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Gino or Italian, which are you? by Valentino Assenza A few years ago I was in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico on one of those all inclusive deals. It was a pretty good time it was at the end of December, and it certainly was a treat to be in the warm sun during that period of time, even though you dread landing at Pearson and then feeling the cold Toronto air in the tunnel emerging from the airplane when you arrive. There was a lot of good times, I was in my early twenties and single. There were plenty of women to talk to, and being the extrovert that I am I spared no one. There was one particular incident that happened on the beach where I was talking to this very voluptuous brunette named Antonella. She was very pretty, she looked fantastic not only in the bikini she was wearing but also, with the beach and sea behind her. She seemed a like a pretty cool girl, she was also from Toronto about to go into fashion design at Ryerson University. I excused myself for a little while to make my way over to play some beach volleyball as I had promised most of the people that I had met at that resort. On my way over I was greeted by this tall built man with two hoop earrings in each ear, and a tattoo on his left shoulder bearing an eagle carrying the Italian flag. His eyes were fierce he seemed somewhat perturbed. He comes right up to me and he says "Dude, is your middle name John Deere?" Not having a clue what he meant by this or if I heard him correctly I looked at him and said "What?!" Again he repeated the question, "Is your middle name John Deere?" I thought for a second that I mistakenly walked onto the set for some spy movie and he thought perhaps that I was filling in for someone, but I saw no cameras around so I just looked at him again and said, "Man you've lost me." He looked behind him a few times like as if some drug deal was going down or something. I then noticed a group of guys that did not look much different than him start to laugh, he had a grin on his face as well. He came closer to me. "Do you like to cut grass?" He asked me. I know that the sun is hot in Mexico, and perhaps delusional behaviour was one of the side effects, but I did not want to be presumptuous, so I basically said, "Okay man can you tell me what the hell you're talking about?" He asked me, "Do you like to cut grass?" There is so much small talk you could make with other people that are staying at your resort, this guy wanted to talk about gardening, I thought it a bit strange, but I obliged him. "It's not the greatest thing I could be doing with my time, no not really." "Then why are you cutting mine" he asked. I looked behind me, maybe he had the wrong guy, I had no recollection of ever seeing this guy before this resort, let alone cutting his grass. At this point I thought I was getting heat stroke but I shook it off and said "What?!" The clouds cleared a little better when he put his hand on my shoulder and raised his pointing finger to Antonella who was sunbathing. He looked at me, still pointing at Antonella, and said "Dude you're cutting my grass." He started smiling, and I started smiling, I finally got what he was saying. He was basically saying that he was corresponding with Antonella first and he would appreciate it if I reduced any such efforts to court her, because he was interested in her. The analogy of me cutting his grass was basically his way of telling me to stay away. He was talking in Gino. It's too bad Gene Roddenberry is not alive, I would pitch a new alien race to him Yes, Ginos are everywhere, and as an Italian this frightens me a little. With a name like Valentino Assenza upon introduction, people assume my Italian background immediately, but because the Ginos of this fair land that we call Canada, have also transfused the idiotic segment of our Italian culture, people pick up the stereotypes and mistake Ginos for Italians. I know what you are saying, what is the difference? Believe me: the difference is huge. There is also the female version, Ginas. These women are usually lipstick-dependent, they are responsible for the large jungle of hair that can be found at most clubs Thursday through Sunday at most Toronto night clubs. Ginos are easily identifiable as well as they all have cool hair cuts, limited vocabulary, similar hair cuts, and an attitude chock full of testosterone. If you have trouble finding them go to any Toronto night club, and mistakenly hit on their girlfriends, in seconds they synchronously swing from the chandeliers, and ask you if your middle name is John Deere. There is relief, I have transcribed, some differences between Italians and Ginos which may be helpful, please take heed of the following. Italians are elegant dressers Ginos wear Armani suits with white tube socks. Italians refer to women as beautiful, or pretty Ginos refer to women as "mint" or "solid" Italians are acquainted with works of literature from Giuseppe Pirandello, Nino Ricci, Joe Fiorito, and Maxim Magazine. Ginos are simply acquainted with Maxim Magazine, and take it quite seriously. Italians actually speak Italian Ginos get yelled at in Italian by their mothers, and eventually start to cry. Italians, the day after, say, "I made love last night" Ginos, the day after, say, "Yeah I slammed her" Italians are disappointed with a low I.Q. Ginos are disappointed with a low bench press. Italians say "I'm Canadian, with Italian background" Ginos say "no I'm not a fuckin Caker!" Italians Rock! Ginos drive cars that say "I-Roc" Well there are a few differences, please note them, and when someone says they're Italian, try not to mistake the stereotype or vice versa. If you run into a Gina, be careful, conversations outside of Celine Dion, may be few and far between. If you run into a Gino, it could be the same deal but more along the lines of Stevie B and Dep hair gel. Please be on your guard. I guess that I am proud of my Italian culture, I have been very fortunate in my life to spend all that time in the motherland, and I guess I can ride the egotism, of having had those experiences. Canada is my country though, I embrace many Canadian principles, moreover the one that encourages you to feel great when you hear "I Am Canadian" and at the same time be able to do the Tarantella with your Aunt Concetta at your cousin's next wedding.

might i add that real italians dont have the stuck up attitude that Canadian ginos have. Real Italians beat up wiggers instead of trying to be one. Real italians havn't listened to Stevie B since 1987.

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Originally posted by jester Everything in this country is illegal.

"Socialism is a philosophy of failure, the creed of ignorance, and the gospel of envy, its inherent virtue is the equal sharing of misery…" Winston Churchill

‎"If you have ten thousand regulations you destroy all respect for the law" - Winston Churchill