Or am I?

After a week of talking about it, thinking about it, and dreaming about it, I went to McDonald's.

So what, you say?

I haven't voluntarily eaten at McDonald's in YEARS. (I say "voluntarily" because the last two times I visited my parents, they fed me McDonalds. I did not go there of my own fruition).

It's sort of one of those things that I thought was a good idea, and now it's become a silent vow that I've taken to boycott the Golden Arches and everything wrong with their food and policies.

Only this week I really wanted a Big Mac.

You know how when you get something on your mind, it starts turning up everywhere?

For instance, this week, Pulp Fiction was on cable, and I tuned in at the scene where Jules and Verne (John Travolta and Samuel L. Jackson) are discussing how the Big Mac is called Le Big Mac in France.

Then, in my English composition class, my students read an excerpt from Fast Food Nation called "Why McDonald's Fries Taste So Good."

The discussion in both classes turned to the defects of an American society dependent on fast food for sustenance, and how we try to save time by eating fast food, and with that extra time we've gained, we work longer hours. The conclusion both classes reached (without any assistance from me) was that American values are in the toilet, and this has nothing to do with violence and sex on television; it all stems, they concurred, from the dissolution of the "family dinner hour" and the resulting disconnect. It all stems from there.

Yet still I craved that Big Mac.

I even called my mother to talk about it.

"Mum, I'm really craving McDonald's . . ." I started.

"Go get a burger, then." She wasn't offering the strength to resist that I had hoped. Of course, she's the one that fed me McDonald's the last times I've eaten it. Maybe I called for permission, not strength.

"I don't even know where a McDonald's is in Portland," was my only retort. A lame one, I know. "There's a Burger King across the street-"

"It's not the same," she interjected. "McDonald's fries are better," she insisted. "Anyway, you have a phone book, don't you? You should be able to find one there. Or just go driving and look for the Golden Arches."

So today, R and I did. I had a Big Mac, fries, and a coke.

How do I feel now?

Gross. Bloated. Yucky. Tired. Blah. Regretful.

At the time, though, it was delicious.