Super Sized Me
After days of trying desperately to reach the minimum 10 pages for my report, I can now proudly say I have 12 - albeit the last two are full of junk and white space, but hey, I still hit the minimum! So, although I still got a ways to go, I decided to give myself a short break. No point pushing on when nothing's coming, right? Yesterday, I came home exhausted. We had this Catholic thing because it's the beginning of Lent and all (don't ask me what Lent is - all I know is it precedes Easter. Never was very good in religion class), and I was out with my family in Ayutthaya all day. That's where my dad's brood hails from; they have this house right on the Chao Phraya river and we get together there every year to eat massive amounts of food (including a whole suckling pig), then conk out playing cards (nothing involving money), drinking (not for me) or napping. Anyhow, I stayed there until like five in the evening, coz darn, does my dad's family likes to talk and on the way back, my brother wanted to stop for noodles - so we ended up getting back at almost seven. Plus, I was severely wiped out from all that eating and all that napping. I barely cranked out a page before I called it quits and was just about to go to bed when I walked past the TV and saw that the documentary Super Size Me was on. Needless to say, with my love for McDonalds firmly in hand and the fact that I had just consumed 25% of a pig, I sat down and watched it. It was a nice piece of anti-fast food propaganda, but I grant it has some merits. I've always had a love/hate relationship with food - leaning mostly towards "love". Hey, I know there's some sorta psychobabble out there about how food is an anti-depressant or a substitute for love or the binky I had to give up when I was two, and you know what, as a fat person I say - IT'S A CROCK! Maybe it really is some kinda drug or friend to some people, but you know what I love about food? It tastes good! Duh. I like to chew. I like the taste of chips and fries and roast chicken. When I was a kid, I lived right across the street from McDonalds and it was like a second, yummy home to me. I learned how to cook because I wanted to make my favorites the way I like them. At one point, I bought so much ice cream, the Nestle man knew my name. Seriously. And in all that time, you know what I was thinking? YUM! Do I know that peanut butter and bacon is bad for me? Well, duh. You know what the impetus of the movie was? These two dumb girls sued McDonalds for making them fat. Uh, no, you made yourself fat because you like to eat! McDonalds is a freaking corporation, they don't give a hoot about your health. They just want to lure you back with cheap, delicious food and in that sense, they're successful. You're the dumbass for letting them, and you're an even bigger dumbass for somehow thinking it's their fault. Grow up. As a fellow fat girl, I say shame on you. Take some responsibility for your own habits. I like to eat, ergo, I am fat. It's a cause and effect situation. I can make myself and others crazy trying to find someone or something else to blame, but in the end, all fat people have choices. It's hard, I get that, of course it is, but you have to take a long, hard look at yourself and I think, do I want more of that? Or do I stop? If you choose the former, live with the consequences.
Final thought: Pass me the cheese.