This weekend I was in the Catskills, yes, the Catskills. Long before NY Magazine featured the verdant hills. I WAS THERE FIRST!!!

Anywho, while there, I was sick (all right, it was my girlfriend, but like James Brady without the honor, I'll take the bullet) so we stayed in a lot. In between bitching about the drive-in that was featuring a double-header of "Terminator 3" and "Pirates of the Caribbean" being an hour and half away and wondering how come we haven't seen Grizzly Adams' sidekick the bear, we watched a ton of the rebranded TNN, which may be called Spike TV or might just be The Network for Men. Never figured it out. But I do know they show more car and car-repair shows than my 1988 Chrysler LeBaron had horsepower.

This is when I became seriously depressed. I figured I know just enough about cars to not get ripped off by, say, myself if I were a mechanic. I felt more like a girlyman than I did the time I wore a dress to my prom. I KNOW NOTHING. To help myself overcome this loss, I shotgunned two Bud Lites, realized it was lite beer, and then had a good cry about this. There's nothing I can do now but quit my job and sign up at Apex Tech. Picture Anthony Michael Hall in "The Breakfast Club" and then take away his deep voice and any other sign of masculinity and add a pair of breasts. But minus my arms, so I can't play with them and display some sign of testosterone.

"Monster Garage" has made me gay.