NJ Pride, or: Where I mock guidos

So, after booking a plane ticket home to visit my glorious childhood home state of New Jersey (save your jokes, people. I've heard them) I was inspired to write a little rant on the less glorious feature of The Dirty, mainly guido's.

For all you amateaurs, Wikipedia so helpfully describes this particular breed of human (partial human??) as "is a slang term for a younger lower class or working class Italian-American. The Guido stereotype is often portrayed as humorously thuggish with an overtly macho attitude and an unyielding pride in his Italian ancestry.

Now, don't get me wrong. I have no problem with Italian-Americans. In fact, I'm sure you all have watched at least one snippet of The Soprano's, a Jersey-tastic show in its own right, and will concur with me that although many a NJ-dwelling-male is stereotypically in the mob, this is not what I refer to, nor am I bashing the entire cultural sect in general.

What I find fault with is the guido guys, which Wikipedia continues to define for me so eloquently in a section titled "Style of Guidos" :

Clothing associated with the stereotype includes gold chains, working class clothing such as plain T-shirts, muscle shirts, leather jackets, sweat or tracksuits, scally caps [note: WHAT?], unbuttoned dress shirts, and dress suits. Slicked-back hair or pompadours are a common stereotype, as are moustaches. Recently, heavily gelled spiked hair has become a common stereotype. The hairstyle is commonly referred to as the Blowout or Brooklyn Fade – "Brook" [again: WHAT?], for short.

So, upon informing you, dear readers, of all this helpful and necessary backstory into the basic identity of a Guido, I was prepared to showcase many a damning photo, perhaps with witty anecdotes. But no- I won't do that. Not because I'm lazy (which I am), but because some genius out there in the great World Wide Web of Opportunity did it for me. And so, I bestow upon you the following annotated diagram of a Guido:

(click the pic to read captions)

-Li

Celebs Are Sleepy: Or, Awards Shows = Guantanamo for Celebrities

So, I'm sittin' on my couch eating a pint of ice cream (don't hate!) last night, kicking back and watching The awards show of all awards shows, the all-important MTV Movie Awards. You know, the one with the awards for such integral moments in film such as 'Best WTF Moment' and the always-essential 'Best Kiss.'

But I digress. As just a Joe (Josephine?) Shmo watching on my couch at home, I feel as if I have the right to be viewing sans pants, hair greased, and with a semi-bored expression on my already tired face. However, my rights, I feel, do not extend to members of the acting community that have chosen this profession and all of the responsibilities and tedious tasks that go with it.

To put it bluntly, and address the problem celebs head on: you have no right to appear bored, or unhappy, or pissed-to-be-there at an awards ceremony. None. Let's put on our faux sympathetic cap for a moment, shall we?

Jamie Foxx, why so glum? No Oscar this year? Yeaa, your life sure does blow.


"Wahhh. My life is sooo hard. First I got paid, like, 20 million for this action flick, and I KNOWW I deserved at least 25, but I didnt get it 'cause I'm a girl, and this industry like, totally hates on us. But, like, now I have to go promote it and shit, and get tons and tons of bags of free stuff I could afford anyway, and put on a really expensive sparkly dress that I also didn't pay for, and lather on the bling, which, SHOCK - didn't pay for, and then I have to WALK, yes, WALK, down a red carpet, which is soooo tiring as it is, but then I can't even go home! I have to go sit in a dark theater and watch OTHER people perform and win awards. Which is just so hard, because, like, I could be doing something WAY more fun. Like drinking! Or..... sleeping! Both of which I muuuch prefer to this torture. ... What? What's that? I'll get to drink for free after this? But when!!? Oh, just another two more hours of sitting in this plush chair? UGHHH. My life sucks. Why, god, why?"

Needless to say, I do not sympathize. As I sit from my perch on my couch in ViewerLand, I wonder- who told you this was the hardest part of life? And did you smack them in the back of the head promptly thereafter? No? Well, I will.



Peaches Geldof, who, although a famous name, is not known for any talents in particular.

Hence her horrible, horrible boredom at the front row of a fashion show?

Pooooor celebrities. Getting poked fun of by over-enthusiastic emcee's on stage. Why won't anyone leave them alone? They're such victims.

Cover up that yawn, Ben Stiller. Stop looking like your puppy died, Tom Cruise. Wipe that tear from your eye, Megan Fox, living off the. I promise this will all be over soon. Then you can go back to living your life in obscurity; out there land quietly. That's what you want, isn't it?

ISN'T IT!?

-Li