Will the Real Italian-Americans Please Stand Up?

What Francis Ford Coppola’s epic movie, “The Godfather,” did in inviting the movie going public to an experience of Italian-American culture is now being attempted by MTV’s reality series, “Jersey Shore,” now in its second season. The reality series that was first filmed in August 2009 in Seaside, New Jersey, debuted on December of the same year to mixed reviews. Chronicling the lives of eight young adults who worked at a boardwalk souvenir store in exchange for room and board, the show thrives on the dramatization of offensive Italian-American stereotypes and the use of the term guido and guidette, a pejorative slang term that refers to working class Italian-Americans.

What the series has done is obliterate images of hard working Italian-Americans arriving at Ellis Island with leathery, sun burned faces with a new breed of obnoxious, bacchanal young adults, whose existence is defined by excessive gym visits, frequent tanning, poor diction, uncouth behavior, gel spiked hair, slutty outfits, alcohol abuse, and promiscuous behavior.

When Mario Puzo walked into the office of Robert Evans, who was then head of production for Paramount Pictures in the spring of 1968, he came bearing a few pages of written script that would later become The Godfather, the piece de resistance of his career. Puzo’s book based entirely on research was about organized crime within a prominent Italian-American family and introduced the word Mafia into American lexicon, sparking a war between Paramount Pictures and the dark stratums of the Mob.

So offensive was the word Mafia that the head of one of the largest mob families in New York at the time, Joseph Colombo Sr. began an organization, The Italian American Civil Rights League that set out to charge the F.B.I with persecution and violation of civil rights.

Puzo’s book was going to tell about the fabled Italian underworld, outing a string of actual mob families that profited from racketeering and illicit gambling operations.

Attempting to halt Puzo and Paramount, Colombo and his cohorts then embarked on a war of sorts fraught with threats that were of the same ilk as the sight of a prize horse’s head wrapped in silk bed sheets.

The response to threats from Colombo would lead to a meeting that cornered the movie producers into erasing any mention the word mafia (which by the way only appeared once) from the movie script and Paramount subsequently garnering the support of Colombo and the greater Italian-American community.

While Coppola’s movie may be criticized for being about as offensive as Jersey Shore, depicting Italian-Americans as savage, cold-blooded brutes, The Godfather can be treated as social commentary that is reflective of American life, playing on themes of sex, greed, love for family, and capitalism. What’s more, it’s a reflection of great writing and skillful minds. Jersey Shore however is different. The cast members are left to use their imagination to humor the audience. But what starts off as comedy quickly turns into a farce on Italian-Americans. It can be argued that the series is reflective of contemporary American youngsters, but the series is not an equal opportunity undertaking. The main stars are Italian-Americans. No jokes are made on other sub-cultures, the show promises after all to show us guidos at their best.

Surely, MTV is no PBS nor has ever claimed to be the instructor on what is and isn’t acceptable in race relations or normal human behavior (not with shows like Jackass or Parental Control), still the subtle lessons on the show cannot be ignored. Mention the word Italian-American and the first images that come to mind aren’t of cheese or Don Corleone. Rather, Snooki and her bird’s nest hairdo are proximate.

Incidentally, the second season of Jersey Shore makes it grand debut on the same day as Arizona’s racist law, which is a poorly disguised witch hunt aimed at Latinos. Just like Arizona wants all of America to believe that SB 1070 will be as normal as having an order of fries with your super-sized burger, MTV wants you to believe that singling out a racial group for a gag is. But since hordes of people do not indulge in watching clips of fascist parades with nostalgia, I doubt that Jersey Shore will ever be remembered for anything close to brilliance in the future. The only memories of Jersey Shore will be crummy impressions of Snooki hidden in Facebook photo archives, under the album: Halloween.

Friday Photograph

Mural from Coney Island...Amber Rose now graces murals? There's Hope. Have a great weekend!

photograph courtesy of fashionispoison

Viva España!

On A Mother's Love

"The Exotic and the sunlit when I could easily have had a boyhood of stern and dutiful English gray. She was the cream in the coffee, the gin in the Campari, the offer of wine or champagne instead of beer..."

~Christopher Hitchens

These few lines mark the authors dedication of his memoir to his mother. I read them and was profoundly moved by how beautifully crafted they were. "...the offer of wine or champagne instead of beer." So beautiful and so well deserving to not only mothers, mine chief among them all, but all kinds of lovers whose love is boundless.

No Sex in This City

When I saw the first “Sex and the City” movie, I had perhaps only seen about six or seven episodes of the show. Not enough to call myself a fan or to recognize the name Carrie Bradshaw and all it symbolized. However, the buzz about the movie and rumors about Carrie finally getting the one thing she wanted more than all the Manolos at Bergdorf Goodman was enough for me to get a ticket and head down to the pictures with an old buddy from college.

I will admit that the movie was a visual treat. The fashion was splendid, the music was delightful and the plot was interesting. For all the climaxes and lows, the movie ends with Samantha as horny as when the pilot was shot, Charlotte enjoying matrimonial bliss, Miranda climbing the corporate ladder at her firm and Carrie still in pursuit of the elusive Big. I left the movie theatre entertained, mostly by the fashion, although I’ll admit the plot played a role in the euphoria I was floating in. But besides the labels and love theme of the movie, there was an underlying theme of pursuing dreams and searching for and finding happily ever after. After all, isn’t that what movies are supposed to challenge us to do?

Serendipitously, I was loaned the entire “Sex and the City” box set right on the heels of the release of “Sex and the City 2.” I’ve watched the series in the daytime, late into the night, on the weekends. I’ve watched a couple of episodes over. I have had to hit the pause button at several junctures to fully wrap my head around the outrageous yet funny episodes in the lives of Carrie and the girls. I am still plowing slowly in the frothiness that is the box set, having only made it to I believe episode five of season four. Slowly, it’s all making sense, as I’m able to put pieces of the puzzle together. Any honest woman will admit that you can’t watch either of the movies or episodes of the show without the realization that these women mirror some of their idiosyncrasies, fears, and who knows, their wild sex lives?

But seriously, watching the box set, I kept on asking myself, are there women out there who really live like Charlotte, Miranda, Carrie and Samantha? And Samantha? Are there really women who have multiple one-night stands? Women who sleep with bartenders, random movie stars, guys in dark, dingy clubs with bad haircuts? Do these women really exist somewhere out there or are they just the musing of Michael Patrick King and Darren Star? After all, let’s be honest, both King and Star are openly gay, so is it fair to assume that these women don’t exist, but that King and Star want to believe they do?

Having not been a fan when the show aired on HBO, I’ve been left to wonder if the show was only a poor attempt at mimicking the culture of single thirty somethings or if the show was the perfect paradigm of what women should aspire to. It would be nice to have Michael Buble’s “Call Me Irresponsible” playing in the background every time the show came on because that’s the only tag for the behavior that was constantly paraded on the show. Irresponsibility at its finest. Sexual irresponsibility.

Sure, the show starts of with condom-carrying Carrie, but it’s not until one of the final episodes of Season three that any mention is made of the possible risks of unprotected sex after Samantha is forced to get tested by one of her cheap f@$#s, as she calls them. Still, in season four, unprotected sex is what gets Miranda pregnant for a boyfriend she’s long broken up with and who has in the space of their separation been with other women.

If there’s anything I have learned about American culture, it’s that Americans are quick to somehow believe that the people in the television box somehow set the standard of what acceptable behavior is. Look at what the O.C did to American teenagers. The foolishness still hasn’t stopped. It’s still going strong with the cast of “The Hills” and “The City.” What young person has not wished they were Lauren Conrad for a day? Let’s not talk about our favorite guidos and guidettes either. So I can only imagine the effect of “Sex and the City” on a horde of impressionable twenty and thirty somethings across this great country.

With “Sex and the City 2,” the quartet picked up from where they left off. Carrie finally is married to Big and has embarked on the task of furnishing their apartment, and lavishly so. I’ll call the furniture in their apartment the highlight of the movie. Samantha is still on the circuit sleeping with everything that uses a urinal, Miranda and Steve are still couple, while Charlotte is mothering two children. The movie begins with a wedding, that of Stanford to Anthony. The wedding is very gay, replete with a gay men’s glee club, white swans, and of course Liza Minnelli who reprises the spirit of Sasha Fierce in a very lousy rendition of “Single Ladies.”

The movie has no central plot, but rather skirmishes around with a plethora of plots. Samantha lands a promising public relations job that takes her and her friends to Abu Dhabi as guests of a very deep-pocketed client. In Abu Dhabi, they are spoiled with lavish gifts and lodged in a very expensive hotel where they each have a personal butler and a chauffeured car. The trip is a welcome break for Charlotte who is struggling with being a mother and for Miranda who just quit her position as senior partner at her firm.

In between desert safaris, poolside parties and shopping trips at the souk, Carrie runs into Aidan an old flame, and agrees to go to dinner with him, where they exchange a kiss. She goes ahead to tell Big who is angered by her behavior. I sensed some memory loss on Big’s part, because, the initial break-up between Carrie and Aidan occurred because Carrie cheated on Aidan with Big while Big was married to Natasha. As is typical with Samantha, she is caught having relations with a stranger on the beach and as a result, the free services they were given were cut and they were left with the option of staying on in Abu Dhabi at their own expense.

The supposed Abu Dhabi location and Islam are fodder for pushing the envelope, and the movie skirted with the topic of women’s rights. In a sense, the notion that American women are not fully free despite the so-called freedom we are supposed to have was discussed. But in a larger sense, the finger pointing was at Middle Eastern culture. The idea of wearing burqas and other such garments were parodied. I doubt that the movie and all it represents will humor Muslim clerics. First, it included sex scenes, the kinds that made the show a hit with a lot of fans and also, it made the mistake of shaming Muslim culture on a very public stage.

An interesting issue that the movie raised was the issue of migrant workers. Carrie’s assigned butler was a migrant worker from India who was only able to afford to make four trips home in a year to visit his family. Visiting Dubai two years ago, I was pained by the number of Indian and other South East Asian migrant workers that dotted the entire city. They worked long tortuous hours in service and labor-intensive jobs, building hotels they will never be able to afford and selling jewelry they will never sport. Nonetheless, it seems that the government of the UAE has some sort of migrant worker initiative in place. The United States might want to adopt a similar program or at least one that will make the antagonists in Washington and Arizona happy. Having witch-hunts aimed at illegal immigrants will not get very far and the sooner this realization is embraced the better.

The movie ends with Carrie returning back to an upset but humbled Big, who realizes his vows trump Carrie’s indiscretions. And of course, sexually liberated Samantha who wants the entire UAE to know that she has sex continues her relations with her very hot companion. In all the movie lacked in many aspects and tried too hard to live up to the supposed idea of “Sex and the City.”

Where Fear is Slave

I remember reading a story as a child. I don't quite remember all of it, but it had to do with a sign on a mailbox that read G.I.Ant. Removing the punctuations, the words read "giant," with the punctuations, it could have stood for Geronimo Ignatius Ant, or Geraldine Imelda Ant. However, few people dared find out what it was. They read the words "giant" and immediately feared impending doom. Perhaps, they may have had unpleasant encounters with giants in the past and now were scarred by the experience. If only they cared to knock on the door, a poor little ant whose initials were G.I. would have welcomed them in.

Last week, I had a G.I.Ant moment. I got a salad from Chick-fil-A. I was going to write I got a salad from a fast food place, but God forbid it was some other place...My order was wrong to begin with and there was no silverware in the bag. I took the salad home either way and called to let the manager of the location know. A few bites into my meal, I began to choke on the salad. It was not horrific by any stretch, but it scared me. I managed to have a few bites but I had to give up on the salad eventually.

Later the same evening at a dinner event, I was about to put a piece of salmon in my mouth, when all of a sudden I was gripped by fear. Fear of choking on my food. I got so scared I didn't eat a bite of the food and the food was good...salmon, spring salad, pasta, cremé brulee, key lime pie, and cheese cake. I put a piece of the whipped cream to my lips and the fear paralyzed me. I came home hungry and gave little thought to the fear that now seemed to envelope me.

On Sunday, I didn't eat a bite. I was stricken with fear. Finally with my sister sitting in my room, I managed to eat a cup of yogurt and tea in an hour and half. I was frozen. The days rolled by. Sunday turned into Monday, gave way to Tuesday...by the end of Wednesday, all I had eaten was the yogurt, tea, and some fish soup. I looked up choking on the internet and realized that I was becoming prey to a condition called "pseudodysphagia," or irrational fear of choking. This is a psychological disorder where the sufferer fears choking on foods, and adopts a liquid diet because some foods are seen as unsafe and viewed as hazardous.

This may seem light but by yesterday, I had only had one full meal. I had little snacks inbetween, spending perhaps twenty five minutes on two cookies. I prayed with my family and some friends and had to believe God that this torment was a lie devised by the devil. If I could gulp down three glasses of milk, then why was I afraid to eat a piece of chicken. I had to realize that Satan was trying to create fear in my heart. In my despair I reached for scripture after scripture and I found comfort in John 17:15, "...that you protect them from the evil one." This was a direct prayer Jesus prayed to the Father before his crucifixion. It resonated deeply with me that Jesus had taken the time to pray for his sheep before his departure. Reading the entire chapter, I found prayers that addressed almost every challege we could potentially face.

The fear of choking, the fear of heights, of speaking in public, arachnophobia, of death, of poverty, sickness, the fear of G.I.Ant. Fear can take hold if we let it, but God reminds us that he has not given us the spirit of fear, but of love, power, and a sound mind. I suffered for a whole week at one time feeling really weak and exhausted. I knew God was present, but I didn't trust him full when I should have. Don't let fear put you in a corner. Be bold and take the plunge trusting that the one who bids you come will not let you fall. Go out on a limb and let God bear the shame if you fail...because you won't. He'll be there to rein you in and will not let go. So today, stare down your fears and remember God's got your back.

The Gift of Time

I haven’t written in so long that I almost believe I may need to relearn the art of writing. It is true that when God endows us with gifts, those gifts are lasting. However, even the most gifted of us must practice. If Michelangelo only sculpted when he was in the mood, if Oprah only spoke on days she felt like doing so, Tiger only played when his secrets were in the closet, if Alvin Ailey only danced…okay, so I believe I’ve made my point clear.

Lately, I’ve had some time on my hands, time I’ve spent doing mostly nothing. Sometimes I decry the constant boredom. I wish I were doing. Doing academic work, doing some kind of work, just doing. I am a doing person. I hate being idle. Sometimes I don’t know exactly how to relax because I am always planning or scheduling activities in my head. It’s just my nature. I detest boredom. I don’t leave my home without reading material. I am terrified of being somewhere and not having a book or magazine to read. This doesn’t mean I am some hermit who uses the excuse of a book to ignore human company. I enjoy company but I’d much rather read.

So, as I have all this time on my hands, I keep wishing I were doing something else. However in the midst of wishing I were doing, I suddenly stopped a few afternoons ago. I realized that this might be the only time in my life for a long time, when I am completely and totally in control of my time. A time will come in my life when my time may not be mine alone. When my life will be given to the dictates of family, work, and other pressing demands of life.

As devoid of awe as this revelation was, it was one of those moments Isaac Newton must have had on the verge of great invention. I realized I had a great gift, one that many seek, but only few ever posses; the gift of time. Upon this realization, my thinking shifted. Sometimes in life, nothing major has to change. We don’t have to come into great wealth or find the elixir of youth. We just need a paradigm shift, a new way of thinking. So, in the meantime, I need to make sure I use this gift of time wisely to ensure I give back to the Giver a gift in this time.