Do you think advertising dollars might drive TV programming?

Right you are. Boomers (76 million of 'em) have been a relatively underserved segment in TV land. 

Until now. 

With abject horror, I read that the reality show world has extended its programming into the boomer segment. The name of this show..."Sunset Daze." 

A stipulation, made by one of the new cast members, was "I don't want to come off as a lunatic senior." 

Really?

Being portrayed as part of a boozing, bawdy, band of babes and not wanting to be portrayed as a lunatic? 

Any upside? 

Probably not. 

Except, perhaps, for those who are currently cast members of the Real Housewives of Wherever franchise. They can see, in excrutiating detail, what their future looks like. 

The Mad Hatter, The Cheshire Cat, absolutely TweedleDee and Dum, I've dated them all.

And, like Alice, haven't a clue what any of those guys might have been talking about at any given time, either.   

Take for instance, the latest epistle I received. He wrote "frankly, I would not be writing you, if I felt (INF(t)P) that." Those hieroglyphics are not typos. I am certain that what he wrote was in response to something I wrote.

Nonetheless, do you have any idea what that could mean? I don't.

But I'm really shallow and he's kinda cute and a even a bit younger than me, lives too far away to actually ever meet, so why not continue down the rabbit hole?

Alice, of course, for her troubles got a piece of cake. If I play my cards right, maybe I'll get to wash mine down with an exquisite red.

Oh so very sad.

Dame Edna and Michael Feinstein couldn't pull it off. Can you imagine? Oh my, the uncoupling of an unlikely couple.

So, I ask you. 

Who came up with that idea to begin with? My quick guess is it could have been the very same person that whispered Sarah Palin into the ear of John McCain.

The thought struck me that the couple of Liza (that's Lisa with a z) and David Gest may have been the catalyst for pairing Edna and Mike. The real question there is… which one was the role model for Dame Edna?

And the beat goes on.

Calista and Harrison, Woody and Soon-Yi, Jesse James and Tiger Woods, (they've done everyone else, certainly they could easily do each other), Roger Rabbit and Jessica.

So I think that for those who are looking for their mate (soul, first or other) they can take comfort in knowing that there is absolutely no rhyme or reason as to what works.

in the bedroom?

Right. In bed. Eco friendly sex. Who knew? Reduce the carbon footprint. Save the planet one orgasm at a time.

Every imaginable device, eco date idea, recipes that work as an aphrodisiac, to name but a few, were all researched and now recommended by the intrepid authoress, Stephanie Iris Weiss. Go her.

Recently, I was passing by my local dry cleaners and saw, boldly positioned in his store window, "we are now eco friendly." I paused and thought, what could possibly be eco friendly about dry cleaning? Never thought or bothered to ask, I must admit.  

But now I will venture forth, into my local launderette, have the process explained as I will be giving them my eco friendly bamboo sheets. Of course, how those are eco friendly is equally as baffling to me. Unless the eco friendly bamboo sheets are delivered by hand to the department stores. The stores, in turn, power by candle, and use abacuses (abaci?) to add up your purchases. 

Do you think that Al Gore referenced this in his extraordinary documentary "An Inconvenient Truth"? 

Anyway, go take inventory, and dispense with of all your environmently incorrect everythings…including, if appropriate, your mate.

"And what did he say to that?" I asked, knowing this was my first mistake.

"It wasn't what he said, it was what he didn't say," she lamented.

I'll bite, I think. "Okay, what was it that you would have liked him to say?" 

Thus begins, a well thought out, highly articulate, passionately presented stream of consciousness extolling her virtues, capabilities, fashion sense and every other thing, in her lifetime, she accomplished. "He should have told me all that when I asked what he thought of me, why didn't he?"

"Right. Why didn't he?" I said. "Perhaps," I offered, "he knew he couldn't put it out there as well as you just did. I am sure, certain, convinced, absolutely and definitively clear he would have said all you wanted to hear, had he been as articulate as you."

"Ya think?" her eyes opened wide in anticipation of my nod of agreement.

"So, what did he say?"  He said, "you are a lot of fun to be with."

Right.  

Last heard, she has a new love interest. He's being reshellacked right now. It's perfect. I wish her well.

"Since I was a kid, I've always had a thing for really slender women" he stated. "But", he added as an addendum "about average is okay, too." 

And therein is the rub. What, exactly, in this instance, did he mean by about average?

Yeah, we agree. Slender. 

I've often wondered why we even bother to use the term average to describe anything. 

Average height. Average weight. Average looks. Pretty vanilla description. Unless, of course, you live in Hollywood. And are a famous thesbian. Then you'd be above average. Even if you are of average height, weight and looks. Icons, for some people, can't be average.

Average rainfall. Average snowfall. Average sunshine. Relevant info if you are planning a vacation. Unless you are visiting off season. If you aren't paying high season prices, you, they say in the brochure, get what you get. 

Average income. Average retirement age. Average mortality. And so it goes. If 60 is the new 40 does it throw actuarial charts into chaos?

But back to our hero up top. He, like all the rest of us, knows one thing for sure. Size matters. Unless of course you are about average.

I am a master at this.

When talking to people I give my undivided attention. I stare intently and deeply into their eyes. Only I know that I am taking in the surrounding area to see what else is going on. 

It's a gift.

Except, of course, when I am alone and walking down the street. My reflection appears out of the corner of my eye. "Who is that woman" I wonder? This full on, side view, is clearly not a good angle for anyone. Have you ever seen your favorite celeb from a side view only? Never. You get the 3/4 turn, gazing knowingly over one shoulder, a full back view, a full front view, but as I said, never profile only. Glad that's settled.

I've attended cocktail parties, art gallery openings, reunions, where there is, oh no, a clear sense that I might possibly have to yield my title of 'master of peripheral vision'. 

But, I can exhale, knowing that the true title only belongs to the person who can effortlessly effect the extrication maneuver. 

"Need a refill?" so banal. "Have to take this call," somewhat better. "I've loved you from afar" might do it, as they back away, leaving you to find your way to another group. "I knew you in a former life" works best.

But when I am talking to you, I can assure you, that you will have my undivided attention. 

I'm now thinking of taking lassoing lessons. 

Really.

Here's why.  I've decided that since I've undoubtedly exhausted perusing and pursuing the East Coast's middle aged male population I might as well move points West. 

Other than Yosemite Sam I can't think of a cowboy I haven't liked. Well, maybe I was a tad suspect of the Lone Ranger and Gene Autry, but basically the rest of them seem to be a pretty hunky, rugged group of guys. Roping, rustling, branding, what could be bad? And, do you think that there will be a cowboy, anytime soon, who having solidified the title of 'best rodeo rider ever ever' with corporate endorsements a plenty, will take his turn in the hay with every 'purty lil' thing' that sashays forth? And be contrite afterward? No siree bob.

But, I see a few obstacles.

Getting on a horse, for one. My height challenges extend to anything higher than a bench. I see this as somewhat problematic. Plus, I love having long endless, meandering, deeply involved, totally over the top conversations about just about anything. Yup and nope, I'm concerned, won't cut it. Plus I'd have to learn the two step, wouldn't I? 

I probably have some fringed vests tucked away somewhere, cowboy boots and a straw cowboy hat that, for a brief and fleeting moment, I thought might look good on the beach. All three of these looks didn't work for me the first go around, why would I think that they'd work now?

Finally, if Tom Robbins says that "Even Cowgirls Get The Blues" then maybe I should really rethink this.

Think I'll git along now. Yippee ki-ya. 

The title of the latest make you feel better about how you have screwed up your potential mating selection/mate choices, is called "Marry Him The Case For Mr. Good Enough.  Darkly comedic is how the author, Lori Gottlieb, is described. My favorite flavor. So I might even pick up a copy. 

I guess one word of caution is necessary right now.

If you are currently dating, "Mr. Marginally Acceptable, but what the hell it could be my last hurrah date" remember to slip your copy of your book into your night table just in case a bedroom romp might actually occur. An aphrodisiac, I would imagine, it's not.

Alrighty then.

How does one actually move from the desired IDEAL to just O.K.? 

The same way, I suspect, that one looks at taking a job. I mean really, you interview, what 3 times, meet the one person you are going to spend most of your time with, a few others (think about those folk as the in-laws) and boom, you sign on for an indefinite run. Not so complicated. 

Here's another thought I proposed once. It was called admitting to flaws which seems to me to work perfectly well. The male, in this instance, not only gets to tell what he perceives to be his disadvantages he might ultimately win out by evoking the most self aware award. A definite turn on for most females.

So, it appears, the moral of Ms. Gottlieb's story is not to lower your standards, just change them. Of course, Mr. Marginally Acceptable hasn't gotten the memo that he is considered a tier two. Ask any terrific female who has sent off a note to her "changed criteria" online hopeful, knowing that she heeded Ms. Gottlieb's advice, and then failed to receive a response. 

Anyhow, it seems to me that it is back to shopping at Loehman's ladies. Still searching out the Armani, but content to go home with a comfy, easy to wear, makes you feel good, basic.

Somewhere I read, can't remember where, this little ditty about dating. "When in your 20's you come into a relationship with a thimbleful of experiences. True. Approaching a relationship when middle aged you are schlepping a steamer trunk behind you."

So then, when the meet and greet happens at this decidedly encumbered point in life, the tales begin with…

The marriages had, the progeny produced, the career moves made, the houses bought and sold.

The therapists seen, the new age experiences tried, the substances used, abused, discontinued, the religious affiliations connected with, disconnected with and reconnected with again. 

The travels taken, the theater seen, the movies adored, the books read, the friends made.

The dreams realized, the hopes dashed, the fantasies kept alive. 

But for me, I think that the real deep dive into this new find your honey, baby place gets played out in the body inventory part. No guile nor editorializing. Up close and personal.

What's been removed, replaced, repaired or reconfigured?