Andy Cowan

"Oh, God, I'm boring you, aren't I?" Andy Cowan says for the third time in as many minutes. The former "Seinfeld" writer and self-described neurotic is talking about a new radio show he'll be cohosting on KLSX-FM (97.1), and he's just stopped midsentence with apologies about not getting enough sleep and a tendency to ramble. It's not shtick -- he's genuinely distraught that the interview isn't going well.

"Oh, God, I'm boring you, aren't I?" Andy Cowan says for the third time in as many minutes. The former "Seinfeld" writer and self-described neurotic is talking about a new radio show he'll be cohosting on KLSX-FM (97.1), and he's just stopped midsentence with apologies about not getting enough sleep and a tendency to ramble. It's not shtick -- he's genuinely distraught that the interview isn't going well.

I had this happen to me in L.A. at age 50: I invited a female acquaintance of mine for an evening at the Music Center and then afterward suggested refreshments ["Sounds Fishy: She Eats (and Eats), Yet He Pays," Jan. 11]. She ordered a steak and a full bottle of Champagne. I was stunned -- no lady in my circle of friends would ever have done this. Subsequently, I have told this story many times and in different circumstances. Surprise! There were two responses: Either this was fair behavior for a lady on any date or this was totally inappropriate.

My life used to center on the fervent hope that important people were trying to reach me when I couldn't be reached. In the pre-answering-machine stone age of my youth, anything was possible. While I was out, Ed McMahon could have called from Publisher's Clearinghouse. Post-answering machine, the zero staring back at me squelched that fantasy. (They should have invented a kinder readout for messages than "zero," like "fewest."

Now that Decision '08 is finally here, it's time to shine a light on that other world of imagery, manipulation and empty promises: the politics of dating. Decision No. 1: to throw your hat into the ring. Is it something you can't live without? Are you effective at pretending to be someone you're not to attract potential supporters? Are you prepared to throw all your dirty laundry under the microscope, or if it becomes an "issue," into the hamper? What separates you from the other candidates?

In this year of 2008 presidential politics, when it's only 2007, I'm finding it more of a challenge living in the "here and now." Society seems to focus more on the "there and then" down the road. As the theme song of the first Clinton running for president exhorted, I won't "stop thinking about tomorrow." But a half a year from tomorrow is where I draw the line. Now Iowa may be moving its caucuses to December. Why is everybody in such a hurry? New car models used to be introduced in October.

IT'S challenging enough competing for women when a singles haunt is littered with other nameless guys who have the same goal. But unlike most other cities, in Los Angeles we occasionally face a more daunting challenge. As did I on a recent visit to the Windows Lounge at the Four Seasons Hotel Los Angeles at Beverly Hills. Seated at the bar, nursing a cocktail and smothered by a nearby lady's attention, was a non-nameless guy. An A-list movie star. As recognizable as Waldo in a crowd shot.

AS with the early days of live TV, the early days of "live women" are starting to seem like a quaint remnant from yesteryear, yet another golden age we didn't know was golden until it faded away. I admit that most of the gals who've been "communicating" with me lately have been prerecorded -- as when I recently answered the phone and heard, "Hi, this is Wendy! Great news!" It would be greater news if the Wendy in my life wasn't an automaton.

Dating can be stressful enough when it isn't holiday time. But December brings another potential layer of angst: the doomed-to-failure pursuit of the perfection seared into our memories of holiday gatherings with loved ones. The rub is that many of these memories are phony, based on holiday movies of phony gatherings with loved ones. It's a safe bet the actors who made them were thinking, "My real-life holidays were never like this! Oh, well, time to 'act' like they were."

Andy McIntyre has been in serious training for Sunday's big event for two weeks. "I joined a gym," says the 27-year-old Pasadena caterer. He's been puffing away on the stair-climbing machine and lifting weights. And despite his on-the-job temptations, he's paying strict attention to diet, trying to avoid fats altogether. Early on Sunday, he will slip into comfortable clothes and head to the Pasadena Convention Center. While 20,000 runners sweat out the 26.