It's blood simple: we are a nation of danged voyuers.

Doing a date of your own is o-kay, but watching some other goat-roper go on your Date From Hell is a whole lot better. And don't you want to know what that spandex-clad ho' down the block is like when she's out on date instead of runnin' by your house in the morning? And don't say "Nope." because I'll know you're lyin'.

Otherwise, that there "Bachelor" show wouldn't have gone off the charts when it had its debut in March, Pilgrims. Why did all us millions of Americans, inside and outside of the durned trailer park, wait to see how that dude would treat them 20+ mames.

I miss them danged "thought balloons" that make me and Buford laugh our asses off over a couplah longnecks during "Blind Date", though. Which leads me to wonderin' how many of us imagine ourselves on that danged TV show while we are watching it? Vicarious.

After the lame host, Roger Lodge, does his spiel on this here show, you ask yourself: "Roger Lodge? Who has a name like that?"

Then you become the deer-in-the-headlights, as they trot out the datees to tell you why they are unique individuals.

"I think I'm the kind of person who doesn't want to play games. I challenge the people around me. But I like to have fun, too! Don't get me wrong." "I'm a playah. Don't hate me for that. I want a woman who isn't afraid to let her freak out. Either it's on or she's click-click-click--- GONE!"

I am so inspired, aren't you?

ON WITH THE SHOW: They give a lot of them contestants the same durned silver SUV to ride in on their dates! I cain't be the only person who notices that. What I gottah wonder about that, y'all, is what if Tyrone showed up in his Honda Civic or Wilhelm arrived in his pickup? Would Miss "I'm a Upwardly Mobile Princess" come trottin' out of her apartment so willingly? Then I go into one of Tom's Twilight Zone Moments:

I imagine myself watchin' this danged TV show in some hovel in Iraq, or a high-rise in Singapore, or a channel on Russian television over satellite. This show is America, as far as I'm concerned, and everybody is riding around in couches on wheels and wearing good clothes and suckin' down cocktails and only talkin' about havin' jobs. But I ain't seen anyone lift a finger. It's all about the Booty. They don't have to worry one whit about SURVIVAL. They are all about frontin'. So, if I'm that person watching the simulated America broadcast via satellite, I think that life is America is just a play-toy kindah existence of airheaded folks more concerned with getting a hot date than anything else. No wonder they have a danged illiterate in teh White House and spend all they time finding the 'perfect match."

But you don't have to live in a foreign country to have this kind of thang get in your gorge, do ya? Hell, you could live in the projects of any major city in the land of E Pluribus Unum and feel this same kind of resentment, too. You look at the life projected on the Boob Tube and then look at the sorry-excuses-for-lives right out your durned window and you just might get a little upset.

Wouldn't it be nice if they only durned thing you had to worry about was whether Alex liked your hair tonight or not?

The common thread runnin' through these shows, of course, is that now, if you're a member of what used to be called Generation X, you have entered that last rung of the marriage pool - your early thirties. The party is over, Dudes and Dudetteskis. Now its about danged time you landed a Significant Other if you missed or avoided the first couple of rounds of the mating dance. You ain't gettin' any younger, former Slacker, yesteryear's Mall Rat. And the pickin's, if you go by the message of these "reality" dating game shows, are gettin' a bit a thin.

You don't wannah end up looking for some Russky mail-order bride, do you?

Here in America, there are three (mebbe four) times in your life when all of your friends, your family and the whole world seems to be conspiring toward the purpose of having you tie the knot. The first is right after high school graduation. The family pressure isn't on then, but there sure seem to be a lot of high school gals, without the smarts or wherewithal to go on to college, who figure this is about as good a time as any to snag themselves a man. If you're one of the guys who ain't goin' to college either, for the same reasons, you are a prime target for this kindah gal. The next time is right after college graduation. For both sexes. That's when you're supposed to be "embarking on the road of life" anyways. So both guys and gals are lookin' for somebody to share the journey along with them and help pay the rent on their first real apartments. This is a scary time, with heavy "I'm an adult and on my own at last! Bring it on world!" vibes in the air thicker than the fumes from that passing bus on the corner. Lots of folks are doin' it, and you just might feel, "What's wrong with me that I ain't?" Seems like every other month you're invited to somebody's wedding. This here gettin' hitched phase lasts until you're about twenty-six or so. Then thangs lighten up for a few years.

Then WHAM-O! you are in that dreaded OVER THIRTY category. There are all sorts of reasons to feel like you are inadequate -- among them that you're not workin' a primo job like you mightah planned, your alumni newsletter (if you get one) is always pointin' out how other people your age are makin' bank as corporate lawyers, or day traders, or CEOs of some fast-lane Internet start-up, or they's appearin' daily on "The Young and The Restless." And what you doin', Tyrone? Let's just put it this way: you spend a lot of your time repeatin' the new mantra: "May I help you?"

And all your ole buds and girlfriends? You don't see much of them anymore since they got married.

"It's your Mom on the phone, Dude. She wants to know if you've found a serious girlfriend yet."

OR, after getting the hairy eye, your cousin Trudy is saying: "Jennifer, now that you've got a good job and you've decided where to live, don't you think it's about time you found yourself a good man? That biological clock is not just an urban legend, you know. If you wait much longer, you risk all kinds of complications for your first child."

A lottah women I know have this here thought balloon over their heads at this point that reads: "Aack! My first child! I'm only 31! What's the rush?"

So, consciously or not, a lot of us are watchin' "Blind Date" and all them other shows thinkin' to ourselves: "Hmmn. She's hot. I could see her as marriage material." Or, if you're a woman: "What a loser! I wouldn't go out with him if they did pay me!" END RESULT: A lot of the people we are dating start to look a whole lot better.

Mebbe, that's part of the point of them shows, Sanitation Engineers. Just thinking out loud here.

In the midst of all this matchmaking frenzy, of course, there are thangs we don't have to think about. For example:

1. How long will it be before I've paid off my college loan?
2. Why is it we've been led to believe that it's "normal" that everydurnbody be married?
3. Is it really my God-given Right to bear children or should I think about issues like over-population before supplying grandchildren for my parent(s) to babysit?

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