McCafe? in Wolcott NY

I am sitting in a McDonald’s deep in the farm country of western New York State — surfing the Web. What is the world coming to? I am sipping an all fruit smoothie for Christ’s sake. A steel framed Ikea-inspired light hangs over the table. In this poor Upstate village, surrounded by farms and orchards, the McDonald’s is not what it used to be. They even have newspapers. It’s like Starbucks got a hold of the share holders and told them to clean up the place. And they kicked Ronald off the premises. And the Fry Guys too.

“McCafe” (I know, it hurts) is what they call the place, and I guess this means that this fast food joint has joined the 21st century. But I don’t know what to feel about this move. Should I be happy, revolted or just confused? I mean, serving salads was one thing, but smoothies?

Look McDonald’s, these half assed attempts at making yourself appear like the health spa you will never be are trying. You serve fast food. As far as I can remember, fast food is not meant to be good for you. You serve fatty, fried things that make people fat and clog arteries. You make the heart attack possible. You are the godfather of obesity. I don’t want you to be anything else. If all of this world’s bad things all of a sudden turned good, where would we be? Christianity without the Devil? God without sin? The world without McDonald’s? Who will the Europeans hate then? Don’t try to be some weird hybrid McDonald’s. Soon this venerated fast food establishment – the original – will give back rubs and facials along with milk shakes and fries. This is one step too far. And it is just one sign of this society’s decadence and ensuing collapse. Of this I am convinced.

And then, and then… they are playing fucking Bonnie Raitt. Have a Heart McDonald’s. Have a heart.

 

Redondo Beach

WE WAIT IN PREPARATION      

 

 Tim’s parent’s stucco house sits above town, looking west towards the ocean. From its perch on a hill, you can view much of the coast. South a few miles, the headlands of Palos Verdes rise up behind the haze. Besides the ocean and hills, an old power plant is the most prominent feature of the landscape.  Its five towers squat like some misplaced rust-belt factory right in front of the beach.  High tension electrical wires run away from the power plant  inland. And beneath the wires, curiously, are beds of flowers and nurseries. This swath of green goes on for blocks. 

The town, for its part, is mostly strip malls, stucco McMansions and the beach. The place feels like it was once a quiet beach get-away. Then, one day, it was invaded by builders and developers; turn-of-the-century beach houses that might have once sat on the beach alone, their white paint peeling, sit between newly constructed beach houses, three stories high, with glassed in porches. Down town is a block-wide strip that runs parallel with the beach. Old men in red shorts ride by slowly on their beach cruisers along the beach. Good looking girls walk here too. Tough-looking kids hang out smoking a few streets off the ocean. It looks and feels like part of the south land, which it is.

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