DAN TESSITORE

Jersey Shore? Was Guidouche! already taken? Faux-Hawk's Landing? Bad hair-do aside, the guy on the right looks almost normal next to Gay-Rod and Oompa Lou Diamond Philips here.

I know, criticizing reality television is cliche, but then again so is reality television. Seems all you need to become a minor TV celebrity now is to have a shitty job (Ice Road Truckers), be willing to eat anything (Man vs. Food), or be fat (Biggest Loser). I'll gain a hundred pounds for 5 minutes on Letterman. Where's my show?

So-called Italian Americans hate Jersey Shore even more than they hated The Sopranos. If I hear the words "Italian American Community" one more time I'm going to take out a contract on Scott Baio. Funny how there's only a racial community when someone is pissed off about something. Michael Richards goes on a tirade, and suddenly there's a "black community." Lou Dobbs goes on a tirade, and suddenly there's a "Latino community." Justin Timberlake wins an award, and suddenly there's a "gay community." Isn't saying there is such a thing as a black or Latino community the same as saying that all blacks or all Latinos have the same politics, values, tastes, and sense of humor? Isn't that stereotyping?

Answer: YES.

People are happy to be just Americans until being a hyphenated American helps them win elections, sue someone, or get a shitty reality show. My last name, Tessitore, is Italian. Do I give a shit? Not really. Tessitore is the Italian equivalent of Weaver (tessit from the Latin for textile, but you knew that already because you're a smart bunch), so I'm probably not descended from royalty. I haven't bothered to trace my lineage back to the old country, and if I did I'd probably discover that my ancestors were just another clan of wine-swilling, olive-picking sheep fuckers. Otherwise, why would any of them have come here in the first place?

Duh.

My family always pronounced the name in three syllables: TESS-i-TOR. When I got to college, and especially grad school, many of my profs and snooty-but-lovable friends insisted on going with the four-syllable version: TESS-uh-TOR-ee. I never really cared either way, so I let it ride. But I'm going with the three-syllable, Ellis Island version from now on. Because I'm an American mutt like most everyone else and don't feel the need for any ethnic street-cred. And besides, it has the same rhythm as SAM KINISON, so what could go wrong?

The only bragging rights I have are a couple of sauce and meatball recipes that any woman in her right mind would blow me for, and that's enough. Oh, and there was a great uncle back there somewhere who stepped into the ring with Joe Louis. You probably haven't heard of him. Because he probably got his Italian-American Community ass kicked.