DJ Pauly D from MTV's Jersey Shore finds a little slice of Newark on Second Avenue
by Ashley Spurgeon
- GoneCity
Last Thursday, Jan. 21, a new kind of celebrity descended on Nashville. Young men and women trekked to a PVC-littered Second Avenue with a dream of meeting one of America's latest and greatest fameballs: DJ Pauly D from MTV's Jersey Shore. Though on the air for less than two months, Jersey Shore had an acrylic-nailed grip on this winter's pop culture discourse. It's still a full-blown phenomenon, emulated by college students throwing "Jersey Shore" parties, or discussed ad infinitum by Italian-American groups bemoaning the media's quick embrace of the "Guido" stereotype. Nashville has an unusual relationship to celebrity, not to mention its own regional quirks. Genuine A-listers appreciate the relative anonymity they're granted by a largely respectful and/or indifferent population, and has-beens from the '80s mingle with never-was American Idol rejects in hopes of achieving a modicum of relevance aided by steel guitar. No one cares. Life goes on.
Not so when a fameball comes to visit. Loutish voyeurs of all stripes happily queue up to get a look at America's Next Top Idiot. Arguments ensue. Breasts get signed. It's a garish and appalling spectacle — proof that 19th century freak shows didn't disappear, they simply evolved.
There was no question we were going to attend.
McFadden's Restaurant and Saloon on Second Avenue was to be the big top for the night. Never having been to this sort of event before, we weren't sure of the protocol and arrived far too early. Remember a particularly embarrassing junior high dance, where groups of young girls would stick together, quietly sipping drinks and waiting for the football captain to show up? That was this. Even the dance music bolstered flashbacks. One standout track was "Human Nature," the 15-year-old middling Madonna single. Nobody has listened to that since 1998. Not even Madonna.
It was impossible to tell who was there out of genuine appreciation and who was there to play everyone's favorite trump card of assholery, "ironic enjoyment." Affliction and Ed Hardy T-shirts are sartorial satire to begin with, so there was no point in a guessing game. Besides, of all of the Jersey Shore castmates, Pauly D is by far the least egregious. Even though he was sometimes filmed acting like a buffoon, and seemed all too comfy in a stereotype that does not second-guess its innate misogyny or propensity for violence, he was still witty and charming. He seemed like the nicest one of the bunch, the closest thing to a "real person" the show had to offer. It was easy to believe so many people were there because his character was so likable.
Pauly D eventually arrived and took his place. That evening happened to be the series finale of Jersey Shore, and one could understand why he may have been watching himself on television, possibly (though not probably) for the last time. The setup was a meet-and-greet photo booth. Line up, wait your turn, smile for the camera; now move along. Rather than an orderly line, the mass of fans quickly bottlenecked, and in true Jersey Shore style, a screaming match between a man and a woman soon broke out. It was quickly defused, but one patron stormed off: "Fuck this wait, I don't care to meet him anyway." It was getting easier to spot the ironic-enjoyment assholes.
One girl pointed out a vaguely familiar figure at the bar. A tiny little man weighed down by long black hair and copious neck tattoos was quickly confirmed to be a grown man who goes by the name of "Sinister." He appeared on the VH1 reality show Daisy of Love, where absurdly nicknamed men vied for the attention of a castoff from yet another VH1 show. It was hard to discern a motive for his presence, but it didn't seem unlikely that the only reason a former reality star would promote a current reality star was to ride whatever fleeting tertiary slipstream of fame whizzed by. Then again, maybe he was just a fan.
Eventually it all became almost too strange, looking up from one of the stars of MTV's best show in years to see his mug splashed Blade Runner-style across the room's wall-mounted televisions. This 28-year-old man had been standing around for a couple of hours because total strangers — this author included — wanted to get their picture made with him, even if just to look at later and laugh.
Finally, it was photo time with DJ Pauly D. He smelled alarmingly good, and his face was the color of a bronzed fawn: it was a shade of skin never seen before, even on the South's most pageant-damaged Coppertone victims. Before we let the next set of gawkers have their turn, we had to ask: Was he bored yet, traveling from city to city, playing the role of Party Guido for the foreseeable future? He was little more than a photo booth accessory, gamely smiling as wave after wave of costumed students simultaneously embraced and mocked him.
"No, I'm not bored!" Pauly D shouted above the din of the club. "I'm getting paid to take pictures and I'm drinking for free."
It was nice to know he knew the correct answer.
Email editor@nashvillescene.com.
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