Martha Don't Preach.

What the hell is wrong with a world in which we, as consumers, make Martha Stewart a wealthier woman?

It's bad enough that throughout the 90s, she told us what and how to bake, cook, clean, wear, decorate and read. We bought it, we baked it, and we cleaned it. Mostly.

I used to subscribe to MS Living, in my naive twenties, when I was trying to figure out what kind of home-maker I would be.

As it turns out, I'm not up to Martha's standards. Also, Jimmy Crack Corn, and I don't care.

I thought once she was released from prison with her hideous shawl and her oh-so-fashionable ankle monitors, the excitement would die down, she'd crochet her dog's hair into a new welcome mat and we'd all go back to living our lives, messy and imperfect as they are.

But no. There's to be An Apprentice.

Which leads me to the big question: Who in their right mind wants to work for Martha Stewart? I've always wondered about the mental health of most reality show contestants who subject themselves to humiliations galore for the sake of their 15 minutes of fame. But working for Martha? That's just suicidal.

I will not watch. I will not follow who gets fired (and I'm guessing the 15 people who actually get fired are the lucky ones). Martha's getting worse than Madonna with all her self-reincarnations--next thing you know Ms. Stewart will be wearing Kabbalah beads and hanging out with the original Material Girl.

I can see it now. Lunch in Manhattan: Madonna, Martha, The Donald, Roseanne and Paris. Who needs a last name, anyway?

If nobody watches, we'll never get to find out who Martha hires, and we won't recognize their name when they get their 15 extra minutes of fame by going postal on her.

It's a chance I'm willing to take. And that's A Good Thing.

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