Royally Cheesy

- And you know what they call a... a... a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?
- They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with cheese?
- No man, they got the metric system. They wouldn't know what the f*** a Quarter Pounder is.
- Then what do they call it?
- They call it a Royale with cheese.
- A Royale with cheese. What do they call a Big Mac?
- Well, a Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it le Big-Mac.
- Le Big-Mac. Ha ha ha ha. What do they call a Whopper?
- I dunno, I didn't go into Burger King.

- Vincent and Jules, Pulp Fiction

It all comes down to this. I've have succumbed to going to Mc Donald's in France, only to use their free wifi.

These past several days have been great. I've been driving around western France with my dad, getting lost in all the round-points, involuntarily listening to Bono repetitively, visiting family friends, drinking wine, and mooching off of bad American fast food joints. But now, my time in France is about to come to a close. I arrive in Denver in just a little over 48 hours. Crazy.

I hope to conclude this blog with something more creative than this lame post upon my return home. It should be something to keep me occupied until I find a job. (On that note, know anyone who's hiring?)

And yes, I've had the McRoyale with Cheese. Several times.

Note Bono: When renting a car in Paris, be sure it has a working radio antenna. Or you will be stuck listening to the left-behind U2 CD over and over again to the point where you desire nothing else but to throw it out the window and set yourself on fire.