effort to lower the numbers and make it sound nicer? Maybe.
But they say “We are combating “Anti-Social Behavior” with harsh measures, called ASBOs.” Which basically consist of the Police asking the felon to “promise s/he won’t do it again”
Now, is it just me and my cynicism, or is there a minor flaw in that plan? Wherin they just might have had their fingers crossed as they promised, or that, being not very nice, they break their promise (assuming the police bring in anti-finger crossing methods) and commit more crime “Anti-Social Behavior” and starting the cycle all over again.

Look Mr. Brown, stop pretending that all this crime isn’t happening, and do something. And Community Service dosn’t count. Ever.

Hehe, her ser du en pommes-frites beholder fra MacDonalds, brettet ut. Hva synes du det ser ut som? Her tror jeg Mac’ern har gått på en real smell !

Haha, yah dig ?

Azi trebuia sa mai iau o portie de filme romanesti, asa ca am vorbit cu buna mea prietena de la 3 ani – Andutica sa mergem la “Francesca”. Era de la 17 la Scala. Eu trebuia sa biletele.

Zis si facut, ma pregatesc eu de plecare, planuiesc totul pana la cel mai mic detaliu, ma gandesc la traseul optim pentru a ajunge in timp util la cinematograf, ma relaxez pe net, ma machiez putin, totul merge struna. Cand ma uit la ceas: 17!!! Am incurcat ora la care trebuia sa fiu la cinema cu ora de plecare de acasa. Oare mai poate fi cineva in halul asta de idiot? Sarik zice ca da, si ca se intampla de obicei cand nu esti atent atunci cand stabilesti intalnirea. Dar cum sa nu fiu atenta, ca doar eu am cautat filmul pe “Sapteseri” si eu am zis ce si cum?!?

Si asa a vazut Andutica “Francesca” singura. Eu am ajuns cam la 45 de minute de cand a inceput filmul, numai ca tipa de la bilete n-a vrut sa ma mai lase sa intru. Eu tineam mortis sa intru, asa ca sa nu am obraz gros si s-o las pe Andutica singura, ca doar era vina mea. Dar tipa de la bilete nu si nu. Cica venisem prea tarziu. Prea tarziu sa ce? Ca nu de deranjat spectatorii era vorba, ca doar sunt atatia care vin la 10 min de cand incepe filmul si fashaie punga de floricele. In fine…

Andutica zice ca nu prea i-a placut filmul, ca e cam deprimant (ce surpriza!), cam ca si alte filme romanesti, si ca mai are si final naspa. Na, eu fiind o cinefila convinsa si mai ales o mare sustinatoare a filmului romanesc, tot planuiesc sa merg. Mai trebuie doar sa-l pacalesc pe Sarik, ca la genul asta de film merge numai cu rugaminti.

Asa ca dupa esecul respectiv  m-am dus frumos cu pretenuta mea la o mica bauta, si dupa la cel mai sanatos loc unde se poate manca – MacDonald’s; ideea mea. Ma enerveaza ca mi-am luat Happy Meal si au adus astia numai jucarii urate. Alea pentru fetite, adica niste papusi nasoale din plastic, sunt complet inutile. Adica nu fac nimic. Barem jucariile de baieti sunt niste masinute gen Lego (bine, Lego e mult spus), pe care lipesti niste abtibilduri. Asa cu mi-am luat masinuta.

Mi-e dor de vremea cand la Mac aduceau jucariile alea frumoase, cred ca au trecut mai bine de 10 ani, cand erau jucariile alea “‘Furby”: din plus si cu baterii.

…Ca sa n-o mai lungesc, ziua s-a terminat cu bine.

David Davis

I give you “The Craz-E”….

Kill an Obesity-Nazi, and win a Metro

If we had really been properly awake over the last 40-odd years, then the monstrously self-regarding and wicked diet-hubris of the Enemy Classes, towards those classes of people they instinctively shrink from, and have for all eternity despised and feared, such as those who live in poverty, and the fat, and the smokers, could have been nipped in the bud.

For example: we had everything on our side: the Green Revolution was in full swing and on the side of people, and aginst hunger, starvation and socialist methods of United-Nations-managed-mass death, such as famines and “disasters”….and “terribly-bitterly-cold Upper-Jipoopooland Winters” (usually in hot places like Afghanistan.) We could have had the UN closed down in 1964 and nobody who then mattered would have noticed!

Sex on film and in public had only just been invented, and Kenneth Tynan had only just finished saying F*** on live Wireless Tele Vision, and getting lambasted for it – we could have had the media to ourselves! Just think of the fun – “BIG BRAINBOX”, a reality-TV show in which extremely clever and well-regarded libertarian-philosophy-student-wannabe-professors are marooned in a “house” for weeks, debating and disputing points of epistemology, and you have to vote out the least anti-Gramscian one each day! Their average age is about 19, they have no bodypiercings or tattoos, they’re all up at Corpus or St John’s, and they know everything….

As Frenkie Howerd would have said….”Twitter-ye not!”

Then again, the Universities were still happily small in number – and still contained people who taught only truth:  “environmental sciences, “sports-psychology-with-criminology-and-health-club-management” and “health and social care”, had not yet been even tentatively wheeled out. We could have shot all the young wierdy-beardy GramscoMarxists who’d been parachuted into the Teacher Training Colls, and still nobody’d have noticed!

We could have even shot them behind the bike-sheds, and put their bodies into the dump-bins, or whetever we had in those days. The “dustmen” could have even taken them away.

We lost our chance to kill, char-grill and eat these bloody murdering people, while they were yet few in number, timid, and relatively undangerous. Our last chance for a certain, swift and clean ideological victory probably vanished, either with the Bandung Conference, or the first Club of Rome meeting.

We lost our chance to save the world in return for practically no spent money and time, in about 1960. Or perhaps 1944: worse and less forgiveable. Chris Tame and Sean Gabb were born thirty years too late. We will have to work harder now, like Stakhanov.

EAT  A  BIG  MAC, WITH THANKS FOR Cartwright, Watt, Arkwright and Faraday, and Norman Borlaug too, AND  ENRAGE  POLLY  TOYNBEE and George Monbiot,  TODAY.

Then, chargrill them and eat them, later, when we are on our uppers due to their efforts.