Attention, hayseeds: An official trend has been decreed, and once again you're behind the curve. According to the Style section of The New York Times, the hippest, most voguish, up-to-the-minute thing is something called a "man date." According to one Jennifer 8. Lee, a man date consists of "two heterosexual men socializing without the crutch of business or sports. It is two guys meeting for the kind of outing a straight man might reasonably arrange with a woman."

Here are some dos and don'ts: having dinner at a restaurant table is a man date; having a burger at the bar is not. Two guys going to movie is a man date; ball games are out. A walk in the park is a man date; jogging in the park is, like, so last year. According to Lee, "'Sideways,' the Oscar-winning film about two buddies touring the central California wine country ... is one long and boozy man date."

And here I thought "Sideways" was mostly about getting drunk and skirt-chasing. That's what made it so funny. All that touchy-feely wine-tasting stuff turned out to be nothing but an excuse for acting like the young George W. Bush on a road trip to Tijuana.

But what do I know? I'm the kind of guy who takes women to ballgames. Having married a coach's daughter, I'm blessed with a wife who not only thinks it's normal to watch baseball every day, but has opinions about the Chicago Cubs bullpen. (She's glad to see pitcher Kyle Farnsworth exhibiting his gold chains elsewhere this season.) Sure, she dragged me to a musical after our most recent pilgrimage to Wrigley Field. But that was a small price to pay.

Funny, but last time the Red Sox visited Yankee Stadium, there appeared to be thousands of women in attendance. But then again, the ballpark's in The Bronx, where nothing trendy ever happens.

Needless to say, the real idea behind the "man date" is that ageless female delusion: turning men into facsimile women. According to Jennifer 8, guys have "much to gain from the emotional support of male friendships. (Women understand this instinctively, which is why there is no female equivalent to the awkward man date; straight women have long met for dinner or a movie without a second thought.)"

And what makes man dates awkward? "If men become too close to other men, then they are always vulnerable to this accusation of, 'Oh, you must be gay,'" one psychologist told the Times. Indeed, most of the article consists of 20-something guys explaining the exact rules for being vulnerable and sensitive without seeming gay. Suffice it to say they're more complicated than the infield fly rule.

Such rules are also completely unnecessary after you grow up. First of all, you more or less know who you are, whatever you are. Second, once you start playing that game of trying to be "manly," it's easy to end up like a certain president I could name, swaggering around in macho costumes like a member of the Village People. The harder you try, the more it looks like you're trying too hard.

And no, I don't share candle-lit dinners with men, thanks. Candles survived the invention of light bulbs for one reason: female vanity. By candlelight, I'm sure Lauren Bacall looks like a babe in a beer commercial. And more power to her. But I prefer to see what I'm eating. I've also noticed a direct correlation between candles, skimpy portions and astronomical restaurant prices. If the joint appears to have an art director in the kitchen, my buddies and I are going somewhere else.

Somebody needs to alert New York Times trend-spotters that out in the hinterlands west of the Hudson, men do many things together in the absence of women. Backpacking, canoeing, sailing, fishing, etc. Why I've even heard of guys sleeping together in tents without anybody producing a meter to assess their Manliness.

Perhaps Jennifer 8 would deem such activities unfashionable (What do I know? I have no idea why her middle name is an Arabic numeral.)

Did I mock my wife for using the "crutch of clothes" when she participated in a bizarre female ritual called a "clothes-swapping" party hosted by a friend a foot taller than herself the other day? OK, actually I did. But not for seeking companionship.

Nor did she mock the weekly ritual I shared with my late, great friend who I called The Doctor. We'd meet near dawn at a pre-arranged spot in the boondocks, drop the tailgates, turn the beagles loose, and enjoy a "man date" of our own, sharing intimacies only another man could understand. For example, The Doctor's first wife had been an artist. One day he confided in me the most enduring legacy of their breakup.

"God, I hate art," he said.

Now there's an emotional truth you'll never hear over a candlelit dinner.

Arkansas Democrat-Gazette columnist Gene Lyons is a national magazine award winner and co-author of "The Hunting of the President" (St. Martin's Press, 2000). You can e-mail Lyons at genelyons@sbcglobal.net.