A lighthearted look at news, events, culture and everyday life in New York.
By Nina Pajak
The time has come to say goodbye to those mischievous kids of Seaside Heights. Though we’ve all grown to know and love and then hate the antics of the wacky cast of pop culture phenomenon/cancer Jersey Shore, MTV has wisely decided to make this upcoming season the final one. We wouldn’t have wanted it to jump the shark or anything.
It’s easy to mock, but where would we be without them? We wouldn’t have fist pumping or nearly as many spontaneous dance battles at weddings. We would never have learned how to beat up the beat. We would have no idea how to refer to ugly girls (grenades), skinny ugly girls (landmines), uptight girls (bombs), or the state of mind in which a person has made the often inebriated decision to give oneself over to lust in that most intimate and meaningful act between two consenting adults (DTF). We would never have taken the time to learn and appreciate the “juicehead gorilla,” nor the virtues of a strict regimen of Gym-Tan-Laundry.
They taught us to live, but now the crew is moving on with their own lives.
Snooki has a baby! I remember when she was just a baby herself, drunk at 6pm and dancing like a wild, Lilliputian tribeswoman until her underwear fell out of her skirt.
Ron-Ron and Sammmmmeeeee have finally progressed to a point in their relationship where they can sit in the same room and not wind up throwing furniture at each other and destroying personal property. I’ve always affectionately thought of them as the Sid and Nancy of the shore house.
JWoww has achieved an impressive bra size at the precocious age of somewhere between 29 and 46, and I’m sure her aspirations don’t end there. Vinny, sweet Vinny of the blinky charm, wrote a book, and I hear it made sense!
Pauly D‘s vibrant wit inspired an endless line of Cafepress t-shirts and trucker hats which will ensure a legacy which will far outlive the man. I like to imagine my great-grandchildren sitting by the fire in their shirts before the shirts, their own grandchildren at their feet, embroidering “Cabs are Here” into throw pillows.
The only tragic end to this story is with The Situation, the man who some may argue started it all. Sadly, he has slipped into a state of dementia in which he suffers from extreme paranoid delusions and can no longer express himself verbally. He mostly just sits around, flexing his abs and muttering the word “situation” over and over again. Old age is a terrible thing.
What comes next? Which marginal and easily stereotyped slice of society will be called upon to step up from their relative obscurity to take the Guidos’ place at the top of the reality television food chain? New York society dodos? Excessively rich Persians? Gypsies? The children of Russian oligarchs? Chinatown gang members? German exchange students? Only time will tell. For now, I can’t wait to watch this last season and am especially looking forward to the finale. If they don’t play Green Day’s “Time of Your Life,” I owe a lot of people a lot of money.
Dear Readers: While I am rarely at a loss for words, I’m always grateful for column ideas. Please feel free to e-mail me your suggestions.
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