So, how did you meet?

I know this post is entirely overdue, but I still rave about this over a week later. I was watching TV unassumingly a few Mondays back, celebrating the long-awaited return of Heroes to NBC's Monday night lineup, and at ten o'clock I shut the TV off. As you know, I'm not one to watch television just for the sake of watching.

Ten minutes later my phone rings and my friend says "Turn on the TV to channel seven. I'll call you at eleven when this show is over."

Naturally, you can't resist that kind of temptation, so I did as I was instructed. It was then that I first discovered what might be the greatest breakthrough in both network television as well as in American dating in the history of network television and American dating.

I was watching Conveyor Belt of Love.

The beauty of this show, outside of the speedo guy with the lap dog,

was the fact that it gives EXACTLY what it promises. Men go by on a conveyor belt, girls sit there with little paddles indicating if they're either interested or not interested, much like an auction. But rather than a constant stream of beefcakes who look like they're on break from ASU, there are a bunch of freaks. There's the fat guy with the really respectable Chris Farley impression. There's speedo guy. There's a magician who calls himself "The Filipino Chris Angel". There's nunchuck guy who also won't stop dancing. There's the ukelele guy who, it turns out, did gay porn. There's the weird nature boy who may or may not have B.O. There's sleazy investment banker-looking guy who desperately argues his case that he's deserving of a date. I could go on. I'm not alone - Zap2It published a blog about the wonderful lessons one can glean from this wonderful broadcast experience.

This is what our society has come to. Men on a conveyor belt. You know what's worse? It's still one of the best reality shows I've ever seen. I'd watch it a thousand times before considering watching American Idol. Maybe it's that people romantically humiliating themselves is more interesting than people humiliating themselves because they think they have talent.

This great revelation in television came at an interesting time. For some reason, a handful of the females I associate with (mostly co-workers) have been talking at length about their fear of dying alone amidst a crowd of fifty cats and stacks of old newspaper. This kind of thought process always fascinates me. I know it's got to be part of female body chemistry and hormones and all that jazz, but I can't for the life of me think of any man who, especially before the age of thirty, says "oh no, I'm going to die unwed with an excessive amount of pets." Yes, I know the stereotype of the "cat lady" is something that strikes fear into most every single unattached woman above 25 or so.

And yes, I know there was that episode of Sex & the City where Miranda was afraid she was going to die alone in her apartment and her cat was going to eat her face off (don't ask why I know it, I'm just well-rounded), but still, it seems odd to me the frequency with which females seem to express this concern. Stranger still that they would express it to me, who has been famously single for almost as far back as anyone can remember. I don't really have any insights into what to tell these women, but I'm just curious if any of you who happen to stumble across this blog might be able to shed some light on the issue? Do we, as a culture, preach fear to women if they aren't well on their way to marriage by their early-to-mid twenties? As someone whose mom didn't marry until forty, it's pretty foreign to me, so maybe you all can help me out.