Phawker

Yo-Yo Ma,
I recently started dating this way hot Italian goddess from around the way, who just invited me over to her families’ Eagles-watching gathering this coming Saturday. Being as white as the driven snow, and perhaps not up to passing muster as the manliest of men (sorry, no blue collar callouses on these hands), I’m stressing the whole first impression thing. What do you suggest in regards to making that perfect first impression to Mamma Italiano and the boys?
P.S. I also know nothing about football. Help!
Signed, Whitey

Dear ‘medigan,
Kudos to you for thinking about this beforehand — the first impression in an Italian-American family is no joke. And if your Italian-American Princess is worth it (and, like, duh, of course she is) and you end up marrying, any missteps you make on the first meeting with the family will be ball-busting fodder for years to come. Nearly a decade later, my Sicilian-American family still makes fun of the ugly tie my (Irish) now-husband wore to one of my sisters’ weddings when we were first dating. Before I dispense with the advice, let me share with you a politically incorrect joke that sums up what’s at work here:

Scientists say they have conclusive evidence that Jesus Christ wasn’t really a Jewish guy from Nazareth — he was, in fact, an Italian guy from South Philly. The proof: a.) He lived at home until he was 30, b.) He hung out with the same 12 guys his entire life and c.) His mother thought he was God. (more…)

ELIZABETH FIEND REPORTS: This is my Thanksgiving column. As a vegetarian, you probably expect me to write an article on the horrors of eating turkey — antibiotics, hormones, inhumane factory farming. As an anarchist you may think I’m going to rail against the hypocrisy behind the meaning of the day — the slaughter of Native Americans by the white man, the taking over of someone else’s land. Or perhaps you’re hoping for some vegetarian recipes. In that case, you shoulda tuned into my NPR Vegetarian Thanksgiving interview last year. Instead, I’m going to talk about how to use the science of proxemics
to get you through the massacre at your own family’s dinner table.

Face it, most of us don’t have a picture-perfect, greeting card kind of family. Chances are, this Thanksgiving weekend someone’s going to irritate you. In my opinion, a lot of fighting, arguing, grumpiness around the holidays originates from the fact that we wonder how we could possibly be related to these people. Er, I mean we’re all too close.

Close in propinquity and proximity — we don’t have our normal personal space. This is made even worse because it’s always freaking raining on Thanksgiving and you can’t escape outside for that much-needed break.

Proxemics is the study of personal space and people’s perception of it. The term proxemics was first used by Edward T. Hall in 1963 in his book “The Hidden Dimension.” He stated that we all have an invisible force field around our bodies and it’s important for our mental health to preserve our own comfort zone. Proxemics involves all our senses. It’s not just someone standing too close to you, it could also be Aunt Rhubarb’s obtrusive perfume or Uncle Pill’s loud cell phone talking.

As humans, we’ve developed ways to overcome the intimacy of proximity. Whether it’s what you stare at in a crowded elevator, or which seat you take at the coffee shop, we’re hard-wired and culturally trained to choose. But we’re also extremely adept at adapting.

Here’s an example. I used to be a judge at The Super Mecca Karaoke Gong Show. One time, among the other judges, were two lovelies from Delilah’s, the gentlemen’s club. As we were interacting, I noticed my hand and forearm kept brushing against their ample, plastic bosoms. Wow, I thought, this is really strange. It’s not my usual MO to be rubbing against other ladies’ breasts. But it kept happening and I seemed to
be unable to stop it.

Then they changed into bikinis.

Oh sh*t.

I figured I’d better try to stop touching their tits. They came to the event with bodyguards. I, of course, did not. I analyzed the situation and realized all I had to do was apply the science of proxemics. Their gigantor bazoombas protruded so unusually far from their petite, perfectly tanned bodies that their knockers were literally knocking on the front door of my personal space. Solution: as magnetic as those twins were, I merely had to back up a little bit more than if I had been interacting with normal, naturally-shaped women.

(more…)