New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd has invaded my dreams. Even before I left for vacation more than a week ago, she had begun the first of many tentative steps into media-driven ubiquity.

With "Bushworld: Enter at Your Own Risk" hitting the shelves that week, even a notoriously shy columnist at the world's most powerful newspaper had to go out and promote her first book the old-fashioned way. It's part of a long march that will bring Maureen Dowd to the PG-sponsored Book & Author dinner next month.

Two weeks ago, Don Imus and his crew raved about the "sexiness" of the publicity photo that adorns the inside flap of Dowd's book, a descent into "lookism" that probably drove the normally skittish columnist up the wall minutes before she called in for her interview on MSNBC.

I missed that interview and naively assumed there probably wouldn't be another chance to catch her for a few years. Longtime Dowd watchers know her televised appearances dried up immediately after an uncharacteristically cranky Ted Koppel made sport of her in a now infamous "Nightline" appearance during the first Iraq war. She came by her aversion to live television honestly.

Not that missing her appearance on "Imus in the Morning" was a big deal. Until I staggered zombie-like into a Squirrel Hill bookstore Sunday evening, I hadn't thought about buying "Bushworld." I'm a fan, but it hadn't occurred to me, yet.

But a week of her coquettish, yet weirdly icy media offensive wore me down. In the course of a few days, I became a Maureen Dowd media junky.

For me, Dowd's damnable charm offensive officially began on NPR's "Fresh Air With Terry Gross." The day before my wife and kids packed the car for our vacation on the Atlantic coast of North Carolina, Dowd told interviewer Terry Gross that she didn't consider herself "opinionated."

I got my first actual glimpse of Dowd on C-Span's "Booknotes" two Sundays ago. While my family cavorted at the beach, I watched Dowd with rapt fascination. She was every bit as imperial, laconic and beautiful as advertised. Wearing an outfit very much like a cheongsam, Dowd looked like a red-haired Asian princess who dutifully answered low-energy host Brian Lamb's every question. No wonder she's every nonsyndicated columnist's dream.

Dowd has "glammed up" considerably since gracing the cover of The Washington Monthly a decade ago. Suddenly, all of the rumors of her alleged Hollywood liaisons made sense. Her passionate indignation cut through her aloofness when the conversation turned to Porter Goss and Dick Cheney. Far from not having an opinion, Dowd flashed the heart of a liberal progressive. I was in love.

While driving to Food Lion every day to stock up on supplies, it seemed as if I heard Dowd's voice every time I turned on NPR. Last Tuesday, she turned up on Comedy Central's "The Daily Show," proffering her hand to Jon Stewart, who clearly missed his cue to kiss it. I wouldn't have been so foolish.

Friday afternoon when talk show host Diane Rehm asked Dowd how winning the Pulitzer changed her life, she told a moving story about how a girl friend who recently won the prize called her in a panic.

"Oh no," her friend said. "No man will ask me out on a date again. They'll be too intimidated."

I tried to imagine a world where winning a Pulitzer could be a hassle on any level. When I couldn't, I chalked it up to a failure of imagination on my part. I'd give anything to be in her league. Heck, I'd even take a Pulitzer if they gave it to me.

"Hey Dad, this woman is everywhere," my oldest son said when Maureen Dowd showed up on HBO's "Real Time With Bill Maher" Friday night.

I missed Dowd's appearance on Wolf Blitzer's show on Sunday, but I already had my orders: "MUST BUY MO's BOOK!" It was my first purchase upon returning from vacation. There are no bookstores in Atlantic Beach, only shops that sell Confederate flag beach towels. It was frustrating.

Now that I have the book, it's too bad I'm too cool to ask for an autograph.