New Jersey Mating Call
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New Jersey Mating Call
Unbeknownst to most New Jerseyians, we are a breed in and of ourselves. Love us, hate us, make fun of us, but theres no way you can ignore us (were far too loud to let that from happening).
Granted, many of us dont embody fully the clich idiosyncrasies of New Jersey. Were all not Bon Jovi fans (we do have Bruce after all) , we all dont drive SUVs, we all dont give the finger to slow toll payers on the parkway, and we all dont ask Oh My Gawd, what exit are you from? upon meeting a fellow Jerseyite in a foreign locale (i.e. the Hamptons and New York City).
However, the stereotype is there for a reason, as there are many people who unknowingly carry on the tradition of listening to the thumping beats of Goomba Johnny on KTU while driving their kids to Tiger Schulmans Karate and picking up extravagant lighting displays two months prior to the holiday season from even commencing.
These are the untold stories of such people (probably due to their inarticulate nature and limited vocabulary).
An anthropologist studying the mating habits of New Jerseyians would be astonished in the pageantry and spectacle of the luxury cars with the sound woofers in the trunks blasting 3 month old 50 Cent tracks through community college parking lots. They would be flabbergasted upon learning that a viable occupation in the state is insurance fraud & law suits, often times accompanied with the consequent wearing of neck braces. They would be wowed by the excessive muscle daddies who strut their stuff for aesthetically dedicated M.I.L.Fs at Golds Gym.
What might be missed though, is the official N.J. Mating Call.
The aforementioned traits of such characters are all mere foreplay for the unadulterated, unabashed mating call, otherwise known, as the DISCO Whistle.
Take a repetitive beat, place vocals from a whiny Staten Islander singing of love lost, make sure all the words can be known and sung upon 30 seconds from having heard the song for the first time, and if youre feeling extra snazzy, place a rapper on one of the verses who refutes the protagonists claims of infidelity by using a 3rd grade level rhyming scheme (i.e. You dont know/How damn low/I am without you girl/I love you girl).
Find the beat, and then with it go, as loudly as possible WHO WHO. WHO WHO WHO WHO) and you have officially started the Jersey Mating Call. Be prepared to ward off 4-5 people of the opposite sex (and one bi-curious one of the same) who reeks of Ralph Lauren fragrances and Paul Mitchell styling gel.
I didnt know the power of this whistle/call until yesterday. I went to the Sugar Shack in Atlantic Highlands. Its about 5 times the size of my bedroom, yet still managed to contain about half of the participants of my high schools very exclusive In-School Suspension program (ASP for those in the know).
My friend Alicia thinks the whistle call is horribly annoying. Accordingly, I think its wonderfully hilarious.
Some song was playing, and in my state of euphoric mischief, I strategically placed the call mid-song, as loud as my lungs would permit. To my surprise, the entire club, upon the next beat, was chanting it in unison. Alicia looked at me with her disapproving, yet amused smile, and when the chant would fade after 30-40 seconds, Id start it up again.
I could have (as could they) have done this all night.
More stories of New Jerseys unique personalities and idiosyncrasies will proceed, documenting my homecoming.
So go get your hair highlighted, buy some Diesel/Express jeans, hit up the mall and be prepared to get Jerseyfied.
----------------------------------------------
New Jersey Mating Call
Unbeknownst to most New Jerseyians, we are a breed in and of ourselves. Love us, hate us, make fun of us, but theres no way you can ignore us (were far too loud to let that from happening).
Granted, many of us dont embody fully the clich idiosyncrasies of New Jersey. Were all not Bon Jovi fans (we do have Bruce after all) , we all dont drive SUVs, we all dont give the finger to slow toll payers on the parkway, and we all dont ask Oh My Gawd, what exit are you from? upon meeting a fellow Jerseyite in a foreign locale (i.e. the Hamptons and New York City).
However, the stereotype is there for a reason, as there are many people who unknowingly carry on the tradition of listening to the thumping beats of Goomba Johnny on KTU while driving their kids to Tiger Schulmans Karate and picking up extravagant lighting displays two months prior to the holiday season from even commencing.
These are the untold stories of such people (probably due to their inarticulate nature and limited vocabulary).
An anthropologist studying the mating habits of New Jerseyians would be astonished in the pageantry and spectacle of the luxury cars with the sound woofers in the trunks blasting 3 month old 50 Cent tracks through community college parking lots. They would be flabbergasted upon learning that a viable occupation in the state is insurance fraud & law suits, often times accompanied with the consequent wearing of neck braces. They would be wowed by the excessive muscle daddies who strut their stuff for aesthetically dedicated M.I.L.Fs at Golds Gym.
What might be missed though, is the official N.J. Mating Call.
The aforementioned traits of such characters are all mere foreplay for the unadulterated, unabashed mating call, otherwise known, as the DISCO Whistle.
Take a repetitive beat, place vocals from a whiny Staten Islander singing of love lost, make sure all the words can be known and sung upon 30 seconds from having heard the song for the first time, and if youre feeling extra snazzy, place a rapper on one of the verses who refutes the protagonists claims of infidelity by using a 3rd grade level rhyming scheme (i.e. You dont know/How damn low/I am without you girl/I love you girl).
Find the beat, and then with it go, as loudly as possible WHO WHO. WHO WHO WHO WHO) and you have officially started the Jersey Mating Call. Be prepared to ward off 4-5 people of the opposite sex (and one bi-curious one of the same) who reeks of Ralph Lauren fragrances and Paul Mitchell styling gel.
I didnt know the power of this whistle/call until yesterday. I went to the Sugar Shack in Atlantic Highlands. Its about 5 times the size of my bedroom, yet still managed to contain about half of the participants of my high schools very exclusive In-School Suspension program (ASP for those in the know).
My friend Alicia thinks the whistle call is horribly annoying. Accordingly, I think its wonderfully hilarious.
Some song was playing, and in my state of euphoric mischief, I strategically placed the call mid-song, as loud as my lungs would permit. To my surprise, the entire club, upon the next beat, was chanting it in unison. Alicia looked at me with her disapproving, yet amused smile, and when the chant would fade after 30-40 seconds, Id start it up again.
I could have (as could they) have done this all night.
More stories of New Jerseys unique personalities and idiosyncrasies will proceed, documenting my homecoming.
So go get your hair highlighted, buy some Diesel/Express jeans, hit up the mall and be prepared to get Jerseyfied.