Jersey Shore Before MTV’s “Jersey Shore”, or, Before Snooki There Was Ernie
by Ernie on 26/02/10 at 9:43 am
I have developed the unshakable habit of calling the impish, overnight-star of “Jersey Shore” something like “Smoochi” or “Snoopy” when compelled to discuss the show in polite company. It seems I can only devote so much of my brain to information about people who haven’t actually done anything. E-Verse assistant producer Kara, one of the nation’s foremost experts in celebrity gossip, informs me that Snooki is now at the 22 minute mark in the Warholian 15-minutes-of-fame cycle, unless (forbid it!) she lands her own “Snookin’ for Love” dating reality show, which seems less and less likely as she continues to fall deeper in love with personal trainer Emillio Masella. Kara also tells us that, for what it’s worth, Snooki is not actually even really Italian. But let’s save that for another day.
When folks get excited about “Jersey Shore,” the mega-hit reality show that may save MTV, I can only shake my head. Intellectuals are entranced. Academics are already pushing each other out of the way to be the first to to publish a paper on “Baudrillardist hyperreality and preconstructive subconceptual materialism of post-popular gendered commodification as it relates to hetero-normative late capitalist societal role-play” in the series. You see, I lived through all of that. It’s not exotic to me at all. It’s dreary and tiresome. Though unfortunately not a “guido” myself, I spent much time at the Jersey shore with a strain of redneck variant, and we washed up at plenty of parties where shirtless guys with a half-pound of “product” in their rooster combs strutted around with Italian flags worn as capes while dopey dance music pumped all through the night. The girls had really, really big hair. I’m told some required their own zoning permits. E-Verser Stacy, who now lives in Boston, sent me this photograph she snapped of one of our many sojourns to “the shore” way back in the early 90s. Her boyfriend Kyle, the lead singer for my band, is at the wheel, and I’m goofily smiling from the backseat in what was surely a half-soused or at least slightly-stoned state. This photo inspired a little stroll down memory lane, and an education in shore life.
One of our regular haunts was the boardwalk at Seaside Heights. It took me years to learn that not all beaches are giant ashtrays, not all waves contain medical waste, and that drunken brawling is not the norm at many beach resorts in the world.
I used to loiter around Lucky Leo’s Arcade.
Astoundingly, it has the same early 80s video games in place today, the very ones I carved my initials into while in junior high. They were built to last. In fact, the proprietors still blast Bon Jovi songs into the room.
Lucky Leo’s has been around for a long time . . .
The first time I dove from a rock into the pure, clear blue of the Aegean, I knew what I’d been missing all those years down at the Jersey shore. Compare:
VS.
Again, let’s compare.
VS.
For instance, here is a civilized Italian beach, at Capri.
Even better, here is an empty beach in Baja, Mexico, where my mom lives half the year in the small town of Todos Santos. Not the safest beach (watch those undertows!), but pristine and a lovely place to waste an afternoon.
Well, let’s flash back to Heavy Metal Ernie, south Jersey Shore-era. This is what I thought a beach was supposed to look like.
In the end, though, I still love the Jersey shore. I still get a tear in the eye when Bruce sings:
Beyond the Palace hemi-powered drones scream down the boulevard
The girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors
And the boys try to look so hard
The amusement park rises bold and stark
Kids are huddled on the beach in a mist
I wanna die with you Wendy on the streets tonight
In an everlasting kiss
You had to be there. Really.
