McDonald's - Gripe

Maybe you are not astonished that I have a gripe about McDonald’s, but I am genuinely surprised. My annual trek to the Golden Arches satisfies my occasional urge for a Big Mac meal and my curiosity about the latest toys. The last few years have seen a swathe of bad press for the fast food giant, particularly with Morgan Spurlock’s film, Supersize Me, and Eric Schlosser’s book, Fast Food Nation, both of which I took in with avid fascination.

Two years ago, I thought the healthy changes to the menu were promising. Upon arrival at my local McDonald’s, some of the first things I saw were fresh orange juice, yogurts, carrot sticks, salads, fruit, and skimmed milk. I didn’t buy or eat any of it, because quite frankly, those items appear in my grocery basket every week. When I go to McDonald’s I want calories, fat, and sugar. Lucky me. It’s nice to get what you want.

The kids and I got one of the nutritional information sheets from under the meal deals covering our tray and had a good read through the grease spots. On this particular occasion I had a chocolate itch I’d decided to scratch with a muffin and milkshake. My elder son had a large Big Mac meal. Guess who ate the most calories? Me. Guess who ate the most fat? Me. Guess who ate the most sugar? Me again. Keeping in mind that the purpose of this outing was not to have diet food, I didn’t panic, but I was rather astounded.

On this year’s pilgrimage, I had the bizarre inclination that I’d go for the healthy option. Whenever I’d been past the Prince’s Street outlet, the posters in the window showed me photos of lovely salads, sandwiches, and the usual seasonally themed McFlurry, currently, Cadbury egg. However, between my last passing and this particular visit, a new promotion had kicked off – Monopoly.

Scanning the menu board, I saw only one salad – Crispy chicken. I may be a bit dim, but I’m food savvy enough to figure out that deep fried bits of poultry make a salad fattening. Skipping past that option, I looked for something greener. This elusive entity never materialised. The board was filled with burger meals, deli sandwich meals (more fried chicken), and more McFlurries. The preeminent promotion was the number of Monopoly tokens each meal would give you. No items were listed individually, and nothing looked remotely like a “healthy option.” The one obvious alteration I can report is that there is no such size as “super.” It stops at large.

So here’s the gripe. What if I wanted a meal that didn’t contain over half my daily allowance of sugar? What if I wanted to have a quick lunch that wouldn’t make my GP shake his head at my triglyceride levels? What if my kids were screaming for the latest Happy Meal toy and I wanted to get my lunch while simultaneously gagging their demands with burgers and fries? Does this mean I’d have to use my resolve and say no to the kids and go to a salad bar – or worse, home?

What is McDonalds doing? Two years ago I really thought they were “going healthy.” So they offer a green salad at 15 calories. How am I supposed to know this if I can’t see it on the menu? Do I have to read it on the back of my tray liner as I eat my large fries? Any why, oh why, can’t they serve food that will stay hot for more than three minutes? As a reformed hyper-speed muncher, I concentrate on eating my meals slowly. As it turns out, I prefer hot over properly chewed. I thought McDonald’s were on my side. I thought they were on the side of everyone who identifies with Ronald, but who hates being super-sized.

Maybe I thought wrong. Or maybe McDonald’s has stopped succumbing to political pressure from the nutrition Nazis and has begun to re-examine the bottom line. If no one is buying the salads, the yogurt, or the carrot sticks, they have to be fiscally prudent and put the fries back at the forefront of the menu. What does this say about the consumer? Do we have a deep seeded desire to be fat? Do we like high cholesterol? Are we secret fans of spots? Or, is everyone like me and uses the golden arches as an occasional refuge from a healthy lifestyle? Are we saying let us eat chicken nuggets?

I am so fast food confused. Perhaps I’ll have to wait until McDonald's has sorted out its identity crisis before I decide to cross the threshold again. If you are the least bit concerned about what eating that deli sandwich meal means to your bottom line, read your tray liner and have the tissues ready. Undoubtedly, my best bet is to stick to my original strategy and go for the bacon double cheeseburger every twelve months. That can’t be bad for me once a year. Can it?

Radio Competitions - Gold Star

Don’t eliminate yourself. Let them eliminate you. Thank you to my high school Chemistry teacher for this invaluable lesson. Of course, he was referring to scholarships, bursaries, university programs, that sort of thing. However, I have universally applied this principle to great effect across my life, the most exciting results emerging from the world of radio competitions.

Radio contests are a rather new phenomenon in my life. Last year, I got an upgrade on my mobile and the new one has an fm radio. As a two-hour a day bus commuter, a radio-phone has been my ticket to maintaining my sanity as well as to padding my lifestyle. I can simultaneously block out the back-seaters and win free stuff. Really, this phone has changed my life. (That’s a bit sad when I read it back, but true, so I’ll leave it.)

Now, if you’ve been following these posts, you’ll know that I listen to xfm Scotland, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have similar success with your favourite local station. Most people have the idea that they never win anything, thus self-fulfilling the prophecy of never winning. Defeated from the start, they don’t enter. Here’s the beauty, though: someone’s got to win. Why shouldn’t you be that someone?

Some may say it’s foolish to give out the secret to my success, but I can tell you honestly, this is no big secret. It’s just about probability. Keeping in mind that most listeners won’t enter, I know that my odds are pretty high for each competition, particularly compared to the odds of winning at bingo, the slots, a bet on a horse, or the lottery (but I still buy tickets for that). In my two hours, I enter every single competition aired: every one, without fail. Sometimes I’m required to phone in and can’t get through because it’s prime time or the prize is really alluring. Otherwise, if there’s a contest on xfm, I’m in. Maybe there’s more to that OCD theory than I thought.

What does this cost? It costs nothing if the way to enter is by calling the free phone number, 25 pence if I have to text. What are the rewards? Thus far, I’ve won Cd's, t-shirts, cash, events tickets, and just this week, a trip for two to a music festival in Austria. (We go next week, so look for a post on that. I’m anticipating a gold star, but will keep an open mind.) Could I have afforded this holiday without the win? No. Does this enhance my life? Yes. Yes. Yes.

Again taking a universal approach, look around you and you’ll find all sorts of opportunities to enter contests for free. Most people ignore the fliers, adverts, or posters in your favourite newspapers, magazines, chain stores, and petrol stations. The list goes on. You could pay a subscription for a service that will email you this list, or you could just pay attention and find the contests yourself. Better yet, turn on the radio, get your mobile phone ready (be safe and legal if driving), listen up, and stop eliminating yourself. You could be the next winner.

Post a comment when you are.

Alarm Clock, by the Rumble Strips - Gripe

I have seen The Rumble Strips play live and to be fair, they are highly entertaining performers to watch, dynamic, kinetic, engaging, different. This unfortunately doesn’t translate well into an enjoyable aural experience. Maybe it’s too kinetic, too different, for my delicate auditory processing system to decipher. Maybe this is a case of Emperor’s new clothes. Or maybe everyone else sees something that is invisible to me alone.

Currently, the single Alarm Clock, from the album of the same name, is getting a lot of prime airtime on the radio. Well, I say the radio, but I really only listen to one radio station, so I can’t comment on the airwaves as a collective. This song is the only item on the play list that makes me want to switch stations. I never switch stations. Call it OCD. Call it blind loyalty. Call it good taste, but I listen exclusively to xfm, unless I accidentally hit the keypad on my mobile. (In the interest of crisis aversion, I’ve worked out how to get it back with the touch of just one button.)

When Alarm Clock comes on, I’m forced take out my earphones, which means I have to hear what is going on at the back of the bus. If I use my cover the ears and hum technique, the punters at the back might take notice and throw bits of detritus from the floor at me. So you can see what a genuine problem this is.

I am not sure what Alarm Clock reminds me of, but I know it’s not another Rumble Strips song. The best analogy I can draw is some seventies kids’ show meets rabid brass band. Don’t get me wrong, I like seventies kids’ shows and I can tolerate brass bands, if you take out the rabid part. The combination of the two, however, makes my ears bleed. Maybe it’s the June, moon, spoon lyrics; “Beep, beep, beep. Get on your feet.” I stopped expecting this brand of lyricism in songs when I stopped watching Barney with the kids. Certainly the gratuitous “Whoa-nos” of the chorus are too long and too wailing for my liking. I honestly think Chris Waller has a good voice, but this song is not the best showcase of his talent. There's also just a bit too much going on with the accompaniment to let me relax while listening. I get it; alarm clocks are meant to be annoying and jarring, but that doesn't mean I like those qualities blaring out of my radio every hour.

The Rumble Strips is a cool name for a band, really cool. So, why have this juvenile sounding song as the first single and the album title? This does not compute. They strive to be different, and they certainly are. They aren’t afraid to fail, and it would seem that commercially, they haven’t failed with Alarm Clock. They did fail to win me over, so I’ll not be buying the album, even if it is possible to get one with the title track burned off. However, just in case the Emperor is not in fact naked, give Alarm Clock a listen, and decide for yourself – on the radio first of course.

Sunshine - Gold Star (no pun intended)

Had my boyfriend not won tickets to the Edinburgh premiere of Sunshine, I would never have gone to see this film. I would have missed out. The title didn’t grab me, and the trailers made me think of American rah-rah movies like Independence Day and Armageddon. Sunshine is nothing like either of those films, which could be because the screenwriter, director, and producer are British. More likely, it’s because the talents of these three insist on and dictate something much better.

The premiere held at Cineworld Fountainpark in Edinburgh, hosted by xfm Scotland’s Dominik Diamond, included a question and answer period with Danny Boyle, the film’s director and Andrew MacDonald, the producer. Diamond prepared us for a stunningly visual film with “moments of genuine horror.” That last word made me look desperately at my partner and then for the exit. I do not do horror. Not if I want to sleep with the lights off. There was no way to make a graceful exit, so I stayed put in my seat and sat on my hands, telling myself if it came down to it, I could shut my eyes, cover my ears, and hum softly.


During the Q and A, Boyle said he likes to create a physical response in the viewer. If he gets a kick out of this and would enjoy his films more to observe it, all he has to do is sit next to me. My repertoire of film watching behaviour includes loudly taking the Lord’s name in vain, jerking my knees up to my chin, clawing my seatmate’s arm (even if it is a stranger), and hitting myself in the face. The last has convinced me to wear contacts to the cinema.

Anyone else with shot nerves should definitely go see Sunshine, but don’t hold a large cola, anyone’s hand, or sharp objects. The tension culminates once or twice into the inevitable “something jumping out at you” scene. Usually, I hate this, and I can’t say I loved it about Sunshine, but it made sense in respect to the film, so I give these scenes my timid approval. I didn’t have to resort to the humming technique, but that is not to say I was never genuinely horrified.

Visually, Sunshine is not only terrifying, it’s epic. Creating the sun itself was a feat of mammoth proportions made possible by CGI. Sometimes I find this can look contrived in a film, but in Sunshine, it’s entirely believable. Boyle warned the viewers that sitting in the front may be uncomfortable, and he did not lie. Even from the rear of the cinema, I felt myself pulling away from the intensity of the sun on screen. The contrasts between the fire of the sun and the black void in which it, and we, exist highlight the contrasts in the story itself. Life versus death, individuals versus the collective, man versus nature, light versus dark, hope versus futility, it’s all there. Yes, Sunshine is an action film, but it is also a great deal more.

The cast of Sunshine are superb. Many times in the story line, the opportunity for grossly over-acted, schmaltzy performances presents itself. The fact that no cast member took it must be the result of a symbiosis of great directing and quality acting. Boyle said in the Q and A that sometimes an actor grabs the film; the director has to sit back and let the actor take it away. He pointed to two incidents in Sunshine where an actor does seize the film, but there are more. See the picture, and these moments will be obvious.

Scientifically, Sunshine is sound. Dr. Brian Cox, renowned physicist, consulted on the production. (Apparently, the young doctor is also cool and good-looking. My question, is why isn’t he on the screen? Perhaps there is already enough eye-candy for viewers of all gender and orientation.) However, while producer MacDonald points out that the premise is plausible, the dying out of the sun before its four billion year expiration date is highly unlikely, just in case you were getting worried.

To be honest, I’m not a film buff. Usually, I get fidgety in the cinema (unless I am physically assaulting myself), as my backside becomes numb and my attention wanders. However, Sunshine grabbed me, and my attention, and held onto both for one hour and forty minutes. Now that is a cinematic feat. Go see it. I’ve not spoiled one second of it for you.