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In a sheer bizarre coincidence, several of my closest friends happen to also be involved in mediac — radio, television, newspapers. I didn’t meet them through my job, but like some great cosmic magnetic media force, we all somehow gravitated socially toward one another, only later to discover our professional connection.

Recently, a columnist friend of mine addressed the tribulations of Internet dating in her column, and she has started a strange landslide. There are suddenly local blogs about the topic; through coincidence, an area magazine just had a cover story on the subject; and now many folks we know — married people, mind you — are online, looking over these online dating sites like dieters staring hungrily at a chocolate cake they have no intention of eating.

There’s something fascinating about Internet dating: on these sites for anyone to see are photos and profiles of men and women of all ages, types, and in all areas of the world, posted like pound puppies for you to select from.

I must confess that, frustrated at the difficulty of meeting people when one is self-employed and works from home in one’s den with only one’s dog for company (although great company), I signed on recently. My wonderfully supportive girlfriends helped me create a profile that reflected who I am; they handpicked pictures they felt showed me at my truest and most flattering.

I lasted a week and a half.

I was looking for men 37-50 (I’m late 30s), 5’10” or taller (I’m a lengthy gal), who seemed like nice, genuine people, perhaps open to kids one day. Having them, that is. Not dating them.

Many of the promising-looking 40-somethings I looked at specified that they were looking for women “18 to 25.” (Eew. Just ... eew.) Often, a guy 6’2” or taller made it clear he wanted a woman shorter than 5’7.” (Huh?) I was stunned at how many gents — average-looking guys all — demanded a “beautiful, fit, size two or four, sensual, young woman.”

Dude, do you have a mirror?

I realized I’m more of an organic girl — I need to meet someone naturally, get to talking, become attracted to something about their personality. I can’t just clinically select a date as if choosing dishes from a cafeteria line. My little botched experiment lives on, though, in the three-months’ membership I paid for in my initial idealistic fervor.

Well, at least all my girlfriends are enjoying the benefits of my subscription. But in happier news, I got the chance to venture forth alone to the Snook Inn recently to see an old favorite perform. Terry Cassidy is a Florida Keys resident who’s been making the trek up to our neck of the woods for the last 16 years to bring his unique tropicowboy sound to Marco.

I’d have known Cassidy was a banjo player even if I had never seen him play before by the way he picks his guitar: his fingers curl invisibly underneath his palm as he plucks the strings, just as if it were a banjo. He gets a lovely tone from it, a strong acoustic backing for the well-chosen songs in his set.

He also accompanies himself on bass pedal to fill out his sound, and sings in a pleasing Cat Stevens-meets-Harry Chapin tenor. You’re likely to hear songs from both those artists, as Cassidy knows his strengths and plays to them. But you’ll also hear Pure Prairie League, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings and Alan Jackson. Cassidy bills himself as playing “traditional, country, and bluegrass music,” and while he does lean toward the country sound, he’s got a little something for everyone.

Like when he whips out his banjo (yay!) and presents a hilarious, mind-boggling medley that includes riffs from the obligatory Dueling Banjos, Dixie, the Beverly Hillbillies theme, and yes, In-A-Gadda-da-Vida. (And until you’ve heard Iron Butterfly on a banjo, folks, you haven’t really delved into the musical lexicon.)

Cassidy’s set is great for sunny, lazy days fresh from the beach or the boat — as in fact it was the day I saw him. As in fact one man clearly illustrated by taking to the dance floor wearing only swim trunks and a life vest, complete with dangling lanyard from his JetSki. (Sir ... may I suggest carrying a spare T-shirt?)

He’s got a laid-back feel to his music — though that’s not to say he doesn’t get his audience stoked up. When he launched into Amy, of all unlikely dance grinds, the floor filled up in a high-energy Riverdance-worthy free-for-all.

Cassidy was there that day — his birthday — along with his mama and her friends from Vero Beach, and he even dedicated a song to her (aww!). See? There really are some nice guys out there.

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Send me a note at tiffanythescribe@msn.com!