GTL

For those of you not living in a cave, you will recognize the abbreviation in today’s title from my new obsession, MTV’s Jersey Shore. My version of GTL today? Gymnastics (taking #2 to her first lesson, not performing them myself, unless getting three kids to three different schools counts), Tidying up, Laundry - a far cry from The Situation and Ronnie’s mornings of Gym, Tanning, Laundry.

I’m sure many of you expected me, after my Patty’s Day rant, to react with horror at these twenty-something, Italian-American caricatures, marinating in a cesspool of fake tanner, vodka and hair gel, but I can’t lie. I. Love. It.

Why, you ask, would I love a show that highlights very unflattering stereotypes not only of the state I live in*, but my husband’s dominant ethnicity as well? I love this show because in this age of mass-media-marketing and herd mentality, these idiots are unabashedly being who they are. They may be following a different herd, one that is intent on developing melanoma and disdains modest clothing, but they fly in the face of, what they knew would be, national scrutiny, and they do not waiver. The cast of Jersey Shore is unwittingly fighting against the homogenizing of our country into one big Pottery Barn inhabited by yoga-toned, skinny-jeans wearing, blondes with Nordic features.

Throughout the history of this nation of immigrants, the self-imposed definition of success for each subsequent generation has been how well they blend into American society and, therefore, how much less of their ethnicity they display. And while what the JS idiots are displaying (other than cleavage and ass cracks) can not be truly called “ethnicity”, even though their constant claims of being Italian are making it hard to ignore, they are staying true to the identity of their background. Even if that background wears acrylic nails, and “I’m from New Jersey – We hate you too” t-shirts. It’s that pride in who you are and your traditions that is missing in a lot of young people today.

I have gone through this myself personally. Having come from an Irish Bronx family, then gone on to a private college in upstate New York, I ran from anything that smacked of my mother’s chain-smoking, Schiltz-drinking, loud-mouthed Irish clan. They were an embarrassment to me, as I ordered entire pages out of the J Crew catalogue my freshman year trying to fit in. But I realized, no matter how many pairs of corduroys and rollneck sweaters I owned, these people, and being Irish, were part of who I was and they were responsible for the parts of myself I liked best – my low tolerance for bullshit, my love a good time and the ability to speak my mind. These characteristics have been passed down in a mellowed version – I wasn’t getting wasted every night and starting beer-fueled bar brawls and I know when not to offer my opinion out loud – and after seeing part of them in me, I came home for winter break in subsequent years, ready to appreciate my uncle’s drunken demands for my sister to write him an essay with her “fancy education” to win the Guinness Trip to Ireland contest, and my aunt calling Bill Clinton a commie asshole at Christmas dinner.

Jersey Shore really highlights how much we really all don’t want to be the same. The world would be a damn boring place if nobody had so much pride in their heritage they expressed it on their garage, or expressed their opinions, no matter how unpopular (it’s even better when they share them in loud and inappropriate ways on national television). You know what it would be like? Living in California. My sister exclaims, time and again, how there is so little white ethnicity out there, she is thrilled when she gets off the plans at JFK and a cabbie wearing a Giants parka screams in a heavy New York accent, “Marone, what are you an asshole?” Apparently, people out there with names like O’Reilly and Piazza, don’t even really realize they’re Irish or Italian. She has asked people about their ethnicity and gotten only perplexed looks for her efforts. I imagine the Patty’s Day parade in Berkeley is pretty low key.

In the interest of honesty, I have yet to watch an episode of JS in its entirety. H and I feel it’s like looking at a bad car wreck - you can only look for so long before becoming ill. And I know there is much inappropriate behavior, promiscuity and violence, but I really can’t help but feel a little love for these idiots despite it all. If the world is plain vanilla ice cream, they are nuts that make it a sundae.

*I am only now coming to terms with the fact that I live in New Jersey and actually love it (but still don’t have an accent, screw you, Jen V). And yes, much has been made of the fact that these people aren’t even from New Jersey, but let’s be honest with ourselves folks, they fit right in, don’t they?