All daytime TV talk shows have started their new seasons. And after about six weeks off from watching any of them, I’ve woken up to something I hadn’t thought about before: They're all for chicks, man.

I’ve spent several hours already with The Dr. Oz Show and I’ve learned about what heart attack symptoms I should be looking for if I’m a woman and how to keep my downstairs lady parts in good health. I’ve also learned about how my purse is full of germs.

It’s like they just put Oprah’s entire audience on a shuttle bus and dropped them off down the block at Dr. Oz’s place. And because Dr. Oz knew they were coming he just fixed up his content to suit them. I mean, I guess it suits me too because I’ve been watching Oprah and Martha and Ellen and Tyra and whoever else all this time without thinking much about the way none of them were really aimed at me. I just felt kind of smarter knowing all that stuff about menopause. And now, thanks to Tyra’s “period panties” show last week, I also know all about tampon applicators and who needs which kind.

All you female readers should really be thanking me for this, I think, because it’s my natural curiosity about every little thing -- including the burning topic of why aren’t you wearing the right size bra -- that keeps me looking at these programs. I don’t have much typical gay diva worship living inside me, so it’s not that. I just want to watch when Oprah yells at Gayle about whether it’s okay or not to tell teenage girls about the joy of clitoral stimulation with vibrators. That was a good episode for any gender to enjoy, come to think.

Ultimately, I suppose that working at home writing about female-aimed TV stuff sort of means I’m automatically not a real man, but then I think about prisons and auto repair places. You know what those mechanics and murderers are looking at on their coffee break? The View. You know why? Because that’s all there is on TV at that time of day. That and Dora The Explorer.