"She said, a triscuit - a biscuit."

You know that movie Big? The one where some kid goes to sleep one night and then, through some impossible feat of quantum physics, wakes up as Tom Hanks? Yeah, that one. There's a scene somewhere in this movie where Josh (played by Hanks) and his best friend Billy are sitting on the floor of this flea-bag hotel, surrounded by enough junk food to kill a small elephant, and you know that if either of them eat one more thing -- anything -- they will explode (and since the laws of physics have already been thrown out the window in their situation, I would think caution would be the order of the day). Trust me, there's a point to this.

If you're a loyal reader (or you know me in real life) then you know that since Easter I have been on the South Beach Diet (as has one of my roommates, Erik). And in that tumultuous time many people have had to put up with me refusing food (because it contained sugar or was born of enriched flour), or forcing the group to hit South Beach friendly restaurants when eating out, and then there was the complete lack of decent pop, milk, or beer at Sobingro (my deepest apologies to all of my guests and our roommate John -- who had to live with Erik and me through all of this...how we all made it through unscathed is quite a testament to the existence of miracles). For the record, in my month of grueling self-discipline, I lost 15 lbs. and got back to my college weight (as was the goal). So I'm in that transition bit of the diet, moving onto and through "Phase III". Exciting, I know, but try to contain yourself.

In celebration of sticking to the diet for one month (as well as reaching goals and each losing 15 lbs. or more), Erik and I did what any person would do after completely altering their eating habits for the better and shedding some weight...we went out and ate ourselves sick.

Well what did you expect? We're not exactly the poster children for nutrition (even with the South Beach it's still sketch).

Wasn't as bad as the scene in Big, and in fact, to most, I had a very sensible meal. Erik, Laila, John, Mary, and me all hit Ruby Tuesday for the most amazing salad bar one could hope for (I don't know what those croutons are made of, but Heaven might be involved). I also slammed on a medium-cooked sirloin, some broccoli, and a baked potato. For his part, I think Erik had a burger of some type and a side of fries. Now you're probably wondering where the eating ourselves sick comes in. Fair question.

Two words: Chocolate Tallcake.

Merciful Zeus - that's a dessert (though John and Mary would be quick to argue that the Strawberry Tallcake makes the Chocolate one taste like...well, it's not appetizing how they describe it). For those who might be heading to this fine dining establishment, here's the Google on this exquisite confection: Layered chocolate cake and chocolate mousse made with OREO cookies, drenched in caramel and chocolate sauce, topped with rich vanilla Blue Bell Ice Cream and mounds of whipped cream.

And it's served in a frikkin' goblet.

It wasn't until we got home that I realized I was in some serious hurt. Those goblets? Not small. And after a month of eating less, watching the calories, and tightening the belt, my stomach wasn't prepared for the amount of food I decided to tackle. If this had been that scene in Big, and I didn't have the laws of physics protecting me, I would have exploded. Heck, who knows, maybe another morsel and KABOOM, the restaurant staff would have had the mother of all clean-ups on their hands. If I had exploded, I wonder if my friends would have got their dinners on the house. What? I bet they would've.

Giving up those things which I love to eat (like Chocolate Tallcakes) only leads to very bad things, like getting home from a splurge and feeling awful. Maybe it was the sugar shock or my body's reaction to the now foreign goodness of whipped cream, but that night -- pain. Lots of pain. Too much food, too fast, and boom -- food hangover.

Dieting in the United States is such a funny thing. I wonder if it's such a annoying way of life in other countries. I doubt it. It seems to me (and mind you, my travels of the globe are limited and sheltered, so I'm just talkin' here) that in other countries, the word diet is simply that -- a word. It's the daily norm -- how one eats. Here, it's almost a stigma. No one likes dieting. It evokes notions of starving oneself, eating tofu, and never again experiencing the wonder that is sugar ("Mmm....pure cane....they bring it over in boats"). And oddly enough, that's why I started South Beach -- not to give up the things I love, but to learn to eat healthier foods that I should be eating. Vegetables. Green ones. Whole grains. Things that lower cholesterol and keep my blood flowing freely through my arteries. The idea behind my sudden leap onto the bandwagon that is South Beach was to effectively change my eating habits, which consisted of more than my share of fast food and junk. Remember what I said in Brave New World? "Hi, my name is Sony and I'm an unhealthy eater. Hopefully from here on out, that will no longer be true." I think I've suceeded at that goal.

But it's here that I must make it known: As much as I want to be healthy, I will not give up those foods which I hold dear. Banana Splits. Chocolate Cake. Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pies. Fudge Rounds. Swiss Cake Rolls. Edy's Girl Scout Thin Mint Ice Cream. Here is where I draw the line in the sugar.

I'm all for healthy eating. Keeping fit and trim is my goal, that's on the level. Bring on the V8, the whole grain bread with three grams or more of fiber per slice, the lean meats and the salads. I can handle it. But I shall also have my desserts. As we passed the one month mark on South Beach, I realized that by Erik and I denying ourselves these occasional sweet indulgences, we're only leading ourselves down a path of irreversible splurging that will end with the both of us victims of our own diets, rotting on the floor of some seedy New York hotel, surrounded by enough junk food to take down a large elephant while the detective and coroner fend off the news cameras from the gluttonous scene.

I guess if that's how you're going to go, a Chocolate Tallcake isn't a bad way to say goodnight.