Unemployment does horrible things to a man. You sacrifice your dignity, your judgment is clouded, you resort to things you never thought you'd have to do. And you watch a lot of TV. Maybe all this explains why I find myself watching this man so much:

Yes, Jerry is still on, and his freak show guests are just as plentiful as ever. While the show is nowhere near as popular as it was a few years back when Jerry was trouncing Oprah in the ratings, it's still around and possibly even thriving with less media scrutiny. Yeah, I know TV Guide named it the worst show ever, but who reads that rag anyway? (Not Jerry's guests, that's for sure...)

I'm genuinely torn on whether the whole thing is uplifting or just plain depressing. On the one hand, I have to realize that no matter how bad my life may be, it can't possibly rival the depths these morons are mining; but then there's the horribly depressing knowledge that I share a planet (no, even worse: a country) with these fools. The Springer show may be the only one in history capable of eliciting horror and inflating self-esteem simultaneously. (Okay, maybe MTV Cribs.)

I won't even get into the sad fact that hoardes of women (both guests and audience) are willing to show their breasts on national television, but not to me. (Not without a pile of ones.)

My local market stopped carrying Jerry in the mid-90s, so when I moved, I discovered some new developments. The format is the same as it always has been, though they don't allow any fighting anymore (boo!), but they've added some "improvements": the SpringerCam that allows us to see the things the guests come on to talk about, and the stage manager inserts sound effects (cows mooing, a fight bell, etc.) at appropriate times. Both are equally as humiliating, as you would imagine. The audience is also a LOT more involved than they used to. They chant things so quickly that it's almost hard to believe it's spontaneous. ("Incest Whore" is a favorite.) Also, possibly since guests can't hit each other anymore and there are more audience members than security, most of the fights seem to start with an audience member goading a guest.

The truly shocking trend, though, is that Springer seems to have grown a conscience. At some point, he must have watched too much Montel and found himself with the overwhelming desire to talk some sense into these obviously senseless people. A good portion of the entertainment value from the show comes from Jerry going back and forth between the angel and devil on his shoulders, alternating between trying to reason with the guests and egging them into fights.

I've seen saw a mother chew out her son for sleeping with her daughter, another mom sleeping with her son's best friends -- and pretty much everyone else he knew -- and a man leave his (gorgeous) wife and child for a midget. And that was just one show. There's two hours of this on every day.

Disturbingly, no matter what the subject matter, there are always some common threads, and not the ones you might think:

The Most Common Defense (Overall): "She/He don't do nothin' for me." (Translation: "My husband/wife/girlfriend/poodle doesn't have sex with me as much as he/she/it used to and/or look for a job." Therefore, it's okay to cheat, apparently.)

Second Most Common Defense (Overall): "Whatever! Yew don't know me! Shut up!"

Most Common Defense for Incest: (Said to spouse) "You weren't never there for me! My brother/sister was. I love him/her!"

Related Observation(s):

• The single biggest failure in the American educational system
  is the failure to correct double negatives.



• Incest is a hell of a lot more common than I thought it
  was.

According to the Audience:

• Affairs Involving Fat People: Bad.



• Affairs Involving Hot Chicks: Good!



• Anything Involving Hot Chicks: Good!



• Hot Lesbians: Better!

The Law of Gettin' Nekkid: Female guests on the show, regardless of looks, will shed some -- if not all -- of their clothes at some point. Often they will come on elaborately dressed, awkwardly strip off those clothes, and stay that way for the remainder of the show, regardless of the topic.

The Female Audience Member Corollary: Any modestly good-looking woman in the audience who dares to ask a question in the final question and answer segment is loudly goaded by her fellow audience members into showing her breasts. Failure to do so elicits a bigger boo than anything else on the show could, up to and including incest with a mute Down's Syndrome child.

Misdirected Anger Theory: Contrary to all logic, the cuckolded spouse/significant other will be angrier at the person their spouse/S.O. was having the affair with than they are at their spouse/S.O.

The What'd He Say? Hypothesis: In a given hour, only 40% of what is said will make it past the censors.

Jerry Who?: Apparently there are still some corners of this country where Springer isn't carried, as people keep showing up on the show, oblivious to the fact that, if you're there, it can't be good. And some idiots apparently think that going on national television and confessing to incest will bring acceptance and true happiness.

Don't Bother Moving the Chair: Guests should pay close attention to the placement of the chairs when they walk out. If you arrive on stage and your spouse's chair is on the opposite side of the stage, expect trouble. If you're married and there are three (or, God forbid, more) chairs, get a divorce lawyer.

To Sum Up: I need a job.

About two years ago, I made one of the best friends I think I'll ever have. Purely by accident, which is how all of the best friendships happen I suppose. He was my editor on a website that I'd liked enough to volunteer to write for. I detected a common sensibility between us, and we used to mock other boneheads who weren't up to speed. It felt like I was on the inside for once, like I was -- not on the crest of the wave -- but in good position in the wake to watch.

I remember the exact moment I knew this was a guy that I wanted to be friends with. It was probably an hour into one of those long interstate phone calls, and he was telling me about how he convinced himself not to commit suicide. Grim, I know, but his solution was to... shave himself, but just partially, knowing that it would make him laugh every time he had to go to the bathroom. Knowing that was enough to keep him going. It may be the funniest thing I've ever heard in my life. I think it's the element of the profane and the disturbing that makes it so damned funny.

Naturally, things change. It's almost a cliche what happened here: He met a woman, and it was a whirlwind. I've seen it on so many sitcoms that it's absurd. From the first weekend he met her, it was almost an immediate change. No more phone calls, he was never on Instant Messenger anymore. His e-mails slowed to a dribble and then stopped. I was out of the loop. And I lost a lot of momentum. I know it's dumb to get your self-esteem from outside like that, but it was heartening to know that someone I considered talented considered me the same. That was really the big blow, the one that took me the longest to get over, though it's taken me until now to admit it.

He's busy now, really busy. He's got his full-time job, his night job and his new wife. E-mails barely get returned, if at all. I haven't really tried to contact him that much, simply because I know he's got more important things to do. But occasionally there's something I'm sure he'd like to hear, something that relates to something else we used to laugh about, and I give him a call. Like tonight. Unfortunately, I interrupted dinner. He'd call me right back, he said. Fair enough.

Of course, the call never came. I'm sure he got busy, I'm sure he had other pressing things on his mind. It wasn't an intentional slight, I know. But part of me just feels like the dumb kid brother anyway. I don't get the references, I don't know the backstories. I don't know the secrets, and I don't belong.

Not much to be done except move on. But it really, really fucking sucks.

I went on a psuedo-date today, with a young woman I met via Match. It was a casual thing, which is why I affix the "psuedo" prefix to the whole affair. There was no potential for even a little neckin', and I knew it. Which is fine. Frankly, I know about three people in my new hometown, and I'm just happy to get out of the house. We went to an Indian restaraunt, which was interesting. I don't recall ever eating Indian food, but it tasted vaguely familiar to me, so who knows? My memory is useless anyway.

She drove, because I have no sense of direction either. After lunch, we walked over to a municipal fountain and watched kids play in the water. It was a gorgeous day, and not a bad way to spend it. All in all, the whole thing went rather well, save two things.

The first is that I just can't crack her sense of humor. And believe me, I try. If I can't make someone at least chuckle, I'm useless, because then it becomes all I can think about. I caught her off guard a few times, but the other 90% of the material I was slinging out there fell flat. It was horrible. Even things I found hilarious (like pondering why there wasn't any beef on the menu at the restaurant) just flew right past her. And all that left us for conversation was mundane stuff like family vacations and work stories.

But the real red flag came after we'd both finished our food, and she started telling me about her other dates courtesy of Match. Nothing wrong on the surface of it, but something in her timing and the way she phrased it made it feel like there was a lot of subtext to be found. Ever since her first date, a bad experience by all accounts, she says she tries to keep it informal. She says that she just does this to meet friends, and then sees where it goes from there.

Great. I've just been dropped off in Friend Valley.

It wouldn't be a big deal if I had any idea how to get out of it. But it seems like once you enter into that area, you may as well surrender. If you start off romantically, then it's easy. Once you resign yourself to the ineffectual, harmless friend-thing, you wind up in the double bind of losing the friendship and the potential relationship if you try to cross that gulf, or remaining miserable with potential.

Not that this is anywhere near that Sophie's Choice level, but it seemed an awful lot like she was trying to say to me, "You're not what I expected, so I'm going to put this disclaimer in here to remove myself of all culpability." The timing was just too strange to ignore.

It's entirely possible that I'm being paranoid, but the fact is, either way, I'm out of the driver's seat.