Lileks and Atkins

I wrote everything at home – a rare five-column day, alas – and ventured out only to go the grocery store, where I confronted the fact that I am fargin' sick of Atkins, and want a stack of pancakes about seventeen miles high. Also caramel rolls and cinnamon buns and burritos with warm soft tortillas and all the other things I forbid myself in order to maintain a trim physique in case I should be required, by some sort of public referendum, to walk around naked all the time. When it's two.