Friday, April 11, 2008


By Pauly
Hollyweird, CA

I dropped Nicky off at LAX. After we said our goodbyes with hugs and kisses, I sped off in her car. It was exactly 12:00. Noon. I would have eight days to myself living alone in Nicky's apartment. Showcase moved out last week and it would just be me, myself, and I.

Being alone for eight straight days is something that I have been seeking out forever it seems. I was fortunate that Nicky had a work assignment and an empty apartment. The hardest obstacle will be for me to stay disciplined and write instead of fucking off and smoking too much dope and watching playoff hockey and baseball and the Food Network.

I was still under the weather on Thursday and didn't write as much as I anticipated. I actually edited and re-wrote the first section of the script... something I have done four or five times now. My goal is to trim this draft down by 20-25%. Cutting words is so hard to do sometimes.

I felt blah most of the afternoon and self-medicated with bingers and Zicam and other over the counter cold meds. I caught up on the last episode of John Adams. What struck me the most about the mini-series is that Thomas Jefferson was about the same age as myself when he penned the Declaration of Independence. I'm digging how Jefferson is portrayed as an aloof, deep thinking, French-loving anarchist who loathed a strong centralized government. Jefferson gave too much faith in man and strongly felt that each individual has the moral rectitude to make the proper decisions.

Nicky and Showcase didn't have a stereo system and instead two karaoke machines inhabited the apartment. Lucky for me, they rarely turned them on when I was around. I love listening to music... especially in a car or when I'm alone. I prefer having it on in the background while I watch sports on mute. Music is also a necessity when I'm writing. In the past, I listened to my iPod with headphones in the apartment. Since I had the place to myself, I sought out a means to blast music. Nicky had JBL computer speakers that I rigged up to my iPod. I put the speakers in the living room and within minutes, I had a sound system. The sound clarity was slightly below average, but it was loud enough that I could hear it from the kitchen, bathroom, and even the bedroom.

The makeshift sound system worked and I got to write in an apartment swimming in music. I listened to a lot of Jazz, specifically Sketches of Spain from Miles Davis, Ornette Coleman, and a mix of John Coltrane songs that GMoney had given me.

Showcase stopped by to finish up painting the bathroom and we hung out for a bit. I was still feeling like shit and didn't work. Instead, I watched Rachael Ray on the Food Network and an episode of Gordon Ramsasy's Kitchen Nightmares.

After Showcase left, I watched the NHL playoffs and some baseball. I played poker for a bit (been on a nice run the last couple of nights) and then eventually decided to call it a night. I took some night cold medicine and passed out listening to my iPod.

I woke up at 5am. I hoped that the cold would have left my body and I could go running. Nope. I was still blah and hocked up a loogey the size of a kitten. I'm in the last act of my cold... which could be the most frustrating to endure because you're on the verge of getting better... yet still sickly. I've had a cold since Sunday that followed me cross country.

I checked email and wondered if Nicky made it safe to Monte Carlo. She had to fly to Germany, then France, before she caught a cab to Monte Carlo. I did the trip last year... except I flew from New York City to Madrid and changed planes there before I continued onto Nice. Monte Carlo is a pain in the ass to get to, unless you can afford the helicopter.

So, it's not even 7:30am. The sun is out and it looks like another magnificent day in Los Angeles. I finished breakfast and I'm fixing to take a short walk before I sit down to write (actually, re-write) for a couple of hours.

Big night in sports tonight... Rangers/Devils and Yankees/Red Sox... and too bad I'm no tin NYC to catch the action.

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