I may be a reality TV junkie, but even I have standards. I require my reality programs to have a life-improving goal (such as America's Next Top Model's modeling contract or Project Runway's mentorship and clothing line), or they must involve celebrities--preferably engaged in a life-affirming challenge (Celebrity Fit Club) or talent-proving showdown (Hit Me Baby, 1 More Time) or drowning in B-list drama (The Surreal Life). In the past few months, I've reaffirmed my love for Biz Markee, Juice Newton and the divine gentleman who is supermodel Marcus Schenkenberg.
Though Marcus--sorry for the informality, but after watching an entire season of The Surreal Life, I feel we're on a first-name basis--didn't get a great deal of airtime, he made an impression on my meek little heart. The time he did spend on camera (exquisite in various states of dress or undress) was filled helping Vern Troyer in drunken stupors or Chyna Doll with her self-effacing drama. Then the cast reunion revealed that both housemates felt that Marcus' friendship inspired them to get their lives back on track--Troyer's on the wagon now, and Chyna has kicked her asshole boyfriend to the curb. With his astonishingly good looks, heart o' gold and avoidance of sleazy on-camera hookups, Marcus climbed straight into my impressionable heart during every episode, and the reunion provided a couple of heart-warming flutters to boot. He made me think Lloyd Dobler could live quite comfortably in the body of a supermodel.
Seriously, I love the man. I've loved him since he pimped Calvin Klein's undies in magazines the world over. And I ventured to say he could do no wrong...until I found out he was a judge in Friday's Gillette Venus Vibrance's Legs of a Goddess Contest. I was let down at first, but then I thought it over. I was only feigning disappointment at his involvement in a legs contest. After all, the man is just helping some lucky girl win $500 and a shot at the national competition offering much bigger prizes. These sorts of appearances are simply part of his career. What I really am is jealous. My celebrity crush will be here in the flesh, gazing approvingly at the tan, cellulite-free legs of fellow Dallasites while I'm fighting the flab on my Gazelle at home...while watching reruns of The Surreal Life.