The MTV PR department is kind of enough to supply a screener of the first episode, delivered via messenger to my house, which makes me feel very legitimate and important. But it's a bunk copy, so I actually don't get to see who we're working with until I get there. Bummer, but I try to paint a happy face on it telling myself that it will be better to meet the roommates without preconceived notions.

And going along with the Real World theme, let me do a little confessional time myself. If you've read my recaps before, you know I'm here to skewer 'em. And this presented a real conundrum for me, because I really, really liked all the roommates I met. So I don't want to say mean things about them, but hey, no one's paying me to...okay, scratch that, no one's paying me, period, but I'm not here to write about how nice everyone was. When you sign up to have yourself and your life documented on television, you're signing up to let people like me judge away. And I consider myself officially absolved for it.

The journey begins with me taking the red-eye in from LA, getting to JFK and hustling over to Red Hook, where the Real World house is located on some pier. I have nearly three hours to do this, so I decide to take public transportation instead of a cab, but somehow end up on a street corner in Red Hook with a little less than ten minutes until my scheduled interview time, trying to figure out how the hell to get to the pier. I finally find a car service - unfortunately, the driver has not a clue how to get to the pier. "How can you not know where the pier is? Just drive toward the water! How big can Red Hook be?" I complain grumpily. I'm on three hours of sleep, on the verge of being late, my screener didn't work, and naturally, this is all the poor Red Hook cab driver's fault. Who am I supposed to blame, me?

The poor driver is trying to get directions from his dispatcher and dodging my passive aggressive complaints (okay...perhaps they weren't quite so, ummm, passive) from the backseat. We finally reach the pier, and we drive up and down the damn thing like five times (yes, the driver was tipped generously) before I get frustrated and hop out near the water. Luckily, a girl from in a van spies me looking very, very confused and asks me if I'm here for MTV. "Yes!" I cry gratefully. She directs me to the house, which I successfully lose my way finding about three more times. Look, I have many fine qualities, but geography isn't one of them. To wit, a recent conversation between me and Fabulonista, as I'm on my way to her office, where I've been dozens of times, for lunch:

ChickBomb: I'm leaving now. How long do you think it will take me to get there?

Fabulonista: Well I'd say fifteen minutes, but it really depends on how many times you get lost (note dripping sarcasm).

*** It took a half hour. I got lost twice.

Anyway, I finally make my way over to the Real World house! I step in the front door thinking, wow, how conveniently located the house is to world renowned Real World decorator, Ikea, which is on the pier next door...but am quickly disappointed with the place. You know how when the roomies enter the house they're all running around and carrying on like "Look at this!" and "Cool!"? I was kind of hoping for that reaction, but all I got was "This is it? Well, maybe there's another floor." There was not.

I'm greeted by the publicist, Jessica, who I started calling my arch-nemesis because she kept cutting off my chatting time with the roomies, and also cause, well, I'm dramatic that way. But I'm just kidding. Jess was a doll and she's promised to provide the Gasmii with lots of exclusive clips and stuff.

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Posted in Real World by ChickBomb at 6:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)
Last Comment: DP Hooker on Dec 15, 2008 07:00 AM.