Fear the Jaywalker

An hour ago I got nailed by a L.A. motorcycle cop for jaywalking. He gave me a ticket. Change100 got one too. She was super pissed and went on ticket tilt. She doesn't deal with law enforcement types too well. Here's what went down... We were going to walk to the diner two blocks away. As soon as Change100 stepped outside her apartment she said, "It's too cold. Let's drive."

It was 58 degrees.

That's freezing by LA standards. Bastards. Alas, we drove and found parking on the opposite side of Pico Blvd. We jaywalked to the other side and as soon as we reached the sidewalk, a motorcycle cop drove up and told us to stop.

"Can I see some identification," he said as he took off his mirrored sunglasses at 8:10pm. "And sir, your zipper is down."

He pointed to my crotch. He was correct. My fly was down. The pair of jeans I wore had a zipper flaw. I liked them too much to throw them out, so I accepted the fact that my zipper would be down a majority of the time.

Change100 launched into a rant and I gave her a look like, "Calm down."

She was so angry she couldn't look at the cop. She turned her back as he slowly wrote us out citations.

"Ma'am," he said to Change100, "200 pedestrians die on Pico Blvd. every year. And over a thousand go to the hospital. You have to cross at designated cross walks."

I heard her mutter "Total bullshit," as she signed the ticket.

When the cop asked me to sign I asked, "No slack for tourists?"

"Nope. Same thing I told her. Do you want me to repeat my speech?"

I signed my name and put a smiley face next to it. That was my first autograph since I arrived in LA.

The cop who pinched us had an Irish last name. If that went down in NYC, the cop would have let my McCatholic ass off with a warning. Wait.... NYC cops are too busy chasing after terrorists to give pedestrian tickets for jaywalking. You would think that an internet celebrity like myself would be able to get off with a warning... but in LA the cops love arresting celebrities, especially ones that try to pick up tranny hookers on Sunset Blvd.

Change100 stormed off towards the diner. She flung the doors open and sat down in a booth. She slammed her fists on the table and screamed, "I'm too angry to even talk about this."

Her tilt lasted about ten minutes. Take a peek of her account of the events. Here's what she had to say:

"I couldn't fucking believe it. Do I have like, some fucking overdraft on my karmic account? Isn't getting unceremoniously sacked from my job bad enough for one month? And now this fucking bullshit. Fucking JAYWALKING! IN LA!! Unbelievable. I was steaming so hard I couldn't even LOOK at the douchebag fuckface cop as he scribbled away on his little cop notepad so I turned and leaned against a parking meter, facing the complete opposite direction. My blood pressure rose and my heart pounded as I tried to keep myself from screaming obscenities and finding the closest sharp object available and stabbing him in the testicles. Fucking cops."

The most fucked up thing about the situation... the same cop who gave us jaywalking tickets had just eaten at the diner. The owner's daughter said she gave the cop 50% off his tab too.

I kept laughing the entire time at the diner, while Change100 steamed over it during our meal. I was supposed to leave California today and fly back to NYC. I decided to stick around for two more days to play poker, take photos, and work on a freelance assignment.

I guess I could be upset about the situation. The way I see it, after all the debauchery I endured in L.A., jaywalking was by far the least illegal thing I did within the city limits. I avoided a feline homicide charge and I'm more than thrilled to be able to leave this town without a venereal disease or a B class felony.

5 Random L.A. Pictures

I took these over the past week.










Darwin at the sports bar

Shane Nickerson: Vlogger

Go check out Shane Nickerson's vlog from today. He's handing out asshole fines and even gave himself one.

L.A. Stories: Let's Do Lunch

The 11am sunlight ripped through the blinds and illuminated the entire room with a radioactive glow that burned the eyelids off my face. That was my daily alarm... a high concentration of natural light piercing my retinas. If I was able to conquer the insomnia for a rare night, I never slept in too late because the solar rays prevented me from falling back to sleep. My first glimpses each day were traces of a large palm tree shooting up out of the ground and towering over the garage across the alley. That's the first reminder that I was in Los Angeles. I'd wander outside for a minute and shrug my shoulders at the warm temperatures.

"This is what winter in LA feels like," I muttered out loud to the anorexic chick who lived upstairs.

She always smiled when I tried to speak to her. The dark-haired twenty-something with oversized sunglasses sat on a piece of Target bought lawn furniture and chain smoked while she yapped on the phone to no one in particular. At odd hours, she'd be found sitting outside Change100's kitchen window. Sometimes sipping tepid coffee, but always chain smoking, she discussed every minor detail of her last audition for a sitcom at Fox or the last blind date she went on with a vegan indie label record exec from Malibu who drove a Ferrari. Decked out in pink flipflops and grey sweat pants, she spent more time on the phone sitting in the piece of shit lawn chair than she spent in her apartment.

My first week in LA went by quick. I'd have to be at the Commerce Casino by 3:30 everyday and spent at least 12 hours there for work. When I'd wake up everyday, I'd be super tired from staying up until sunrise partying. After a shower, I'd get directions from Change100 to the restaurant where I had a lunch meeting at. She'd write detailed directions on slips of paper that used to give writer's notes for random scripts in development. I'd always get lost and have to call her for backup anyway. I'd be able to find the place with no problems. Within a few days, I figured out the local LA streets. Where I'd screw up was when I'd get lost trying to find parking, taking random sidestreets and alleys and finding myself on the other side of Rodeo Drive caught on a street corner with cellphone clutching hipster parents pushing carriages with $3,000 diamond earring hanging from the earlobes of 16-month old children and unable to figure out where the fuck I was going. Was it walking towards the hills? Or away from them?

One day I had a lunch with my buddy JC. In the 1990s he managed two highly popular bands. He burnt out on the music industry over the past ten years and switched gears. These days, he was involved with poker and several successful ventures. He wanted to discuss some career options for me. I picked La Scala on Canon Drive in Beverly Hills for the meeting. He joked that I knew it was a free meal... because I picked an expensive and high end place. Change100 recommended the Italian restaurant that was located a few blocks from her old office. Several years ago it was one of the places to eat lunch in LA especially in Beverly Hills. These days La Scala is not as cool, but still attracted a steady crowd of new money fakesters who were out to be seen rather than to enjoy a decent meal.

I just started getting used to that whole weird LA thing when people stare at you as soon as you walk in a room, or a bar, or a restaurant. Everyone stopped what they are doing whether it's drinking, talking, eating, snorting blow... just to see who walked in.

JC and I were led to our seats by a former reality TV star, who spent four afternoons a week humiliating herself as a hostess in a desperate last minute attempt to catch the eye of a casting director before she subjected herself to doing hard-core gonzo porn movies in the Valley with bi-sexual hairless meatheads who had uncircumsized junks that were the size of paint cans. We all walked towards the back of La Scala while everyone casually peeked up from their Tiramisu to see who we were. Several crescent moon shaped booths along the wall were filled with shit talkin' studio execs wearing last year's fall line of Versace shirts. We were surrounded by a gaggle of trendoids and pharmaceutically bloated ex-actress-model girlfriends of semi-famous directors who carried around an eight ball in their $2,500 Marc Jacobs purses. They would glance at us and try to figure out a few things...

1. Who important just walked in?
2. If I don't know them, should I?
3. If they are nobodies, I have to look much cooler than them.
4. I wonder if they have any coke?

We were seated next to a table of four soused women pounding white wine. I called them the third-wives club. Their combined plastic surgery cost about the equivalent of two fully loaded SUVs. And on the other side of us were two young starlets with IQ points plummeting every time they open their mouths to speak. The blonde with the supple lips was high-end hooker hot with a sexy back tattoo and the other one looked a lot like Jennifer Love Big Tits, minus the big tits. They rambled on about shopping during the duration of the lunch, in between bitching about having to drive to a party out in the sticks later that night.

Most bathrooms in chic LA eateries were ultra nice with big stalls. Only in Hollyweird bathrooms will you find more stalls/shitters than urinals. They know their clientele and cater to executive cokeheads and other drugged out miscreants who spent the majority of their lunches shoving Colombia's finest candy up their nostrils, which accounts for the frenzied and meaningless drivels that spilled out of their mouths when they came back to the tables.

Aside from the trendy crowd, the food was better than average and La Scala is known for their Chop Salads. That typical writer-doing-a-lunch experience was just one of the few I had this past week. They were all roughly the same. I might have been one of the few people who actually wanted to talk business at lunch instead of showing off a new pair of Fendi sunglasses.

* * * * *

One afternoon last week, my friend Nicky took me to a kick ass breakfast joint called John O'Groat's. On our ride over, the typical blonde California pothead took turns with me smoking a bowl of medicinal marijuana. She told me should could hook me up with a special card. She knew a doctor that you could bribe for $150 to get a prescription card. There were very few people who smoked as much as I did, and one of those people was Nicky. She was perpetually stoned. Nicky held a semi-important job in Hollyweird and was baked to the tits from the moment she walked into the interview. In show business, people are too self-involved to notice co-workers with definitive drug problems. Besides, most people mistook her stoner behavior as ordinary flakiness that most blondes were prone too.

As we circled the block for parking she lowered the volume on her iPod as Beck blasted. She admitted, "OK, now I have to harness my parking chi."

She took a deep breath and centered herself. Focused on finding parking, her eyes darted back and forth anticipating an open spot in the heavily trafficked road during lunch hour. She was locked in and when she found an empty space located in a prime spot only a few stores down from O'Groat's, a lady in a black convertible Mercedes 500s cut her off and stole the spot.

"You fucking twat!" Nicky she yelled clenching her fist.

Nicky drove past the lady in the Mercedes who avoided eye contact. Nicky rolled down the window and bitched her out.

"That was my spot, you fucking whore!" she said as she flipped the lady the middle finger.

Inside of a few minutes Nicky went from a laid back stoner to a maniac on the verge of road rage. That's what retarded LA drivers and intense vehicular congestion can do to sane people.

"Imagine how stressed I'd be if I didn't constantly smoke?" she said trying to justify her heavy daily weed intake.

We needed to smoke another bowl before we went inside. Nicky was still steaming. She was on parking space tilt. We had to wait a few minutes to get a table at John O'Groat's. The place was an legendary LA eatery. Originally it was just located in one store space. As the popularity grew, the owner purchased the adjoining two stores and eventually expanded. Despite the additions, they were always packed with hungry customers.

The daily special was Oreo French Toast, where the chef melted crushed Oreos on top of the bread. I didn't even need to use syrup because it was so juicy. The side order of bacon was just how I liked it because it was crisp enough that it melted in my mouth.

At the table behind us, one scenester with a receeding hairline was on a date with an unknown actress.

"You have excellent cheek bones and amazing skin tone," he said in his best attempt to flatter her.

The first five minutes of the conversation were dedicated to him kissing her ass and telling her about how hot she looked. The next ten minutes were dominated by his ego and small penis. He rattled off the highlights on his resume, then dropped names of semi-famous people who he claimed to be his friends. Nicky shook her head and laughed at the absurdity of the dating scene in LA.

"Everyone's working an angle," she explained. "And everyone is a terrible fuck too."

That's when she clued me in on the latest trend that was sweeping Hollyweird... stripper-aerobics.

"At Crunch in West Hollywood," she said, "they offer classes. Carmen Elektra was teaching you how to strip. It was aerobics using a stripper's pole. It's the latest hipster rage! Yoga is dead. The only people doing yoga these days are hippies and pregnant women from Sherman Oaks."

I thought she was joking, but she was serious. Only in LA would women multi-task to learn how to strip and loose weight at the same time.

* * * * *

"Oh shit!" Change100 screamed as she dug through her mailbox sorting out the junk mail from the bills, "Showcase got a check from SAG!"

Her roommate Showcase was getting a residual check from the Screen Actors Guild for work he did in one of those awful sequels that Hollyweird churned out every few months. Whenever they got a SAG check, they'd buy a new batch of drugs. Depending on the size of the check it was either weed or coke. Sometimes both.

Showcase came back early on Saturday morning from a week long cruise to Mexico with his very Jewish mother. He sent me an email halfway on his cruise and said that he smoked up with the only black kid on the boat.

"Showcase was smoking weed with rappers," Change100 said as she laughed in wonderment.

By the end of the cruise, Showcase found every pothead on the ship, including a 44 year old mother of three from Wisconsin. Eating the ice cream buffet on the high seas is a treat when you are stoned to the gourd.

He was appalled that I turned down a work assignment to cover a poker tournament on a cruise ship headed to the Bahamas. Some people like cruises. I'm not a crusie guy. I like the freedom of not being stuck on a floating city with several thousand strangers. Weed or no weed, I'm not down with cruises. Perhaps if some friends of mine went along, it could be fun. But having to do work on a cruise would suck. Lucky for me that the Poker Prof took the assignment. If anyone needs a vacation... it's him.

* * * * *

I'm always gambling it seems and not always for money. I gamble for information too. I won a bet with Change100. We played a heads up poker match where no money was involved. She supposedly was a former child actor and on a somewhat popular TV show... but wouldn't tell me which one. If I won the match... she'd have to tell me the name of the series and the year she shot the infamous episode. If she won... then I'd have to reveal some juicy nuggets regarding my previous sexual history. She wanted to know how many blondes I slept with in my life.

In a very short contest, I came from behind to win. It was an ugly suckout too. I never should have won. Dejected after the loss, Change100 knew she had to come clean with me. She eventually told me the name of the show as her face grew beet red with embarassment. I told her that I wouldn't blog the exact info, but let's just say she appeared in a series on ABC in the early 1990s which starred a young actress with the initials CD.

Everyone's a writer or actor, pothead or cokehead, hipster or trendoid in this town. It's the warm sunny weather that keeps people milling around the jam packed streets of Los Angeles. Oh and the kick ass weed too... it's gonna be hard saying good-bye to that.

Truckin' - February 2006, Vol. 5, Issue 2


I just published another issue of your favorite e-zine Truckin'. Thanks to Maudie for the new banner, which gives Truckin' a more professional look! The second issue of 2006 features several old writers such as Otis, Human Head, and AlCantHang. Strips clubs, cokeheads, and shit trucks. Sounds like another exciting issue, eh? Especially with another poem from Jaxia. This issue also features a new writer, Ben Rillie. Check out his story called Merry Fucking Christmas. Finally, I decided to go with a bus story and something that happened to me one late night in Atlantic City.

1. Highway Job by Tenzin McGrupp
They smelled like a combination of three-day old urine and rotten eggs as the aroma of depravity made me nauseous for the entire fifteen minutes I sat and waited for my Greyhound bus bound for NYC to arrive... More

2. Action Island by Otis
I couldn't see any coke on his nose. Still, if you'd told me there hadn't been some marching powder shooting up his nostrils in the last couple of hours, I would've called you an idiot... More

3. Tomorrow Thoughts by Jaxia Kiley
Window's open. A soft breeze runs across our skin and under the sheets as we dance together... More

4. The Honey Wagon by AlCantHang
I drive the shit truck. The Honey Wagon. I'm a drunk. It's my job and I hate it. The job, not the drink... More

5. Two Loves by Human Head
A person with self-esteem as fragile as mine often questions the reality of things. Everything is easy when nothing stinks, enough money is in various accounts, and cartoon bluebirds flutter to and fro in the background, but sooner or later Mr. Yin makes a call to Mr. Yang and the balance sheets are once again set in order... More

6. Merry Fucking Christmas by Ben Rillie
The only thought in my tiny, tiny brain at the time was, "Man, this is going to be a monster of a fart," and I immediately pondered the best way to record it so I could email it to my friends... More

7. Can I Hit It and Quit? by Tenzin McGrupp
She reminded me of a young Meryl Streep. Her accent was thick and she smelled like flowers and blueberries. She sipped on a Sea Breeze or some sort of vodka-cranberry concoction... More

I ask that if you like these stories, then please do me and the rest of the writers a huge favor: Tell your friends about your favorite stories. It takes a few seconds to pass along the URL. I certainly appreciate your support. Feel free to shoot me an e-mail if you know anyone who is interested in being added to the mailing list.

5 Random L.A. Food Pictures

Since Derek requested it... "More pictures of food, please!" Well, here it is. I took these over the past week. I highly recommend the Oreo French Toast at John O'Groat's!


Huevos O'Groat's


Apple Pie ala Spaceman


Cheese fries


Shake


Oreo French Toast

Last 6 Hilarious Google Referrals...

1. cartoons of kids tormenting a geek
2. female cornholing pictures
3. fun sex, food and plastic wrap
4. sexy women sucks kids breast
5. shaved donkeys balls
6. tammy nyp sex video cell phone

World Poker Tour Invitational - Day 1


Some of the brightest stars were out in numbers at Commerce Casino for the annual WPT Invitational, where some of the top names in Hollyweird are rubbing shoulders with poker's elite. As the name suggests, this is an invitation only event so this was the hottest ticket in town. And yes, I wiggled myself an invite.

Change100 asked me this morning of there was going to be a red carpet at the WPT Invitational. She's used to those sorts of things cause she worked in Hollyweird, and I quickly scoffed at the notion, "It's just a poker tournament."

My oh my, I was wrong bigtime. This is not just a poker tournament. It's a Hollywood Poker Tournament. With all the glitz and cheesyness factor rolled into one messy poker burrito. As soon as I drove into the parking lot, I saw the tent and red carpet ready to great limos and Hummers. I had to get new press badge for the event and fumbled through that process. It was border line hellish and reminded me of a scene from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, when Hunter S. Thompson stumbled into the Mint Hotel to check in under a head full of liquid sunshine. I was not mentally prepared for the zoo of papparazzi, with photographers following camera crews and publicists shuffling their clients down the media line, as the Commerce was flooded with reps from several mainstream media outlets. Of course they got first priority, while the normal poker press like Card Player and Poker Wire got pushed to the back of the line. Lucky for me, I mentioned that I wrote for Fox Sports and they quickly ushered me to the front in between Access Hollyweird and the local ABC affiliate.

"Kent Brockman News 7," one news anchor said to me as he shook my hand. His name wasn't really Kent Brockman, but he reminded me of a cross between Kent Brockman from The Simpsons and J. Peterman from Seinfeld.

"Pauly. Doctor Pauly. Fox Sports and the Tao of Poker," I slurred in between sips of my Seven & Seven.

I never drink those. But Ron Rose was drinking Seven & Sevens when I shot the shit with him while we stood in line. And he's a WPT Champion so if it works for him, it works for me. The hallway upstairs was cluttered with banquet tables serving random food. I liked the chocolate covered strawberries. I found the open bar quickly and that's where I realized I could find some of your favorite pros getting sauced up for the event.

Last 5 Pros I Saw at the Open Bar:
1. Ron Rose
2. John Gale
3. Tony G
4. Men the Master
5. Mark Seif

And yes, Men the Master was knocking back Coronas. I stood in the corner with the Poker Wire girls as we watched the security guards turn away big time pros from entering. This is work for some of the media folks and it was hard to enjoy yourself at a cocktail party when you have work looming overhead. I have no problems drinking on the job, so I headed back for a refill.

I didn't work the room. I hate schmoozing people and kissing their asses. If I dig something, I usually keep it to myself. I chatted mostly with Jen Leo and John Caldwell from Poker News. I found Foiled Coup too. Jen Leo cornered Jon Favreau and he told her that his show Dinner for Five will not be on anymore. John Caldwell is a music guy and he was talking to the drummer from No Doubt.

I finally went inside to take photos as they seated everyone.

For a complete recap of Day 1 of the tournament including over 30 pictures of some of your favorite celebrities like Wil Wheaton... go read my poker blog.


Wil Wheaton


James Woods


Isabelle "No Mercy" Mercier


WSOP Ladies Champion Jen Tilly


Ricki Lake & Erick Lindgren


Jason Alexander, Willie Garson (in background), and Mike Sexton


My office...


Unabomber


Lou Gossett, Jr. and Gus Hansen in a deep conversation


Jon Favreau


Shannon Elizabeth & Al Ardebili


Danny Masterson & Gentleman John Gale

To see more photos and read a full recap... click here.

5 More Random L.A. Photos

I took these pictures over the last few days.


Entrance to I-10


What $2.3 Million looks like






Downtown

Ten Minute Tuesdays: L.A.Version

"I told you to get out and leave me alone," the waitress yelled at the homeless guy as she served a table of hipsters their coffee.

It was 8:15pm and the diner was somewhat empty. Spaceman, Change100, and I were eating at Nick's Coffee shop around the corner from her apartment in between Beverly Hills and West Hollywood. We were in the middle of dessert, when an old black homeless man stumbled into the place. He was muttering random things and the 60-something year old waitress told him to hit the road.

The main wall of the coffee shop was cluttered with head shots from B and C-list celebrities like Rip Torn and AJ Benza.

I ordered French Toast with bacon, cheese fries, and an iced tea. Dessert was a chocolate milk shake. I called the waitress, "Sweetie" a few times and she called me "Sweetie" once.

In one week, I've eaten there three times.

* * * * *
I ate lunch downtown with Joe Speaker. Since it was a holiday, downtown was empty for a Monday. We ate a La Pollo Loco, since the Mom & Pop Cuban joint across the street from the LA Times building was closed. I noticed that there were a ton of bridal shops in that area of town. I took a few pictures of random downtown LA buildings. We saw a homeless guy that lost his shoe.

After lunch, I headed to Commerce Casino with Change100 for work. She drove and we spotted two Mexican guys smoking a bowl in a red truck next to us. They laughed at us because we were smoking too.

When I walked into Commerce Casino on Sunday, the first person I saw was James Woods talking on his cell phone. He was nervous and was about to play in Day 4 of the LA Poker Classic tournament. First place pays out $2.3 million and the Hollyweird actor was hoping to make a final table... not so much to boost his acting career, but rather to solidify his poker reputation as being a competent tournament player. He came in 24th place out of 692, which was not too bad. He made the money, but fell short of the final table.

* * * * *

Change100's roommate is an actor. His nickname is Showcase. Our friend's wife Mrs. HDouble (who is Swedish) read Change100's blog and thought that Showcase was Change100's cat... not her roomie. Strange. Anyway.... Showcase went on a cruise to Mexico and called Change100 to tell her that Rick Schroeder was also there. The other night, one of Showcase's acting gigs was on TV. He played a bit role in some Nickelodeon show and we replayed it over and over on TiVo. His scene was no more than thirty seconds but it was cool to see that.

Aside from that, I've been trying to watch the Olympics, which has been frustrating because I've been losing all these prop bets, specifically on the US women's curling team. Oh well.

I watched some LA local news. It's cluttered with stories about deadly car accidents and people driving off the freeways into ravines.

It's been cold for LA standards. It dipped below 50 the other night. Of course that's Spring-like back in NYC.

It's hard to write here in LA. I can't explain it, but I think the sunshine bakes my brain and makes me want to just "chill out" instead of grinding away at the laptop for four or five hours straight.

One more week here. I'm almost even this month playing poker. One good session and I wipe out this month's losses. I can't wait for work to be over so I can fart around, head to the beach, and play poker in one of the many casino, perhaps Hollywood Park.

* * * * *

I got offered a gig to cover a poker tournament on a cruise ship in the first week of March. Yep, Miami to the Bahamas on a three-day tour... and I'm considering blowing it off, too. I'm not a cruise-guy per se and I was looking forward to spending the first week of March in NYC catching up on freelance writing and starting the completion of the Las Vegas book. So right now, I dunno what to do. It's not everyday I get offered a chance to go a free cruise to the Bahamas. I'm totally retarded if I blow it off, yet that's what I'm leaning towards doing.

Recent Freeway Driving Music...
1. Galactic
2. The Beatles
3. Trey Anastasio Band
4. Matisyahu
5. Jerry Garcia Band

5 Random L.A. Photos

I took these over the last few days.




"I'm not just the President, I'm also a client."


James Woods at the LA Poker Classic


Free sneakers at a freeway exit

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A Funny Interview with Derek

These days my brother is conducting interviews about me! Good Lord. You can check out... In honor of THE live blogging Man which was posted by StB at Beer City Poker.

Here's a bit of the interview from StB:

I tried to come up with 3 good questions for Derek to answer about his brother. After 14 hours of beer, this is the best I could do:

StB: Does Pauly never really sleep?

Derek: Pauly is one of the few people who sleeps less than me. I usually get 4 maybe 5 hours of sleep a night max. Pauly gets even less sleep than that. He's a man on a mission. I feel like a sloth in comparison. He's a true insomniac whereas I'm just a fucking amatuer. Who needs sleep when there's so much booze and weed to consume.


StB: How many strippers can he juggle at once?

Derek: I must say that I've never been to a strip club with the good doctor. Pretty weird huh? He says that his face seats 4 comfortably but Grubby tells me that Pauly's just being modest and that he can actually handle 5 strippers at once! I'm not too impressed though. Now 6 strippers at once would be something to hoot and holler about. Yawn.


StB: Does he steal your stash when you are not looking?

Derek: LOL!!! good question, StN. I like your thought process! He used to steal from my stash in the dark days of yester-year but ever since the poker boom in 2003 . . . our roles have been reversed. I find myself stealing from his stash more and more these days. The best part about that is that the good doctor is always on the road these days so my access to his large stash is unlimited. Sorry!! REFILL and REBUY!!!!


StB: Bonus question... Will he pass out at the Boathouse this year?

Derek: As Rodney Dangerfield once said . . . "I don't know how to fall asleep . . . I only know how to pass out." Though I will say this about Dr. Pauly . . . . he never passes out in public!

Thanks to StB and Derek!

Friday Already?

My first few days in LA have been a blur. Between partying until near-sunrise every night and hanging out at the Commerce Casino, the only other place I've spent time was inside a car driving to and fro in this sprawl of a city. It's the weather. It messes with people's minds.

I wrote this bit on my poker blog:

"I've been in LA for less than two days and I've come to the conclusion that every other person you meet is an actor, writer, or pothead. In some instances, they are all three..."

It's funny because it's true. This town is crawling with degenerates, and people with egos the size of Jupiter. At least it feels nice to wake up and see the sun shining and not freeze my ass off when I take my morning piss.

I'm staying somewhere in the vacuum between Beverly Hills and West Hollyweird. Traffic blows, but it could be worse. I'm never on the road during rush hour but you know how bad California drivers can be.

LA doesn't have too many places to eat after 10pm. It's strange so late night meals have been tough to come by since I'm a vampire these days. Change100 and I went to a 24 hour deli that was crawling with hipsters called Canter's. I had a knish and a bacon grilled cheese. Our waitress was a chunky Chinese girl with funky glasses. She was slow as shit and I realized that the majority of service staff I encountered in LA is simply... horrible.

"That's because every waiter or waitress is too self-involved," said Change100, "after all they're all actors."

"Can't they act like they're a good waitress?" I snapped.

Everyone has a script that they are working on, too. For fuck's sake, Change100's potdealer even puts on his own plays! Only in this town could someone actually get away with that and no one blinks an eye.

Showcase is Change100's roommate. He has a day job but is an actor at heart. His two biggest mentionings on his resume include parts in American Pie 3 and Legally Blonde 2. He sings show tunes in the shower and comes home on his lunch breaks to rip bong hits and watch Jerry Springer. And yes, they have a framed autograph from Ron Jeremey and a huge silkscreen of OJ's mugshot.

They have a cricket in one of their walls. It's kinda trippy in one sense and absolutely prevents me from falling asleep on the other hand. At least I've been trying to write during bouts of insomnia.

I like driving around late nights on the semi-empty streets of LA. It has a tinge of depression and gloom wth a hint of glitz.

Third Place Sucks

I took third place in the LA Poker Classic Media Tournament. First place paid out a seat to the World Poker Tour Invitational which starts right after the LA Poker Classic ends. Third place paid nothing today, except a t-shirt. And they only had a large. I'm an XL kinda guy. I got bad beated by Barbara Enright three times. The three-time bracelet winner also was the only female to ever make the final table of the WSOP main event. The best player in the field sucked out on me three times and crippled me at the final table before I was finally eliminated.

After a late night of partying, Change100 took me out to lunch in Beverly Hills at Italian sandwich joint that served amazing panini. It was one of those trendy eateries where you watch hipsters order $5 canolis and drink designer juices. We sat outside and caught a glimpse of a random late 1990s rockstar with a coked up groupie or girlfriend du jour, who's brand new surgically enhanced breasts and Kate Spade handbag costs more than my entire poker bankroll. Oh, and yes the lunch was good. Eggplant, chicken breast, and provolone on panini bread.

Random L.A. thought: I realized that no one walks around LA. And the ones that do are simply walking to their car because they couldn't find anything close by.

We headed to Commerce Casino and drove through random parts of LA on a beautiful day. With the windows down, we feverishly smoked and listening to Abbey Road. It was amazing to see sunshine and not freeze my ass off. I have never been to Commerce before. I've played at Hawaiian Gardens and at the Bike, but never at Commerce. The floor space is larger than most casinos in Las Vegas with different rooms for different games, like separate high-limit poker area from the low-limit section. I thought Foxwoods was big, but Commerce is s series of room after room with poker tables. Talk about the higest concentration of loose geese on the planet. Everyone that sees Commerce for the first time is impressed with the size of the room, even yours truly. It's like catching a glimpse of John Holmes' crank for the first time.

"Oh my goodness, it's huge!"

Ryan from Absinthe Troubles was playing in a super satellite upstairs and we met up with him on a break. I spotted Humberto Brenes buying into something at the cage. Change100 hit up the cash games and I registered for the media event. I bumped into Jen Leo along with John Caldwell from Poker News. They were both playing along with Oliver from Poker News and Stan, my boss at Poker Player Newspaper. I met Richard Sparks and his wife in the hallway. Sparks is the author of Diary of a Mad Poker Player and he's a really funny guy.

"See you at the final table," he joked as I wandered inside the ballroom to find my seat.

God, I love forshadowing comments like that. You started out with 800 in chips. I felt like I was on Party Poker again. The levels were twenty minutes in a crap shoot with half the field who didn't know what they were really doing. I sat at the same table as Jen Leo and we yapped the entire time. To my right were three local TV and radio guys. To my left was the "big" TV guy. He was LA's version of G-Rob, which meant he was on TV a lot using his anchorman voice and displayed a marvelous coif of freshly moussed hair.

The best part of the media tournament was that they served everyone a three course meal. I folded marginal hands early because I wasn't done with my salad and I didn't want to get busted before the main course came out. It was chicken cordon bleu with carrots and rice and a dinner roll. Dessert was a chic pastry. Yes, I survived it all the way to the dessert. My first goal was accomplished. Usually you try to "make it to the first break" as an early milestone. This time it was... survive to dessert.

Jen Leo won a big pot with J-8s before she got moved tables. John Caldwell got moved to mine. He went out in a five way pot, where four players were all in. On another hand, LA's version of G-Rob had to go all in because he was shortstacked and tripled up with the Hammer.

I won a pot from LA-G-Rob. With J-10o, I cracked his A-Js when I flopped a ten. Barbara Enright was moved to my table with a shortstack. I tried to bust her the first time, but my A-9s lost to her 5-8o. Then she moved all in again with a shortstack later that orbit. I had A-K to her A-6. She won that hand from me too! She had my number.

I made it to the final table 5th in chips as we redrew for seats. Also there were Stan, Richard Spraks, Mrs. Sparks, Barbara Enright and yours truly. I got as high as third in chips but I made a lot of aggressive moves to pick up the ever increasing blinds and antes. I busted two short stacks with 8-3o. It was only a few hundred more for me to call and I took them down.

Once it got three handed, I was second in chips even after I lost a small pot trying to steal the blinds from the button and then on her button, Enright moved all in on my big blind. I peek down and say K-3s. I thought for a minute or two.

"You told me that you never bluff," I said.

She kept staring at me, trying to make me fold. A seat for the WPT Invitational was on the line. I didn't show up to Commerce to sit down and fold. I came to play.

"I call," I said flipping over the better hand. Enright showed Q-5. I flopped a three but she turned a five and I was crippled. I thought she had me outchipped but I had 350 left. I tripled up on the next hand and lost on the hand after to finish in third place. Richard Sparks signed a copy of his book for me and the cool and friendly tournament staff at Commerce gave me a t-shirt. I was too pissed off to hang out and see who won. Enright had the chiplead so I assume she won. She was the best player at the final table by far.

Third place.

That was the closest I ever came to winning a seat in a major poker tournament. Two spots. D'oh! I think that I'm just going to play in celebrity and media events. I took sixth and cashed in the WSOP Celebrity/Media one last July. And I took third at Commerce. Enright was not the first pro to issue a bad beat on me. Greg Raymer busted me in a media/VIP SNG at a Poker Stars party in NYC in November. That was the night when Otis and I went barhopping and I puked in the middle fo 15th Street.

In LA

Within the first 4 hours of my arrival in LA, I ate a patty melt in West Hollywood, found a radio station that plays old school Grateful Dead, did 12 bong hits, ripped 6 gaggers, and got my junk grabbed.

I won't survive one week. Please send reinforcements.

Happy Birthday Haley!

Today is the Tao of Pauly's second favorite actress' birthday. Let's hope it's a good one. Happy Birthday, Haley!

On the Road: California Bound

I wrote over 5,000 words on Sunday that I published on two of my blogs. It was closer to 7K, but I cut a bit out of both. After finishing up a slew of articles this week, I was simply tired and did nothing on Monday. No heavy writing and I blew off whatever business calls I had scheduled. I can do that today en route to the airport.

I tried to play poker for a living instead of writing and I won a hefty $11. At least I didn't lose. I've been stuck in the worst losing streak of my life and I'm finally pulling out of it. The last time I had a big score was when I was in LA with Grubby the day I found out my grandmother died. I had a nice run at the tables. I'm hoping that California is the place where I can officially snap out of my losing funk.

In news of the freaky, Dick Cheney shot a buddy during a hunting trip. Yeah.... right! He mistook him for a duck.

They (those experts) say it was the second largest snow storm ever on Saturday night/Sunday morning. I was in college in Atlanta during 1993 when the biggest fucker hit. So techically this was the largest snow storm I ever saw in my life. For some reason I think I've seen it worse. At least once when I was a kid and back in 1996 we got a bad one. Oh well. I was at a concert when it first started to snow and it didn't seem to bad walking around at 2am. When I woke up around 11am, I saw the snowdrift up against my window.

Skippy was in town and posted a NYC blizzard gallery. Take a peek.

Saturday nights are always an interesting time on the subway. People are going out getting hammered, couples are coming back from dates, and the extra freaky people seem to come out late nights. Since it was the blizzard, the subway was crowded even more so. A bald woman wearing a very large black down coat also carried a bible. She thumbed through it and tried to drain out the sounds of two street performers. They were a duo, both with mini-guitars and the two very short guys were Mexican. They sang two quick ballads in between subway stops. A girl who wore a bright green sweater, who looked like Alanis Morissette, chomped down on a green apple as she politely listened to the music. She dug into her purse to get out $2 for a tip when they were done.

Two young high school lesbians sat in the far end near me. They took turns reading several pages from a play. One of them was taller than me with a bright pink scarf and matching mittens. The other one was petite with a dark gray woolen hat. She sipped a Starbucks cup and had a pleasant voice with soft words. Her girlfriend tried to attract the most attention because she overdramaticized her lines to the point where I considered getting up and switching seats. In the farthest end I could hear the squeals of a sick baby. I knew the kid was sick because it wasn't a normal cry of a baby. That baby was hurting and the rest of the train was flooded by a somber tone.

Moving on...

I'm proud of my brother. He writes for a corporate blog and a second story of his was picked up by AOL, which fed it to their base of members/readers. And the coolest part is that he doesn't even care about that kind of attention! I get off on that kinda stuff but he doesn't. That's why he's the consumate team player. I know that we're both still miffed that the same fucktards exploited Wil (who also writes for the same site as Derek) so it's bittersweet.

Bucknell finally made it into the Top 25 for the coach's poll. How about that? That's Derek's team too. Oh yeah and the Knicks still suck.

The Olympics are fun but the coverage is horrible. Betting on random events is the only thing making it interesting this year. Of course, I'm down.

The Joker and I already secured tckets for Bonnaroo 2006. I can't wait. I haven't been since the first one. Cost me $209 and I haven't even gotten to Tennessee yet.

I watched an awful reality TV show this weekend featuring Lisa Loeb. She went on a blind date and made some dude pay $300 for a bunch of crap she got at a containers store. She seemed funny but I noticed she's one of those "think out loud talkers." You know the people I'm talking about, those who turn on their internal dialouge and you hear them prattle off on useless bullshit. They are tough to get stoned with because they yap the entire time. Anyway, she's sexy in that nerdy/freaky/artsy chick kinda way. I'd still hit it.

I leave for LA soon. I'll be in California for two weeks investigating the poker scene and trying to crash a few Hollyweird parties. It was 80 degrees yesterday and I can't wait for some warm weather since I've been freezing my ass off in bitterly cold NYC. Lucky for me, I get to crash with Change100 and live the slacker life for two weeks. Ah, she sent me this funny link about life in Hollyweird.

Recent Writing Music...
1. Thelonius Monk with John COltrane
2. The Wood Brothers
3. Galactic
4. Bob Dylan with the Band
5. George Clinton & Parliament Funkadelic

5 Random NYC Photos

I took all of these within the last week.


Downtown billboard


My ledge




Snow Tree


Derek's fireescape

Phil Lesh and Friends 2.11.06 Review

I can't recall the last time I saw Phil and Friends. Over the past few years I came to the conclusion that in the era after Jerry Garcia's death that we call Post Jerry, that the best shows were from Phil and Friends over any other variation of the Grateful Dead with either The Dead or Ratdog or whatever was put out there. And without a doubt, some of the best Phil and Friends shows featured Warren Haynes on guitar.

Almost seven years ago, I caught one of the best concerts of my life. Senor and his brother all flew out to San Francisco to catch one Phil and Friends show at the Warfield Theatre. It was my first time at the Warfield and the show was special because Phil had just gotten healthy after a liver transplant he played a three show run that featured Trey Anastasio and Page McConnell. Yes, as Senor explained, "It's my favorite members of Phish playing Dead songs in San Francisco!"

That was the first time I ever caught Phil and Friends and although Page and Trey had not played with him since, I've still seen Phil Lesh the most out of any Grateful Dead incarnation. I think I just don't like Bob Weir and the element that he brings to the lineup. Phil Lesh is and always was the backbone and glue of The Grateful Dead. Once Pigpen died, the focus was on Jerry Garcia. Mickey Hart was with the Dead on and off during the early 1970s and the keyboard player was always revolving gig, which meant the core of the band was Jerry, Phil, Bob Weir and Bill Kreutzman. The Phil and Bill combo was a killer, especially during that Europe '72 run.

The last time Bruce saw Phil and Friends was a couple of Decembers ago on New York City when Bob weir showed up. Even Bruce isn't fond of Bob Weir and scorned his playing for the duration of the concert.

Anyway, Phil Lesh had a brand new lineup and it was going to be interesting to see how everyone played together. One of the older guys I met before the show told me that one of the guitar player's played in Bob Dylan's band.

I met Bruce at Gray's Papaya as the first traces of the blizzard starting coming down. Bruce had an unusual request. he wanted to hit up a bodega for a beer. That never happens. Bruce is not much of a drinker. I rarely saw him drink more than a few beers in one night. Regardless, Bruce wanted a beer even though he knew I still offered to buy him one once we got inside. We found a bodega on Amsterdam near P & G and Bruce scored a Corona, which he sipped out of a brown paper bag. We walked in the snow towards Broadway and I spaced out for a second and forgot Bruce was still drinking a beer. I made a beeline for the Beacon Theatre. When I realized that he was still drinking, I decided to turn around and head down a side street. At that moment, a heard some guy ask, "What do you got in the bag buddy?"

It was a NYPD sergeant who smoked a cigar and you could see his bulletproof vest on over his uniform. He busted Bruce for an open container and drinking in public. Bruce started mouthing off to the cop. In most normal circumstances, the cop tells you to pour it out and that's that. But this time, Bruce was a victim of a ticket blitz. He got a summons because the city needed to generate income so they decided to bust hippies smoking weed and drinking in front of the Beacon. Anyway, Bruce was pretty ticked off. He has an issue with authority types in general and hates cops out right. I started to get worried because we were both holding some nugs and if the cops wanted to fuck with us, they could have decided to search us and sent us to lock up for the night.

"Be cool. Just keep your mouth shut," I warned Bruce.

There was an outside chance they'd send me to the clink, but if Bruce started mouthing off any more and got all worked up like he does, he was gonna say the wrong thing and piss off the cops. They were cold as is and didn't want lip from someone who was obviously breaking the law. I told Bruce that he was lucky he was some crusty kid or a minority, otherwise he'd be in the back of the squad car after being busted for possession of marijuana.

Moving on...

Bruce got his summons and I froze my ass off waiting for the cop to write up his ticket. We finally headed inside and I love the Beacon Theatre because of their laid back security. I grabbed a Bud for $6.50 and sat down. We had lower balcony seats and ended up in the second row on the left hand side which gave me a great view of the stage. Bruce was still steaming after getting busted by the cop and he eventually got in a much better head space by the time the show started. It was not sold out and we could have gotten walk up tickets in the top of the balcony if we wanted. The crowd was much more older than me and laid back. There were not that many hot chicks around, at least in my section. Nothing like at a Phish show or the motherload of quality talent at a DMB show.

Set 1: Jam > China Cat Sunflower > I Know You Rider, Scarlet Begonias > Jam > The Wheel > Let It Ride, Cumberland Blues, Uncle John's Band

Phil came on at 8:20 and they opened up with a jam that went into China Cat Sunflower. Bruce is a drummer and right away he noted that Jeff Sipe was pretty good. He exceeded my expectations and was the best of the three new guys. Also with Phil was Rob Barraco who've I've seen with both The Dead and Philand Friends. I saw Barry Sless play with Phil and Friends at Vegoose and thought he was good. Larry Campbell was Dylan's guy who also played the fiddle/mandolin.

Joan Osbourne sang backup vocals. She came out for I Know You Rider. The sound was a little muddy and the got off to a good start. The late arriving crowd was into it while Bruce and I started our smokefest up in the lower balcony. One of my favorite Grateful Dead tunes is Scarlet Begonias and it's always bittersweet to hear it without Jerry. Alas, Joan harmonized effectively and they didn't segue into Fire on the Mountain. Instead they opted to go into The Wheel, which was where they finally picked up the pace. At that point, it had been just Barraco and Phil Lesh holding the band together. Both Sless and Campbell finally got their act together and started playing some decent solos.

Then they killed the energy of the set with a Ryan Admas tune. I headed for the bathroom. Let It Ride was the Pauly's Gonna Take a Piss Song of the show. Judging by the line in the men's room, everyone else had a similar reaction. I bumped into a friend of a friend in the hallway and made an empty promise to give her a call if I'm ever in Eugene, Oregon. She remembered my name and I forgot hers. I think I kept calling her Marcia when her name was Marcie or something like that.

Cummberland Blues was the highlight of the set for me because I never expected it and I never saw the Dead perform it at any of the shows I saw. I judged the quality of the songs by the audience's reaction. In the balcony you can determine that from how much the balcony shook during songs. The hardest it shook during the first set was during Cummberland. Phil ended the set with Uncle John's Band and Bruce commented how he liked the jamming parts instead of the lyrical parts. It's hard to hear without Jerry's voice. Larry Campbell played the mandolin on UJB and that gave it a distinct sound. Dave Grisman played it on the original recording.

They played for over an hour and twenty minutes and when they came back on again at 10:30, they played for almost another two and a half hours. You definitely got your money's worth as far as the length of the show.

Set 2: (With Warren Haynes) Shakedown Street > Jam > Viola Lee Blues > Hard To Handle > Jam > Viola Lee Blues > Bertha > Jam > Viola, Gypsy Woman Jam/Bartering Lines > Feedback > Caution > Feedback > Fire On The Mountain, Not Fade Away

Encore: Strawberry Fields > Comes A Time > Golden Road

The second set had lots of peaks and valleys. The jams were hit or miss and I wasn't into the Caution > Feedback jam as much as Bruce. However, the addition of Warren Haynes into the set was the difference between smoking ditch weed and the highest grade marijuana. Warren Haynes is that amazing of a musician that he raises the level of intensity of the show with everyone else playing better around him. The last time I noticed something like that was when Trey Anastasio showed up and sat in for two songs with Widespread Panic at Vegoose. If you get a chance listen to those two songs... Thin Air and Slippin' Into Darkness from Vegoose... some sick ass jamming from Trey and Panic if you ask me.

Anyway, the crowd loved every second of Shakedown Street. It brought a smile to my face for sure and that was the hardest that the balcony rocked all night. And yes, Warren ripped the shit out of it. They segued into a tight Viola Lee Blues which they interwove for the remainder of the second set. Warren Haynes sang the first verse of Hard to Handle and it's sad that most hipsters only know the version from the Black Crowes, because Pig Pen's versions fuckin' smoked. Take a peek at this fatty version from 1971. Joan took over the second verse and came out to sing to the crowd. They segued back into Viola and into Bertha for a bit then back into Viola Lee Blues.

I lost interest during the half hour or so when they played Gypsy Woman Jam/Bartering Lines > Feedback > Caution > Feedback. Bruce was into it, but I felt they could of used that time better especially with Warren there. I was hoping for some random Jerry tunes with Warren on vocals. I sat and smoked for most of that time and got back up again for Fire On the Mountain and Not Fade Away. I was pleased to see the Beatles cover of Strawberry Fields that featured Barry Sless on steel pedal. They ended the show with Comes A Time (and Warren Haynes on vocals) and Golden Road.

Overall it was a decent show. Not the best I saw, but there were plenty of individual highlights. The drummer Jeff Sipes impressed me the most and it will be interesting to see if he can keep up all that energy for the duration of their tour. Warren Haynes was the most valuable player and was the star of the second set despite that half hour lull where they lost me. It happens. Barraco is always going to play solid along with Phil Lesh. Larry Campbell had a great moment during Uncle John's. Based on the setlist from Friday night, I was hoping that I wouldn't be disappointed so I went in with low expectations and walked away pretty content.

I paid $50 for the ticket. The concert was probably worth $39 considering they lost me for a while. I had a ticket for next week's show at Hammerstein, but I'll be in Los Angeles for work for two weeks and have to skip it. Galactic was in LA this past weekend, and they'll be gone just as I arrive.

Recent Tao of Pauly Google Referrals

1. where to buy a parrot in dc metro area
2. girls gagging on dog dick
3. big butt hippie chick porn picture gallery
4. girls learn how to give blowjobs
5. pauly from rocky the movie pictures
6. step by step how to make, cook crystal meth
7. girls fucking goats
8. my true sex confessions of how i fucked my sister
9. Steve Danneman killed a hooker
10. mike sexton hairpiece

I always knew that my readers were an eclectic bunch. I love the fact that some dude who wants to start up his own homemade crystal meth lab ended up on this site. There's a large number of people seeking pictures of girls with animals such as dogs and goats. Very interesting indeed.

Last 5 Books I Saw People Reading on the Subway...
1. Man and His Symbols by Carl Gustav Jung
2. Jim Cramer's Real Money: Sane Investing in an Insane World by James J. Cramer
3. All Night Long by Jayne Ann Krentz
4. Song of Susannah (The Dark Tower, Book 6) by Stephen King
5. Something Blue by Emily Giffin

Muck Marissa Cooper

"Dude, find a girl who looks just like her. Nail her. And dump her." - from Say Anything

Dear Ryan,

You don't know me, but I'm a fan of your show The OC. I guess you can color me a borderline stalker because I've been watching your every move since you first came on the air and you have no idea who I am. Well, I never miss a show and have skipped out on big events just so I can watch a new episode.

Since I know everything possible about you, I can automatically assume that we have this unexplained connection and a bond. I know you like my best friend. That's why I can freely dispense some relationship advice to you. Here it is as blunt as I can say it...

Muck Marissa Cooper.

That's right. Walk away. Let her go. It will be the best decision of your life. Don't draw out three to five years of more melodrama and fall in and out of love a half a dozen times and be caught in triangular relationships where the outsider comes and goes just like the ebb of the ocean's tide and causes emotional distress for everyone in the cast.

Take my advice. Girls like Marissa Cooper are bad news. I'll get into that more specifically in a second. But let's quickly run down her history.

Marissa Cooper's ex-boyfriend is the school bully and picks on minorities and nerds. During his reign of terror she fully supported his vision of tormenting social outcasts. She gets off on watching other people share in her misery.

Marissa Cooper was a virgin and gave it up to her Neo-Nazi and homophobic ex-boyfriend all because she was crushed by the sight of you kissing a girl.

Marissa Cooper tried to kill herself in Mexico after a late night of clubbing in Tijuana. She couldn't stand seeing her Neo-Nazi thug of a ex-boyfriend kiss some floozy. She OD'd on a hefty combination of valium, tequila, and some sort of horse tranquilizer that trainers at Belmont usually give their two-year old thoroughbreds. She not only wants attention, she's willing to commit suicide of the epic Sylvia Plath proportions.

Marissa Cooper got involved with a psycho kid who tried to hold her hostage and shoot her. Even after you told her that he was bad news, she insisted that she be friends with him because it was important for her to be a good friend. That's horseshit because we all know the only reason guys are friends with women so that they can have an opportunity to fuck them at a later time.

Marissa Cooper also endured a eating disorder, suffered through divorced parents, and she even shot your fuckin' brother for Christ's sake. I know he tried to rape her, but still, she shot him when she could have easily missed and shot you. You're lucky that you're still alive. Besides, how we can be 100% certain that she was hit the guy she was aiming for? Hmmmm. Makes you think right?

Now add the whole Johnny the Surfer drama. What total bullshit. You should have bitch-slapped her or broke up with her the second she started making gaa-gaa eyes at surfer stoner dude, who we all know (casting director included) that he's supposed to be a thinly veiled replica of you. She never really fell for Johnny. She fell for the stoner/surfer personification of you. She knows she's not good enough to have you so she lashed out in that way of befriend stoner-surfer dudes with bad knees and sidekicks named Chilly.

Plus Marissa Cooper has a 15-year old pothead of a sister who makes Britney Spears look like Mother Theresa. That's just bad news altogether. Mary Jane toking trailer park vixens wearing short plaid skirts and seducing older men always ends up with us in prison for up to a decade. Marrissa's gold-digger for a mother and a sexually-disturbed younger sister is a dangerous mix for anyone to have to endure. Get out now before you knock them all up and have to deal with a psychologically taught dinner scene that reminds me something from of a Fellini flick on four hits of acid.

And let me tell you a thing or too about dating rich women. It never works. They have no concept about money and make you feel like shit for not having any of it. What kind of chick like that lets you walk around in wifebeater t-shirts all the time? Even the poorest of girlfriends that I had at some point took me shopping to buy a new item of clothing. I can't explain why but the third time after you sleep with a woman, something clicks in her head that says, "I need to buy you a new shirt." Marissa would never cook for you either. Another reason to dump her.

Look, I know you've had a tough life living on the other side of the tracks in Chino. But in The OC, it's a different world. You got big issues. You knocked up another psycho chick, this one from the barrio and she never told you she kept the baby. Oh shit! You're not supposed to know that part of the plot, but yeah it's true. And your brother has one kidney and one testicle left over after Marissa Cooper took target practice on his ass. He fled to Las Vegas and Grubby told me that he's dealing blackjack at the Klondike and has developed a festering addiction to Vicodin. And don't forget about your best friend Seth Cohen. He's the biggest tool in school and President of the Comic Books Club. I dunno how you guys roll in The OC, but when I went to school, kids like that got stuffed into lockers and their underwear ripped to shreds. When are you gonna wise up and realize that the Cohens are only using you as muscle? To keep the bullies away from their Ivy League bound son. Oh yeah, he's a closet pothead too. Just like Marissa Cooper and even her mom, Julie Cooper. She smokes the reefer too. Flee the land of incestual potheads.

What can I say, you gotta dump the girl and walk away for good.

One day in college about 12-13 years ago, I woke up and found a knife stuck in my door. I lived in my fraternity house and everyone was anticipating a scene out of Fatal Attraction. If I had any bunnies, this chick would boil them. She left a refusal to break up with me note pinned to my door with a knife. Not just a steak knife, but one out of a set of 31. The sharpest of which she said she'd use to cut my balls off if I attempted to break up with her again. If she never got picked up by Atlanta Police for shoplifting tampons at Kroeger's, then I'd be whipped for sure.

Another ex-girlfriend dumped me on my birthday of all days. She was French. No compassion from those cheese-eating surrender monkeys. She waited purposely for my birthday because she knew that for the rest of my life, I'd have to celebrate knowing that I had my heart ripped out on the same day. Talk about torture. I recall her last words were something like, "Happy Birthday. Fuck you. I hope you die."

Then there was another girlfriend who stole forty of my favorite CDs. The snake of a woman took the CDs out of their cases and left them behind, so that over the next few weeks I'd slowly discover one by one that she pilfered a quarter of my CD collection. I'm still bitter about losing Blonde On Blonde and Maceo Parker's Life on Planet Groove.

Sorry I got side-tracked. Here's my point... you need to ditch the rich broad. Quick. Otherwise, you're gonna get you junk kicked in no less than 126 times, lose three teeth, have five ribs broken, and lose all your dignity, pride, and integrity in the process. Love is a powerful drug, opiate, and necessity. Don't waste it on her. Find a nice girl on the rebound, because let's face it, the world is full of scumbag guys who probably just fucked over some nice girl from the Valley. Punch your weight, kid. And stick with the chicks from the 818 area code. They are more your speed. They'll eat Jack in the Box and still give you a beejer in the parking lot of the bowling alley after you take her there for your second date. They'll even pay for the shoe rentals.

Just like in poker, sometimes you get too attached to a hand and you can't let it go. It's pretty obvious from my perspective, that you need to leave the girl. It's hard to see that from your end. that's why you're on relationship tilt. Take my advice. Fold when you know you are beat and save yourself some money. Say good-bye to the girl and move to Dawson's Creek.

Thanks.

Your biggest fan,
Pauly


P.S. Can you give me Marissa Cooper's younger sister's cell phone number?

Ode to Scarlet Johansen's Right Breast


Mountains.
I sit at base camp in
Bewilderment.
Insatiable and dangerous flesh,
Taunts my drowning brainwaves and
Laughs at my slaving soul.
I'll need three sherpas to
Fully navigate every inch of
Milkyness.
I believe a worthy and majestic fight,
Over naming rights of your
Right nipple.
I want to call it,
"Pauly's Peak."

5 Random New York City Photos


Subway station wall (Jan. 2006)


Pricey (Dec. 2005)


Falun Gong demostration (Feb. 2006)


My weakness (Jan. 2006)


Las Vegas Manuscript (Jan. 2006)