I have mixed feelings about the writer's strike being over. I started out this year's TV season with a bang, actually sampling all the shows and finding ones that I liked. Before long, I had a very long backlog of television goodness on my TiVo, and watching it all started to feel like a second job. For as much hardship as the strike caused people out west, it was a welcome break for me, the bogged-down couch potato. Faced with reruns and reality programming, I watched movies instead.

Reality TV for me is like a personal hell. Five minutes of MTV feels like someone is boring into my middle ear with an ice-cold potato peeler. Ten minutes makes me think I'm about to have a stroke. I can think of nothing more headache-inducing than the sound of vicious, entitled 20-year-old women in a constant state of screech.

This is where my girlfriend and I differ. Christa eats up MTV reality in big, hearty spoonfuls. Last night I came home and found her reading while The X Effect blared at full volume. I politely acted like it didn't bother me, but after about three minutes, I couldn't hide my inner conniption any longer. The X Effect had to go.

Conversely, there is one reality show I can stomach -- The Moment of Truth -- a show that is brilliant in its concept but fumbles pathetically in its execution.

Sitting on a stage surrounded by their friends and family, the contestants on The Moment of Truth answer questions relating to their lives. A lie detector indicates whether or not the person is telling the truth. If they answer all 21 questions truthfully, they win $500,000. It sounds easy. No one ever wins.

Christa has trouble watching the show without crying. The thing she hates about it is the same thing I love -- the questions truly are horrible. They start out funny and embarrassing ("When you worked as an underwear model, did you ever stuff your shorts?" "Are you a member of the Hair Club for Men?") but they quickly get serious ("Do you make racist jokes about your in-laws?" "Do you blame your father for ruining your life?").

All the contestants have been schooled to pause and think dramatically before answering each question. A robot voice does the same when it announces whether or not the answers are truthful. They're trying to create suspense, but it's nothing short of annoying. I watch the show with my finger on the fast-forward button. They play it like a baseball game. I want it to be more like ping-pong.

The great moments, however, come despite the drawn-out acting. Every now and then, the host asks a question, and behind the smiles and the feigned embarrassment, you can see that the contestant just loaded their pants with cinder blocks. You can't evade the question, and if you lie, the robot with call you on it. So look your mother in the eye and tell her what she doesn't want to hear.

This is the point that makes me cackle hysterically. Meanwhile, Christa hides her face and groans. I don't feel bad at all, because seriously, if you don't know by now that being on a reality show almost guarantees worldwide public humiliation, then you deserve whatever you get.

So yeah, I'm kind of glad the writer's strike is over. Because this reality crap brings out the worst in us.