I was watching a show

I was watching a show on Food Network called “Ham on the Street,” where this guy Ham runs around talking to people and doing food-related things. It’s very funny. On this episode, he had a bunch of ostrich eggs that he was trying to get this cook at a diner to prepare sunny side up. But every time the cook cracked the egg, banging it against the grill with enough force to penetrate the thick shell, he would break the yolk. Determined to open the egg without harming the yolk, Ham took the egg to a hardware store manned by a buddy of his. Before figuring out they had to saw the shell delicately, they tried a few things that didn’t work. One of these techniques involved drilling two holes in either end of the egg, holding it over a basin, and attaching an industrial pump (in reverse) to the top hole. “Gently now…” said Ham as he steadied the egg. “I don’t think that’s a possibility,” said the hardware guy and flipped the switch. The contents of the egg came bursting through the other end, obliterating the yolk and emptying the insides in about half a second.

It was almost midnight. I’d been on the computer or watching television or movies almost the entire day. “That,” I said to J, “is exactly what has happened to my brain today.”

I put myself on a television-ban the next day, which lasted all the way until “The Bachelor in Paris” came on and I watched two hours of it in row. I don’t even like this show! At least the first couple shows of the season are still full of the crazies, which are always fun to watch. That’s my whole excuse: crazy people are entertaining. This is also my excuse for watching two hours of “American Idol” last night. I did cut it with some “Scrubs,” because by the third set of singing siblings, even bad singing starts to sound bad.

I’m still on track for reading a book a week (I know it’s only the third week, shut up), but my question is: when do I read my New Yorkers? Do so many New Yorkers count as a book?

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