Before I get to the finale of "Joe Schmo," this just in: Rob Campos, NBC's "For Love or Money" star (he was the one who picked Erin, who picked the money, got her own show and rejected Rob AGAIN), was right here in the halls of Southern Methodist University at 11 a.m. on a Wednesday. Reality TV follows me wherever I go. Campos was hanging out here at SMU to speak to a Media Ethics class. The professor came and grabbed me because, heck, I'm known as the one around here who is the total, unabashed reality-TV whore. Campos was a nice fellow. He has a MUCH better haircut than the oily mullet he wore on the show. Told me NBC owns his ass for the next year. They even made him take down his website, where he was posting pix that he took during the 3-1/2 week taping of "FLOM." Yes, he could date some of the 14 women from his show if he wanted to, but no, he doesn't want to. He dates regular women now but get this, last Sunday he took a date to Joe's Crabshack here in Dallas, where they were seated at a table in the middle of the room. He was soon mobbed by a dozen teen-age cheerleaders and their moms, snapping photos and getting his autograph. What kind of guy takes a date to Joe's Crabshack? Was the line too long at Macaroni Grill? From what he told me, it sounds like he's still living on NBC's payroll. They recently flew him to Australia to promote the show there. He asked me if he should accept VH1's invitation to the "Hot in 2003 Awards" and I warned him they'll probably make fun of him if he's in the audience. I don't think he minds that. I think he likes being famous. I'm not sure he realizes his 15 minutes were over 15 minutes ago.

OK, "Joe Schmo" was fan-frigging-tastic. Great finale of the weirdest, most insanely genius reality show yet. But I'm tired of typing, so more later. My sandwich has just arrived.

No, I can't watch the new "Joe Millionaire." Guess what? We know the secret! Move on. I will be tuning into the finale tonight of "Joe Schmo." Can't miss that. And "Joe Average" debuts on NBC in a few days. It's all about the Joes! More later as events warrant. Gotta go watch "Mighty Joe Young" on Sci-Fi. Or maybe catch "Joe vs. the Volcano."

"Camp Jim!" Thank you! This spin-off of "Made," the teen-works-to-realize-a-dream series, has hooked me good and proper. Give me a J! Give me an I! Give me an M! Now, give me a break! This Jim guy is a PROFESSIONAL CHEERLEADER. He's so gay, he makes the "Queer Eye" Fab Five look like a hockey team. Jim can Herkie like a 15-year-old and he has thick black eyebrows plucked with more precision than Joan Crawford's in "Mildred Pierce." Come to think of it, "Camp Jim" has a lot in common with Miss Crawford. There are weepy teenagers right and left and then Jim, who is coaching these pathetic, acne-ridden critters in the art of the cheer, gets in their chubby little faces and SCREAMS like Mommie Dearest opening the closet door and finding a wire hanger under one of Tina's party dresses. Jim and closets? That's too easy. Favorite Jim-ism so far: "Cry me a river, build a bridge and GET OVER IT!"

Over on "Survivor," things are growing powerful strange. With the threat of Rupert being voted out last night, I suddenly had terrifying images of having nothing to watch on Thursdays at midnight (when I see my pre-taped episode). Surely, the Drakes won't be THAT stupid. They did finally vote out Trish, and wasn't that the first time we'd ever seen her or heard her name spoken on this series? Who was she? What conch shell had she been hiding under?

And sigh, the season finale of "Newlyweds" finds them taking an anniversary trip to the horse races. "Seabiscuit is racing today," Nick jokes to his wife. Answers she: "The real one?" Somewhere, George Burns and Gracie Allen are smiling.

"I'm 23, which is almost 25, which is almost mid-20s." Jessica Simpson. The most quotable woman in America. I was at a dinner party last night -- fancy Italian joint, a dozen well-educated people talking films and literature. And whattaya know? The topic that united the table and amped the excitement like a jolt from a hot wire was "Newlyweds with Nick and Jessica." People started tossing quotes back and forth over the bruschetta like young Ms. Lachey was Dorothy Parker. "I don't eat buffalo." "Is this chicken or fish what I'm eating?" "Niiiiiiick, don't be mad at me!" This is the show stretching the boundaries of the American zeitgeist. Quick, repeat one thing Condoleezza Rice has ever said. I rest my case.

Barbra on Oprah. Loved the sweater. Loved the song. Loved the video of the dead doggie. Babs, you never disappoint. Oprah, you blew the opportunity to really interview the reclusive Ms. Streisand. Actually the "Oprah After the Show" segment that ran on Oxygen was better than the actual Oprah show because members of the audience -- all of whom looked more hopped up than Rush Limbaugh on a Saturday night -- got to ask their idol some burning questions. Their queries were waaay better than O's. Lately, hasn't Oprah seemed tired of the job? She flops back in the chair and seems to zone out. Paging Dr. Phil! Your mentor needs a wake-up call!

The finale of "Joe Schmo" is next week. The show has grown more freakishly fascinating with each week. Matt, the guy from the pizza shop in Pittsburgh, is the best reality show participant ever cast. Can't WAIT to see his hangdog face react when he finds out he's the Schmo.

"Nick, I thought mops had strings on 'em." LOVE HER!

Again, I'm fascinated by the sheer, stupid brilliance of "Joe Schmo" on the Spike channel. Matt, the "Joe" of the show, is the only one who doesn't know that the entire enterprise is scripted, acted and directed to make him the butt of the jokes and, I hope, the winner of the $100K on the fake "Lap of Luxury" show he thinks he's on. Matt is such a sweetheart that he counsels the other "contestants" about their behavior. (They're all actors pretending to be the reality-tv stereotypes of the bitch, the virgin, the bully, etc.) The show is a flesh-fest and Matt, built like he's been living on a diet of Twinkies and rootbeer, is the only one embarrassed by it. They're made to roll around in honey (dressed in skimpy swimwear) and then to stick dollar bills to themselves. They have to lick chocolate off a half-nude "model" to uncover word clues stuck to her flesh. Poor Matt hates the taste of chocolate. Sweet Matt hates to see anyone else humiliated. So when the virgin's fake-boyfriend arrives as a surprise and acts like he's horrified at seeing his sweet young gal wearing a string bikini, covered in honey and money, Matt, handcuffed to her (long story), turns his back as they pretend to argue. Just wants to give the girl some privacy. He asks for a robe to cover her up while her boyfriend is yelling at her. Matt is a mensch. And the producers of "Joe Schmo" keep getting foiled in their attempts to make him the schlemiel. He's actually writing their script.

Best moment from this week's "Newlyweds." Jessica tells Nick they'll have to "re-wall their house" because he nicked the paintjob moving a 2-ton dresser up the staircase. He just looks at her like she has three extra heads -- all of them filled with little yellow butterflies.

Did you see it? The peeny on "Survivor"? It was a teeny peeny and it made only a brief appearance -- as Kramer might say, "Maybe it needed some air" -- but it was there. My friend Ed tipped me off (pardon the pun) and told me to slo-mo the reward challenge segment from the Sept. 25 episode. When Morgan tribesman Ryan (not the skinny one, the other one) made his dash into the surf for the treasure chest, that wasn't a snorkel tube that popped out of his shorts. Yes, this time the Morgan tribe had an extra member. While not exactly equal time for last season's frequent female nekkidity by those skinny wenches who stripped off anytime peanut butter or chocolate was offered by Jeff "Mephistopheles" Probst, it was at least some post-"Survivor" entertainment for the frame-by-frame fans. Hey, CBS! You wagged one in prime time! Call the FCC! Get the American Family Association on the phone! Treasure hunt indeed!

One flash of a penis during the family hour could be just the tip of the iceberg, my friends. Just pray that Rupert keeps his pants on.