ISO My Own Apprentice
I could use an Apprentice of my own. Please only apply if you meet at least all of the following criteria.
1. You must be a highly-motivated, enthusiastic and very intelligent professional. Please note: If you sell real estate, arrange mortgages, own a contracting company, or are in any other way responsible for the rising debt of America's middle class by fueling the housing bubble, then you are automatically guaranteed a spot in the final four.
2. FEMALE CANDIDATES ONLY: You must be willing to undergo the following procedures if requested by my producer before filming begins: total body liposuction, laser teeth bleaching, breast augmentation, full body waxing, and hair highlighting.
3. MALE CANDIDATES ONLY: You must be male.
4. You must be able to pack 16 weeks worth of power suits, pajamas, workout clothes, accessories, toiletries, 20 pairs of shoes, 100 neckties, a small serving boy, and three french hens into one small carry-on pullman suitcase. And don't forget that in the Boardroom, many bags look alike. Make yours stand out.
5. You must (no exceptions) speak one of the following dialects of the English language fluently: Pennsyltuckansaw, Mormon, or NEYCL (New England Yacht Club Lockjaw).
I watched both Apprentice premieres this week (Donald Trump and Martha Stewart) and I'll admit being reasonably entertained by both. I was however irked by the opening "twist" of the Trump version.
What would possess The Donald to make his new crop of trainees run pointlessly around his golf course in search of the helicopter that would take only two of them to NYC for a head start on the first task? The sweating and huffing and puffing of 16 desperate power-suited executives running around like children on an easter egg hunt was almost painful to watch. It was a low point, even for reality TV, but as always I learned a lot from The Donald, and there two very important takeaways: 1. Power means I have the ability to make seemingly normal people do incredibly stupid things, while I sit back and have a martini on the back nine, and (most importantly), 2. If I'm going to have any hope of sprinting faster than a 6 foot tall marathon runner, I'll have to ditch my Jimmy Choo's early on.
1. You must be a highly-motivated, enthusiastic and very intelligent professional. Please note: If you sell real estate, arrange mortgages, own a contracting company, or are in any other way responsible for the rising debt of America's middle class by fueling the housing bubble, then you are automatically guaranteed a spot in the final four.
2. FEMALE CANDIDATES ONLY: You must be willing to undergo the following procedures if requested by my producer before filming begins: total body liposuction, laser teeth bleaching, breast augmentation, full body waxing, and hair highlighting.
3. MALE CANDIDATES ONLY: You must be male.
4. You must be able to pack 16 weeks worth of power suits, pajamas, workout clothes, accessories, toiletries, 20 pairs of shoes, 100 neckties, a small serving boy, and three french hens into one small carry-on pullman suitcase. And don't forget that in the Boardroom, many bags look alike. Make yours stand out.
5. You must (no exceptions) speak one of the following dialects of the English language fluently: Pennsyltuckansaw, Mormon, or NEYCL (New England Yacht Club Lockjaw).
I watched both Apprentice premieres this week (Donald Trump and Martha Stewart) and I'll admit being reasonably entertained by both. I was however irked by the opening "twist" of the Trump version.
What would possess The Donald to make his new crop of trainees run pointlessly around his golf course in search of the helicopter that would take only two of them to NYC for a head start on the first task? The sweating and huffing and puffing of 16 desperate power-suited executives running around like children on an easter egg hunt was almost painful to watch. It was a low point, even for reality TV, but as always I learned a lot from The Donald, and there two very important takeaways: 1. Power means I have the ability to make seemingly normal people do incredibly stupid things, while I sit back and have a martini on the back nine, and (most importantly), 2. If I'm going to have any hope of sprinting faster than a 6 foot tall marathon runner, I'll have to ditch my Jimmy Choo's early on.
posted by Martha Who? | 5:59 PM
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