Ramen, beef, Doritos, chocolate, ice cream, take-out ... finally my body said no more. And against all precedent, I found myself craving salad. Not that iceberg stuff, either -- hard core Spring Mix.

Rabbit food. Yeah, that's me, eating stuff that looks like I tore it off your neighbor's hedge. Some of these bits look like they've got thorns; never mind that, down the hatch.

This happened once before. After eating little but General Tso's Chicken for three weeks at a Scheme course at Duke's Talent Identification Program, I was getting pretty desperate for some cellulose. My professor had thrown a end-of-term party, and my classmates and I were lounging about in his living room waiting for Domino's to arrive; in the meantime, his wife had served up a large platter of green peppers, celery, and broccoli, with associated dip. Nobody was touching it.

The urge came over me. Before I really knew what I was doing, I'd consumed all the pepper and celery and was rapidly working my way through the broccoli. I was shoveling those veggies into my mouth.

My colon and I had a bit of a chat later, let me tell you.