After last season’s Joan Rivers-dominated pit viper fest that was The Celebrity Apprentice, I decided that I had had my Celebrity Apprentice fix and that I would skip this season in a semi-vain attempt to refine my television tastes. And then last week rolled around and I needed to kill some time waiting for Jamie Olivier’s Food Revolution. After watching the last twenty minutes of Minute to Win It, which made me sad about America, I happened to catch the first half of the second episode of this season, which was enough to get me hooked again. And, upon further reflection, I realized that in some ways, I need The Celebrity Apprentice. Because no other show allows me to write sentences like the ones I’m about to write about last night’s episode.
So, here we go. On the men’s team, Rock Solid, Rod Blagojevich may have no idea how to operate a computer, but he and Bret Michaels did have some legitimate concerns about the wordiness of the advertorial. I have absolutely no idea how and why everyone – especially Goldberg – is so attached to Darryl Strawberry. Evidently, Darryl is a far more charismatic and energetic member of the team than I’ve noticed, which makes me think that he must have made the mistake of setting up his workspace behind the camera man, which is an honest mistake that I’m sure happens all the time. Or maybe everyone just loves that he always knows when he should order pizzas for the group. I completely understand why Michael Johnson selected Curtis Stone as the product spokesperson; aside from cooking being trendy, Curtis is the most objectively attractive man on that team and he’s Australian. So, whenever possible, it makes excellent business sense to have him literally shake his moneymaker because this is for charity, people.
As for the women’s team, Tenacity, I think Summer Sanders needs to stop talking down to Cyndi Lauper and be careful that Sharon Osbourne doesn’t knock her into next Tuesday. Actually, Holly Robinson Peete and that Victoria’s Secret model whose name I don’t care to learn need to back up off of Cyndi, too. Holly Robinson Peete, however, is strangely good at PowerPoint and I’m starting to wonder what she’s been up to since Hangin’ with Mr. Cooper went off the air. Sharon Osbourne will be there till the nearly bitter end, I think, if her lungs hold out and she doesn’t come across too many executives who are prudish about salty language. Also, I think we need to start using Cyndi’s soft focus lens for Bret, who needs to develop enough self-awareness about the fact that when you’re a dad in your forties and you make a point of creepily smiling at and hanging around the youngest, most attractive lady in the room, you are a bit of a creeper. Even if VH1 once gave you two buses full of strippers to make out with.
Other tips for Bret Michaels: 1.) Avoid smiling like that at Ivanka. You’ve been caught on camera doing it once and everyone’s noticed; and 2.) You’re from Pennsylvania, which precludes you from being able to wear a cowboy hat to a business meeting.
Also, poor Don Jr., whose main function seems to be our everyguy of the Trump family (since there’s something strangely endearing about him and his main function appears to be to be told to be quiet), appears to have been the family Mets fan* growing up. I detected a noticeable lip quiver when Darryl Strawberry offered himself up to be fired. Aside from being able to write these types of sentences, what really makes these two hours of my Sunday evenings worth it are the slow-motion, overly dramatic walking-out-of-the-boardroom sequences that end every episode.
*Every New York area family has one, and I just get the impression that Ivanka, more clearly favored by the gods, was the Yankee fan.