David Knows What’s Up: A Christmas Gift For You, Courtesy of the Jersey Shore
David Knows What’s Up…
A Christmas Gift For You, Courtesy of the Jersey Shore
People are always asking me about stuff. What are the deeper implications of X? How should Obama approach Y? Normally, I try my best to give good answers, but it’s not always easy. Sometimes I just wanna be like, “Dude, if I keep giving you fish, you’ll never learn to eat for yourself.” Know what I mean? Probably not, but try and imagine.
Lately, though, I’ve been getting questions — a LOT of questions – about the Jersey Show. I can’t deal with it. (In case you don’t know what I’m talking about, the Jersey Shore is a super-popular reality show about adolescent Italian scuzzballs who live in New Jersey and like to party.)
The reason I get so many people coming up to me and asking questions about the show is cuz I’m Italian. So I’ll be eating breadsticks at a fancy restaurant with a fine, sophisticated lady and someone will hover near my table until I acknowledge them. Then they’ll come over and be all, “Hey D-Money, are you offended by these idiot American-Italians on TV who get gross fake tans and are proud to be called Guidos and are generally tasteless? Does it make you mad? Not everyone knows a cool, classy Italian like yourself!”
Dude – think about it. Not everyone is a primo Italian like I am. It doesn’t run in the family. I remember being at my Nonno and Nonna’s place on Christmas (For all you mangiacakes, Nonno and Nonna is Italian for grandfather and grandmother), and my cousins would come over. I’d be sitting reading a classic novel and my cousins Dom and Ray would immediately sit down and be like, “Hey college, (because college is for pansies), how you like that book? (because books are sissy) Is it a good book, college? (a clever combining of insults) I bet the girls like guys who read books, huh college?” They thought that kind of shit was hilarious. Then my Nonno would hit me on the ass with a slipper and my cousins would laugh so hard they’d spill Peroni on their Invicta track pants.
Oh yeah, being Jewish was another thing that made Christmas with my cousins weird. That’s right, I’m a Pizza Bagel. Mom’s a Jew, Pops is a convert. At Christmas, my extended family would always stand-up behind their chairs at the dinner and say grace. I always felt funny doing that. My cousins knew it too – they’d fucking burn holes in me with their eyes if I was slow in standing up. Then they’d eat all the meatballs.
(Timeout: When I tell people I’m an Italian Jew, lots of times the response is: “Similar cultures! Both into food and family!” So dumb. Is there a culture that’s not into food and family? Like, do Norwegians never see their uncles and when they do only offer them rice cakes? Seriously, find me a culture that doesn’t care about food and family. Saying Jews and Italians are alike because both cultures are into those two things is like saying Jews and Italians are alike because they both sleep and shit.)
Anyway, after the big family meal was done, Dom and Ray would talk about cars and which Axe body spray had the best scent.
I guess what I’m saying is I can relate to the goombas on the Jersey Shore a lot better than I can relate to, I don’t know, Michelangelo or whatever. Actually, I relate to Michelangelo in a seriously deep way, but you get my point.
And some of the girls on that show are kinda hot in a trashy way.
So there’s your answer, World. Merry Christmas. But in 2010, you’re gonna have to start catching some fish for yourself. Peace.