Pierre and I watched the MTV show "Fear" tonight and we both agreed you couldn't pay us enough money to do that show. The gist of the show is this: MTV puts a bunch of young people (hotties, natch) in a scary environment - like a former insane asylum supposedly populated by the ghosts of it's former residents - and then give sthe cast members various scary tasks to accomplish.

On tonight's episode, one woman had to walk through a darkened room where eight construction workers had died of electrocution when a water main broke. Another woman had to sit alone in a room filled with bugs, cross-legged on the floor, for a half-hour. She was not allowed any radio contact. I've got a touch of claustrophobia myself, and Pierre admits that he has enough trouble with his imagination without any outside influences. We would never make it.

It looked pretty scary to me, but after a while, Pierre grew a bit disillusioned with it.

"Man, I really missed the boat on this," he said.

"Why?" I said.

"Because I could come up with a way scarier reality tv show."

"Like what?"

He thought for a second. "Like 'Homeless' - you gotta live on the street for a week and drink Ripple."

I giggled.

"And your mission is to dig through a dumpster for a rock of crack," he said. "And then smoke it."

"Right. And the person who smoked that rock before you died," I said.

"You gotta smoke it, and then drink a bottle of Ripple."

"Ripple as a chaser," I said. "But you have the option of not smoking the whole rock, and instead selling half of it for an unprotected sexual experience."

"With a homeless addict of whatever gender you desire," he said.

"Now that's scary," I said.

I think we're on to something here. I can almost hear the networks calling.

Speaking of reality programming, I paid a visit to the weliveinpublic.com loft space the other night. Will Leitch, who is newly hired by Brill's Content to run a website for them, and Greg Lindsey from inside.com, were hosting a party there for other media/web types. All of us were hell-bent on getting wasted. I was probably the most successful. I don't want to get into it too much because Will is writing up a piece for Salon on the whole experience (and you know I hate to steal anyone's fire). I will say there is a direct correlation between the amount of alcohol consumed and a tragic incident involving me, urination, and a bathroom cam that I didn't realize was uncovered and operational.

As I get older, I just do more and more to make my mother proud of me. How can she stand it?

Anyway, the people who have been living in the loft, Josh Harris (former wunderkind and head of Pseudo and Jupiter Communications), and Tanya Corrin (his reportedly incredibly attractive girlfriend), have had some terrible breakup. The end result is that Corrin wrote some article about the trauma of the experience for a magazine, and Harris started sending out press releases to different media outlets essentially saying that he dumped her. (I find this last bit hilarious. Who would actually send out a press release announcing to the world that you were the dumper and not the dumpee? What a fucking loser.)

After visiting their apartment, I can only say this: get over yourselves. You have a fucking rad apartment in Manhattan where space is a privilege, not a right. You don't have to go to an office every day and dodge jackass corporate weasels. And you chose this experiment - you're of sound mind and body. I can't believe thy have the audacity to complain about any of it.

Get some perspective and get a life.

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