And it’s all bullshit.
Renee Antonelli Valente
You can bet your funnel cakes there are no “Snookies” running around in packs down the Shore. The only kind of ‘situation’ your apt to come across in Seaside is not getting a good spot on the sand.
At the same time, it does make for what they call “can’t miss” TV. Like a car wreck.
We all like to laugh at the ridiculous. We‘re intrigued by some of the freak shows that parade past us. But it begs the question: What’s fact, and what’s fiction?
Is “reality” it a bunch of manscaped, jacked-up guidos with hair gel so far down their necks it crawls up their wazoos -- which may, in fact, explain their attitudes?
That’s about as real as the idea that every New Jerseyan eats a Taylor ham, egg and cheese on a roll with salt, pepper and ketchup every morning. Sure, it happens, but not nearly as often as you’d think.
As for the New Jersey “housewives,” where do the real ones fit in? Again, I don’t know who’s calibrating the reality scale here. But since I, in fact, am a real New Jersey housewife, I can attest that daily routines of remodeling and social visits and meaningless cocktail parties where you air-kiss guests a couldn’t-give-a-shit “hello” isn’t happening in my neck o’ the ‘burbs.
What are we supposed to do with these people? Are we to admire them for their wealth, even though most of them did nothing to get it in the first place? Should we be awed by their lifestyles, envy what they have and we don’t, all for the sake of entertainment?
Is this actually supposed to inspire us to achieve… oh, I don’t know…wealth through marriage?
Or is it really meant to turn around on these overindulged, over-processed, over-caricatured women and expose them as the proverbial Epic Fail to what money and privilege really do?
You want talk inspirational TV? How about a show about the REAL housewives of New Jersey?
You know: the ones constantly chasing down their brood, trying to keep them fed, clothed, occupied AND learning through the summer -- on a budget, no less.
The ones struggling between having enough time for a job and for the family.
The ones standing in line at the supermarket, or at the bodega, trying to maintain some sense of dignity while holding out a public assistance check.
The ones going to school, no daddy in sight, so they can make better lives for their children.
Or the ones taking the crew to the zoo -- again.
A real New Jersey housewife is planting a garden, taking out the garbage, cooking affordable AND edible meals, cleaning the house, doing her gut-level best to create a safe, loving environment for those closest to her heart.
Who’s standing in awe of them? Of US?
We run such a risk of poisoning our children with what TV tells us is real; with unrealistic images praised as beautiful, with outrageous rewards given to athletes and chump change tossed at teachers; with bridge-and-tunnel zipperheads prowling OUR boardwalks.
Who knows? Our kids may actually come to believe that Shore people are big-haired, big-ego’d white trash. They might look around and think they don’t have it as good as the witches flaunting their manicured fingers and lawns. They might come to believe that athletes contribute more to the world than teachers or firefighters or police.
Don’t get me wrong: As a kid, I never had the urge to throw an anvil off a cliff with a rope tied to my ankle. I knew fact from ficton. But the divisions aren’t as obvious anymore, and I don‘t want my kids growing up chasing uncatchable roadrunners who don’t even exist.
Now if you’ll excuse me: My Taylor ham, egg and cheese is getting cold.
She moved to Wayne, but this Union (City) Hiller never left her city roots. Renee Antonelli Valente is a true 'tweener', book-ended by a feisty mom in her 70s and her own inquisitive grade-schoolers. Still, she finds time to rock out.
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