Friday, January 27, 2006


While it seems quite fashionable to weigh in on the whole James Frey controversy, to proclaim that writers are cheaters, thieves, deviants and murderers, every one, instead I'd like to discuss the unrealistically extreme expectations of the South Beach Diet.

How on earth is man expected to live without the evening martini? Without the late night gorge on dates, raisin bread, peanut butter and a bottle of beer? Now, as I have said before, this girl don't diet, BUT, if I did, I'd need something that involved pills, some expensive procedure, daily massages and oodles of moisturizer, not the elimination of the necessities.

First, we ask writers not to lie, THEN we ask a bevvy of Americans not to have French Toast with powdered sugar and maple syrup for breakfast! I am hopelessly dishonest and doomed to a life of carbohydrates. I may indeed have to find my culinary and literary freedom in another country.

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