My Personal Ad on an Internet Dating Site:

This isn’t for dating. I’m not making this profile to get dates. This profile is to audition for a nemesis or nemesises (nemesi?). As it stands, I am nemesis-less, and I feel that a man doesn’t truly rise up to meet his potential until forced to do so through competition and confrontation; Batman wouldn’t exist if there were no Joker. Without Jan Michael Vincent of Airwolf, there would be no Richard Dean Anderson of MacGyver.

About you: You are Patrick Swayze to my Keanu. Your frosted surfer shag offers little opposition to my tight black FBI regulation haircut. I will chase you through the back yards of residential neighborhoods and even catch and defend against a flying pit bull, which you will toss at my face; you are daring in your bank-robbery escapades and your exotic dancing at beach-house parties, but you are cowardly when faced with the stony cheekbones of law.

About me: Ah, the dashing hero. Within me blazes the fire of justice. Some of my means may be questionable, but the end is righteous. I am kind to children and animals. I had a rocky youth until a kindly Japanese maintenance man taught me the art of karate. At first I am the underdog, you are the venerated favorite in our chosen matches, but eventually, through a moment of introspection, I will find the determination and courage within me to defeat you. Every. Damn. Time.

Children cheer my name.

About us: There will be no walking along beaches. No kissing and wine in the rain with roses and lingerie. No. There will be no holding of hands. Unless our hands have been tied together to facilitate a dramatic feature of an otherwise mundane knife fight like in Michael Jackson’s documentary of inner-city gang youth culture, “Beat It.” There will be no chocolate unless it is poisoned in some fashion. We will not be lovers. Ever. But at one point you and I will be friends, until that is, your dastardly nature forces you to betray me. Instead of retracting from the deception and turning cold and jaded inside, I’ll keep on lovin’.

Because that’s what I do. I’m the hero.

Thursday, February 7

Jag

USA 7:00 a.m.

Becker

USA 8:00 a.m.

All right, now someone did that on purpose. Is it me, or could those two show titles be obscene with the quick rearrangement of a couple letters? Jag and Becker. Come on. Oh, I guess that is just me. God, I need a woman. I’m so lonely.

The Great White Hype

XDTV 8:00 p.m.

I can’t decide whether my new fight name will be Anthony “Shark Week” Olivieri or Anthony “Homeless Clown with a Prominent Herpe on His Lip” Olivieri. One is intimidating, sure; the ferocity and power of a week of television programming dedicated to sharks can’t be equaled. But the other is plain frightening and icky. Tough decision.

Friday, February 8

Ghost Whisperer

CBS 8:00 p.m.

So far, the list of “whisperers” includes horses, dogs, ghosts, slugs, beverages in coconut husks, chunky knit sweaters, and airline-safety pamphlets. Maybe I’m doing it wrong, but I don’t whisper to anything. I’m more of a normal talker, and when inebriated, a shouter. I am Ollie, the Drunken Underpants Shouter.

Saturday, February 9

Prehistoric Park

Animal Planet 11:00 a.m.

It’s no secret I love cavemen. Everything cavemen all the time. What they ate, how they wiped their behinds, what their version of dentistry and interior decoration encompassed; it all fascinates me. I might study cave people if I ever lose my job of sitting on the bedroom floor watching TV with my finger in my bellybutton while making fart noises with my lips.

A Charlie Brown Valentine

ABC 8:00 p.m.

Allow me to literally translate every nuance and metaphor of the Charlie Brown oeuvre. People take advantage of Charlie Brown because of his affable, try-hard-to-please nature. Physically, he is not repulsive but carries himself to be unattractive. Socially, he is ostracized because of his awkward nature. This all speaks to a shame issue with a possible body-dysmorphic disorder. Charlie will probably work with computers in the future, will experiment with homosexuality, and will eventually date, marry, and divorce someone from his office. Charlie may commit suicide or may live out his final years loveless. It’s a bleak existence, Charlie Brown.

Sunday, February 10

Free Radio

VH1 10:30 a.m.

I’m confused by the Bryan Adams/Ryan Adams issue. I keep hearing one of their names in conjunction with hip new scenes, and I think, Really? That Canadian guy who sang that song “Summer of ’69? Last thing I heard he did was the soundtrack to Robin Hood, and now he’s rootering Lindsay Lohan? He must be, like, 50. Well, good for him.

Monday, February 11

Rugby

CASD4 7:00 p.m.

CASD4 answers the question: Now that the professional football season is in break until next fall, how will we get our fill of men playfully slapping each other on the rump, embracing each other arm-in-arm, and tenderly fondling each other in the swimsuit area?

Tuesday, February 12

Sportscenter

ESPN 8:00 p.m.

Since last Sunday, I’ve had Super Bowl Fever. I’m no more interested in football than I was before the game, but now I categorize everything in Roman numerals. I have VL teddy bears, I Spider Man costume, and IV Tonka trucks. I’ve just now finished my MCMLXXVI cup of coffee, and I’m about to use the restroom for my MMMMMMMMMMMDCLXXXVII number I.

Wednesday, February 13

America’s Ballroom Challenge

PBS 8:00 p.m.

PBS attempts to capitalize on the dancing-competition craze, but it comes out a little weird and wrong, stiff and unentertaining — they’re PBS, and that’s how they do things. You can’t see it, but I’m squinting, and I’ve got my hand held up, palm down, and I’m rocking back and forth in that “they’re a little different” kind of way. Like, “eh.”

Thursday, February 14

Making the Band 4

MTV 7:30 p.m.

I’ve killed my last theoretical solo music project, Week Old Sheep Cheese, to start a new theoretical band. I don’t have a name for the band, but I’m kicking around “Bomb Selleck and the Mustaches.” I need theoretical musicians. If you’d like to be a Mustache, leave your name, number, and theoretical instrument you would play if you could play an instrument.