Griffin Geek: American fondue

So I was watching “Exposed,” one of MTV’s dating shows the other day, when I started to wonder about something.

This girl is on a date with these two guys, and she pits them against each other in a competitive activity in order to decide who she’ll spend some alone time with first. She chose a chariot race.

Then, as if she was announcing she’s a descendant of Caesar himself, she proclaims something like, “I picked the chariot racing because I’m Italian.” This bothered me, for several reasons.

By Chris Ulicne

Staff Writer

So I was watching “Exposed,” one of MTV’s dating shows the other day, when I started to wonder about something.

This girl is on a date with these two guys, and she pits them against each other in a competitive activity in order to decide who she’ll spend some alone time with first. She chose a chariot race.

Then, as if she was announcing she’s a descendant of Caesar himself, she proclaims something like, “I picked the chariot racing because I’m Italian.” This bothered me, for several reasons.

First, she didn’t really look or sound Italian.

Second, I’m pretty sure it mentioned somewhere in the show that she lives in the U.S.

Third, chariot racing was popular in the time of the Romans, before the conception of modern Italy. Italy still observes chariot racing as an interesting cultural trait inherited from that era, but it’s not like your average Italian participates in or watches the sport every weekend (at least, as far as I know).

And lastly, perhaps the most vexing reason of all, was the fact that she obviously thought “being Italian” made her some kind of special celebrity, superior in some way to others who are not Italian. You know what I mean? The “Look at me, I’m Italian, isn’t that so hot?” attitude? Even if one could consider her attractive, I doubt it was the supposed blood of the boot flowing through her veins that made her so. I’m sure there are just as many unattractive Italians as there are unattractive (insert nationality of choice here).

Anyways, I wanted to cry out “You’re not Italian!” but that would have been a little rude since I was in the Maura Hall commuter lounge at the time surrounded by people deep in thought (or maybe they were just sleeping).

This whole issue of pretending to be something you’re not seems like a perpetual trend here in the States. It’s always “I’m Italian,” or “I’m Polish,” or (the ever-popular) “I’m Irish!” Of course, most of the people who make these declarations are nothing more than hopefuls, since the only traces of their heritage that tie them to their chosen ethnicity or nationality are usually at least several generations old and quite thin. I’m sorry, but even if your parents lived in the Netherlands, if you were born in America and you’ve lived your whole life in America, you are not Dutch. You are (again, I’m sorry) American, and no, that two months of vacation in your parents’ homeland doesn’t magically make you a Dutch citizen, either. When it’s all said and done, you still live in Chicago.

There’s nothing wrong with showing appreciation for our cultural and ethnic heritage. But I think when we start to believe that it defines who and what we are, it becomes a problem. We start to cling to a nationality that was never really ours to begin with and in turn neglect the nationality that affects us everyday. We’re generally xenophobic, yet we remain more loyal to the heritage of our ancestors than we are to the heritage we all share today, the one thing that we all have in common: we are American.

Eh, I dunno. I guess as long as we’re all melting in the pot, we’re all a part of the same fondue in the end, whether we want to admit it or not. We have our own unique flavor, one that combines all of the best tastes in the world. I just wish we’d learn to appreciate the whole as much as the parts