Crazy Crap Item #191: The part where Eamon and I toast the long-delayed arrival of summer

The scene: Memorial Day morning

The mood: Lackadaiscal, at best.

Our guest bedroom (where I am sleeping due to ongoing hip/shoulder/elbow aches) is graciously outfitted with a television, so as I drift into consciousness, I turn on the TV, and remain supine. Eamon joins me. I discover that there is a "Law and Order" marathon running. We comment that the day is thus well and truly shot for us.

Eamon asks how I wish to break my fast. I answer noncommittally. He suggests pancakes, waffles and the like. I wonder how such a feat will be achieved during a "Law and Order" marathon.

We realize that the episode we've just been sucked into is an expansive, gripping three-parter. Which means it will not be resolved until noon. Which opens, once again, the breakfast dilemma.

"We could move operations downstairs," Eamon suggests.

"What benefits would accrue to us?" I ask.

"To be closer to the kitchen, and be able to pause the show while I run in to flip pancakes."

This seems reasonable to me, and I am never one to turn down cakes of any kind, least of all cakes of the pan variety.

We marshall ourselves, only to have Eamon discover/realize that, through a long-neglected glitch, the channel feature "Law and Order" is not under the jurisdiction of our DVR device, and thus cannot be paused.

We moan. We wail.

I suggest that we move our electric griddle into the living room, and construct breakfast while watching the "Law and Order" triathlon. I am assured that if any such thing occured, the world would well and truly end, for we are not such trashy, low-end folk as to make breakfast in the living room just so we wouldn't miss any minute of a "Law and Order" marathon.

Personally, I find this stricture overly rigid, but after some contemplation of Lenny's witty zingers and his hot Latino partner's hot body (which they took every opportunity to display), I suggest that if we switched gears and considered the construction of French toast, this might be more manageable. French toast, you see, doesn't entail comlicated batter construction or the 1-hour resting time required for pancakes. I envisioned beating eggs, milk, sugar and vanilla at the commercial break, soaking bread during the show, adding to grill during the next commercial break, flipping them at the next commercial break, and so forth. Lengthy, cumbersome, but doable.

Eamon responded to my suggestion by noting that we had leftover French bread from a dinner party earlier in the weekend. I acknowledged that this point had occurred to me, and had figured significantly in my thought process.

With this silent assent, I retire to the kitchen to amass the fixings. During such doings, Eamon slinks into the question with a strange look on his face. Evil is too strong to describe it. Mischievous, perhaps. Impish.

I inquire what he's about. He answers not a word, but silently -- and impishly -- unplugs the griddler and begins to transport it. Wordlessly, I pack my fixings and move them to the coffee table.

Eamon sets up the griddler on the radiator, and the rest follows as one would expect, all done to the Eamon's sung refrain, "WE'RE WHITE TRASH! WE'RE WHITE TRASH."

The resulting breakfast, dubbed "Law and Order Toast," is delicious, satisfying, and media saturated. I'm instructed to never speak of it again.