Over spring break, while on a nighttime tour through the Costa Rican rainforest, my guide stopped short and crouched behind a bush. "Pit viper," she whispered, pointing at a low-hanging branch above the trail. A long, green snake with a triangular head flicked its tongue at us menacingly, and only one thing came to mind: Joan Rivers.
Now, assuming that you have a life, you probably don't see the connection. Shame, though, because that means you missed out on a truly magical moment last spring when the phrase "whore pit viper" was furiously launched from Rivers' collagen-enhanced lips at professional poker player Annie Duke, and into the popular culture lexicon forever. It was also the moment when it became quite clear that "The Celebrity Apprentice" was the best show in the history of television.
I understand how you might be skeptical, but stay with me, because based on the third season's March 14 premiere, I am confident that I can prove it in three reasons or less.
First: the hair. Donald Trump is known for his, well, unique style. Put that on screen with Bret Michaels' bandana-adorned lady-locks, the bird's nest on Cyndi Lauper's head and brush-enthusiast Rod Blagojevich's thick black mane, and you have television magic. Honorable mention goes to Trump's son, Donald Jr., who appears to be doing everything in his power to follow in his father's follicular footsteps.
Second: it's educational. I learned that Cyndi Lauper is a nautical history buff, that Sinbad is a mixed martial artist, that Bret Michaels is diabetic and that being a waiter is the same as being a governor (because, as ousted Illinois governor Blagojevich said without a hint of irony, "In some ways it's just another form of public service"). The celebrities even got in on teaching each other Sinbad taught Blagojevich that when committing political fraud, you should always call from a pay phone.
Third: Rod Blagojevich. OK, I realize that both other examples were already mostly about him, but he's my trump card (pun very much intended). I would like to give a sincere thanks to the Illinois state Senate for freeing him from his unfortunate stint in politics so that he could fulfill his true calling as a reality TV star. The man, who wasn't allowed to be on "I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here" because of an ongoing criminal investigation, is just the perfect mix of earnest and dense that makes for the very best kind of blowhard. Exhibit A: "I didn't cook at all when I was the governor. I was cooking up results for people." I rest my case.
I could make the argument that the show has been eclipsed by "Dancing With The Stars," television's other reality competition of B-list stars doing things that don't come naturally to them. Before you judge me, consider this important fact: last week the unthinkable happened when ratings juggernaut "American Idol," which has crushed every show that went up against it since I was in middle school, was defeated by the 10th season premiere of "Dancing." America has a new number one show, and it involves a lot of sequins. Somewhere Jordan Sparks just shed a single tear.
To be completely fair, "Dancing" makes a strong effort. I mean, I feel very strongly that everyone should watch Buzz Aldrin do the cha-cha at least once. The problem is that the show is too self-aware of its own gimmicks. The area where the celebrities sit and are gawked at between performances is literally called the "celebraquarium," and Pamela Anderson, when asked how she would try to show America another side of herself, replied, "America's already seen all the sides of me." Funny? Sure, but when the celebrities are in on the joke, it gets old.
Watching Donald Trump make famous people feel like genuinely worthless human beings because they couldn't get enough people to buy $500 cheeseburgers will never get old. Sorry, plurality of American TV viewers, but I'm going to have to disagree with you and cast my celeb-reality TV vote for "The Celebrity Apprentice."
