Fat.

This paper I'm writing about anorexia and bulimia is overwhelming because so little research has been done on the subject and thus, so little information is available. It's depressing. Five million people suffer from the disorders in the U.S. alone. A beautiful 21-year-old Brazilian model just died of anorexia last week. But I'm sure you didn't hear about it because no one cares. Anorexia and bulimia are seen as hypochondriacal, as if the cure is shaking a pair of spindly shoulders and yelling "LOOK AT YOURSELF! YOU'RE THIN!" Unlike cancer, which, if it can even be cured at all, must be treated with greuling radiation sessions and chemotherapy, anorexia and bulimia can be solved by performing a normal everyday human function that most people look forward to: eating. The answer is within the sufferer's control--or at least it looks that way to an onlooker who doesn't understand that an apple still has sugar and lettuce still has calories. In the end, the pounds fall off, the liver swells, and public sympathy remains MIA.Curiosity led me once again to the Starbucks nutrition page. I organized and re-organized every drink by caloric content, fat (saturated and trans), cholesterol, sugars, and carbohydrates. For your information:--The drink with the most calories and sodium is the White Chocolate Frappucino Blended Creme with whip (610 cals, 420 mg)--The drink with the most fat calories, fat and cholesterol is the Eggnog Latte with whip (260 cals, 29 g, 155 mg)--The drink with the most carbohydrates and sugar is the Strawberries & Creme Frappucino Blended Creme (95 g, 83 g)(Based on grande sizes)Scary.I really don't feel like writing this paper. Luckily "South Park" is on in five minutes.

Carpet.

The most disgusting thing just happened.When did taking off your shoes at the metal detectors become mandatory again? Was it after that idiot tried to make a bomb out of toothpaste or something a few months ago?Scene: The airport security check-in. My laptop was in one of the plastic bins with my messenger bag and I was all ready to go through the detector with my 100% sheepskin Uggs 100% cotton unriveted jeans and 100% wool sweater when an anonymous fatso with a stained tie told me to take my shoes off. I said no. He laughed. I didn't. He stopped laughing. "I'm serious. Take your shoes off," he said.So gingerly, I removed the only things separating the bottoms of my freshly washed feet from the nappy raspberry carpet trampled on all day by people whose shoes touched the floors of McDonald's bathrooms, dumpsters, day care centers and Starbucks. I didn't beep. No shit.But guess what held up the x-ray readers? My shoes.There I stood for what seemed like a nightmarish eternity (about forty-five seconds in real time) balancing all my weight on the side of one foot, playing a tragic game of Don't Touch the Lava, while two ladies in hideous vests giggled behind a computer screen and pointed and gestured. Finally I put my shoes back on. Great. Just what I wanted. To put my dirty feet back in shoes that I never wear socks with so my feet will have plenty of chances to rendezvous with whatever bacterial crap is now wedged deep within the sheepskin soles. Now I'm sitting here wondering if it's worth it to run to the bathroom and rinse off my feet in the sink with some Kay Tempo. Like the sinks are any cleaner than the carpet.I miss Boston already. I have an unfinished lemon poppyseed muffin in my bag next to me and although I haven't eaten all day, I'm trying to savor it so I'll feel like I have a piece of Boston with me when I get off the plane in a few hours. I hate Thanksgiving.