Reality TV

To promote my book, I decided on a somewhat unconventional course -- which, by the way, has worked for others but for albums and talk show appearances -- reality TV. After spending a few weeks going to casting meetings, I was invited to be on a dating show.

So I showed up at the office at the appointed time, and after a briefing by the producers, I was taken to an apartment and pointed toward my date's door. A zaftig blonde opened it, and on our walk out, she seemed nice enough, though when we walked to the show-provided SUV ( I was to drive ) she wouldn't get in. At first, I thought she was making some sort of statement on the environment, but I heard her yelling through the glass something to the effect that she needed me to open the door. So I got out of the drivers seat to go around and open the door for her, but she had already opened it and sat down.

"Sorry, I thought you were a gentleman," she said.

The producers mentioned nothing about opening car doors, so I let her know that, but I don't think she cared. At the seafood restaurant they took us to for dinner, we started to find some common ground in that we both watched a certain TV show on Thursday nights. But then, a screaming man in a gorilla suit ran to our table and shoved all our plates to the floor before running away. I choked on my Dr. Pepper and looked at the camera crew, who were trying not to laugh. This was about when I remembered a reality show called "Gorilla Match," which is one of those joke reality shows where they have a Blind Date sort of set-up, but then a man in a gorilla suit comes over and scares the hell out of the contestants. I never thought it was that funny or entertaining. Later that night, the gorilla came back, tripped me onto the lawn next to a sidewalk, and carried my date away. Then I got to go home.

My friend Brim tried to warn me about this sort of thing, but I didn't understand him. Though I get it now, it seemed like he was trying to come on to me or sell me drugs.