Shore Enough

Shakespeare, Hemingway, Dickens.

These authors are so renowned that they can be identified by a single name. Now we can add a new legend to this pantheon of literary giants: Snooki.

Snooki? Really? Yes, Nicole “Snooki” Polizzi, self-described “guidette” and member of that TV phenomenon, “Jersey Shore.” Snooki is now a published author, having “written” a “book” called “A Shore Thing.”

Snooki, whom most of us are certain has never read a book, is now an author, albeit with a vocabulary that includes words such as “gorilla juicehead.” Will she be in the Library of Congress? Has she ever actually been in a library?

For those of you not up on your pop culture, “Jersey Shore,” which debuted last year, carries on the MTV “Real World” tradition of putting young strangers in a house – this time in Seaside Heights, NJ – and recording their every movement, hoping for drama and abhorrent behavior. No problem. Though these young “adults” do exactly what you did when you went down the shore – beach, bars and booze – they take it to the next level, complete with hook-ups, hangovers and arrests (OK, some of you undoubtedly are thinking, “That was my time at the shore, too.”). With the cameras rolling and the encouragement to make it interesting by the ever-present producers, they binge and brawl – mostly the girls – and call each other names that cannot be repeated here. And that’s just in episode 1.

Not that it matters for TV purposes, but most of the cast comes from outside NJ and some aren’t even Italian, despite the large Italian flag hung on the door of the shore house. They are the ultimate “bennies.” If you are in a bar when they come along, you have to sign a release to give permission to the producers to use you on TV. Some of the patrons let more than the producers use them, but I’m not entirely sure that makes sluts any different from the way they behaved back in my day, does it? It’s just that these people do their dirty deeds in the “smush room” for all of us to see via voyeuristic TV.

Last season the cast transplanted itself to Miami, ignoring the fact that the Jersey Shore can only accurately be located in New Jersey. This change in locale was needed because the shore season here runs between Memorial Day and Labor Day, and the kids needed a new place to get into trouble – I mean shoot new episodes – so Miami’s beaches served the purpose.

Now the show is back in New Jersey, broadcasting episodes shot this past summer with largely the same themes. Snooki has toned down her trademark “poof” hair a little, but she’s still sauntering around, barely clad, and wearing lots of bedazzled headwear. There is the ever-present tension in the relationship between Sammi and her meathead boyfriend Ronnie that usually results in a catfight with Jenni (“J-Woww,” and if you catch a glimpse of her enhanced anatomy, you will understand the reason for the “wow”). Mike, Pauly D and Vinny still cruise for chicks and try to avoid “grenades” (bad-looking chicks, in their parlance) after going through their GTL (gym, tanning, laundry) ritual. At least we know they are clean, right?

Believe me, I am not proud to say I watch this show. The conversations here are hardly fodder for the Algonquin Roundtable, and there are virtually no redeeming reasons to observe this kind of behavior other than to decry it. (I justify my addiction by comparing myself to an anthropologist observing behavior. Yeah, that’s the ticket, I’m freakin’ Margaret Mead!) It is like passing an accident on the highway – you can’t help but look. Besides, it shows aspects of our culture that we can recognize as the end of the world as we know it – if this behavior in any way represents the generation it depicts on TV. I hope not.

Let’s put it this way: If I lived next door to these people, I’d move. And if they were my kids, I’d cut them off. Not that it would matter, because they are all well-paid on this break from their real-life waitressing and bar-tending jobs. Mike “The Situation” is purportedly earning $5 million this year alone, parlaying his fame and his amazing abs into a stint on the mostly respectable, more mainstream show “Dancing With the Stars.” And Andy Warhol promised they’d only be famous for 15 minutes.

With all this activity, it makes you wonder how Snooki had time to write that book, doesn’t it (she said, dripping with sarcasm)? All I know is that the rumbling sound you hear is Shakespeare, Hemingway and Dickens turning over in their graves.

The producers recently announced that the show’s stars are being deported – I mean planning to travel – to Italy for the next batch of episodes. I remember the first time I was in Italy, reveling in the rich culture and history of Rome and appalled to see that omnipresent American export, McDonald’s, on the way to the Coliseum. And now we send Italy our best and brightest – Snooki.

Good luck, Italy.