Anyone who has tried it knows it can be a unique form of un-fun. You start with a shiny optimism which you later recall with hollow mirth, as you become hardened to the God-awful chore of yet another "date" of jaw-dropping hideousness, later to provide grist to the entertainment mill for convulsed friends.
Salon.com recently posted an excerpt from my new book, 'Highs in the Low Fifties: How I Stumbled Through the Joys of Single Living.' It comes from the end of the book and describes the last date I went on before realizing that the manhunt was getting me nowhere. It was with a guy who started the evening by telling me that he was jobless, homeless, penniless and living with his mom.