Spring Awakening

So I didn't go to Langerado. After a February that took me from New Zealand to Las Vegas to Denmark and back to the warm spring breezes of the Los Angeles basin, my wallet and my psyche weren't in shape for a four-day trek into the Everglades. Over the months that led up to the festival I heard whispers about costumes and RVs and the absolutely stellar crew and felt pangs of regret and thought about where I could scare up the money, but ultimately, my decision was made for me when I realized the weight of the situation.

There would be camping involved. No hotels. No air conditioning. Potentially heavy mud and rain conditions. Not to mention a bug population that necessitated the use of preventative sprays and repellants and the like.

Homie don't camp. In my 30 years I never have. That's not to say I never will, but I don't know if poor Pauly would want to handle my maiden voyage into the wild. My outdoor sleeping experience is confined to one night spent on a very comfortable lounge chair in the backyard of a house in the south of France and another spent on the upper deck of a houseboat on Lake Powell, Utah when I was about 12. Though reading all the trip reports now makes me wonder about all the fun that might have been, in my heart of hearts I know that I probably wouldn't have survived. Though Otis' bacon biscuits looked mighty fine.

While Pauly's been away I've been doing a lot of two things. Going to the gym and playing poker. I know, I hear all of you gasping around the globe and it's not about me donking around on Full Tilt. I haven't belonged to a gym in well over 5 years and since I had more or less a 3 month block of time where I'd be traveling minimally, I went and got myself a month to month membership at a small, semi-private gym in West Hollywood where they actually allow such things. They're used to gypsy actors coming in and out of town for films and on the first day I worked out there, I ran into a girl who's a new series regular on a quirky medical series. We were both in our college theatre program at the same time and had one of those "where do I know you from?" moments before we figured it out. It's quiet and never crowded there and definitely not a see and be seen sort of place. Though I ended up so sore I could barely get up out of a chair after the first week, I'm sort of getting back into the swing of things and remembering how to work out properly. Way back when I was just a 24-year old D-Girl, I used to see a personal trainer twice a week and thankfully all the pot I've smoked since then didn't kill off the brain cells that held onto that information.

Hitting the gym again is an absolute necessity given that it's almost time for me to gear up for another long summer at the WSOP. Last year I started walking every day for the few weeks leading up to the Series. It certainly helped, but this year I want to take it further so I don't end up being a total wreck at the end of it. Being as healthy as I can right now will certainly pay off when I'm keeping vampire hours and living off of Asian chicken wraps from the Poker Kitchen.

I've also played a fair amount of poker as of late. I guess I'm on an online binge since I've barely had the time since before Christmas to play. Mainly I've been sticking to grinding it out at SNGs and have shown a slow but steady profit and a good ROI for the stakes I'm playing. It might go faster if I played more tables like these 8 and 12 tabling robots I compete against every day, but I really can't profitably play more than 3-4 tables at a time. So I'll stick with what's working for the time being. I've picked up tokens on Full Tilt here and there and played the $28,000 and $32,000 guaranteed a few times and made some small cashes, the best of which was forty-somethingth out of 1100 or so. I've also played a few BBT3 tournaments but am not really sweating leaderboards or anything. Though I bombed out about halfway through the field in Miami Don's Big Game, I made the final table of the Mookie the last two weeks, finishing 9th and 3rd. I feel that I'm playing well and have been more vigilant about analyzing key SNG hands. Reading Lee Nelson's Kill Everyone while I was in Australia certainly taught me volumes about optimal bubble and late-stage play and I'd recommend it to anyone.

Though at this moment, it is 70 degrees outside, breezy and crystal-clear. I think I've been inside for too much of today.

(And a rousing Happy St. Paddy's Day to all my Irish, Catholic, Irish-Catholic, American ex-pat Irish, and amateur alcoholic friends of all faiths and backgrounds!)

American Idol Wednesdays (on Thursdays): Lennon-McCartney Catalog Released to Idols, America Squeals With Delight

After seven years of Beatles'-less shows, American Idol was finally granted the use of the Lennon-McCartney songbook this season. We've already heard a taste of the catalog so far in the competition (David Archuleta anointing himself the front-runner with a cover of '"Imagine") but this week, it was wall-to-wall Beatles, and the contestants' renditions ran the gamut from inspired re-imaginings to country-fair nightmares.

Seyesha Mercado "Got to Get You Into My Life" When Seacrest announced her song choice, I thought it had potential, but Showcase started "UGH"-ing as soon as she opened her mouth and I'm joining him within seconds. The arrangement was horrible, I mean, just torture Normally I'm a fan of a horn section, but they were totally misplaced here. This song is all drama-- in the melody, in the lyric-- and she turned it into a number worthy of a dinner show on Princess Cruises. Though Mercado tried so hard to infuse it with some semblance of energy, it totally fell flat and thrusts her into the elimination-danger zone right off the bat.

Chikezie "She's a Woman" Well, hello Chizekie! We thought you might have something like this in you! Working an arrangement that vacillated between twang-heavy country and hard rock, Chikezie finally stood out from the pack with this performance. There were no sleepy smooth jams in sight from him tonight-- this was a huge risk that should pay big dividends. However... and I said this last season and it bears repeating: black men should not wear argyle. Especially argyle vests.

Ramiele Mulabay "In My Life" With the cut to the audience's swaying arms... it was over and we were dying with laughter (and not just from the OG Kush we were smoking). Seriously, is there some idiot with a headset out there cueing the screaming teenage fans in the "mosh pit" to start swaying? This was pretty, but boring turn from Ramiele. Though it started out promising, the song never really went anywhere and did nothing for her voice. We still haven't seen anything original or exciting from Mulabay, and though this performance miiiight just left her fly enough under the radar to advance to next week, she's looking at an 10-11th place finish max the way she's going.

Jason Castro "If I Fell" Dreadlock boy is so adorable, even if the falsetto was about 50% on pitch. There's sort of a Jack Johnson vibe about him, but this was still just a little... boring? But, no worries, Paula "feels his heart" when he performs so it's all OK. I was more into his version of "Halleluljah" last week that I was with this. It's getting time for Castro to think about switching it up. We know he can do the sensitive guitar-boy thing. Now it's time to surprise us.

Carly Smithson "Come Together" Girfriend blew. It Out. I'd totally buy the single on iTunes (and lo and behold, it should be available next week! Thank you corporate partnerships!). America, say hello to our new female frontrunner. Irish lassie clearly had command of the song, sustained a nice build, and slayed the ending. Not to mention that the organ-infused arrangement kicked ass. Keep 'em coming Carly.

David Cook "Eleanor Rigby" Again, I loved it and immediately thought it could be a single. Cook's performance was consistent with his vibe and sense of musicality and boasted some AWESOME orchestrations on the chorus that modern rock radio would wet their pants over. However, I'm not digging the turned up collar on his leather jacket. Seriously, that was a bit vampire for me.

Brooke White "Let it Be" This was not my favorite thing from her, but that doesn't mean she stunk up the joint. And Paula can feel her heart too, so she too is OK. Brooke turned out another solid effort this week. She didn't try to overdo the song, and I think that was appropriate for the piece she chose. We've had piano and guitar already from Brooke-- what's coming next week? Fiddle? Jazz flute? Sitar?

David Hernandez "I Saw Her Standing There" Well, after a nice run of well-thought out cover renditions, David Hernandez takes us right back to karaoke-land. Ever since he threw it down with "Papa Was a Rolling Stone" a few weeks ago, he's come at us with performances that are better suited to a lounge act at Harrah's Lake Tahoe than mainstream American pop audiences. Anyway... I'm so over the stripper.

Amanda Overmyer "You Can't Do That" So much of Overmyer's phrasing is pure Janis. And I love that. And it's been a good strategy for her so far in the competition, this week included. But it's that time when the set needs a slow song. Or at least something not quite as hard-dribing as her choices so far. So, nice job this week, Amanda, but let's see another side to you. Oh, and as much as I dig her style I'd like to roast a hot dog over the burning embers of those black and white striped pants. And seriously, girl--why the return of the skunk hair? I thought we just got that under control!

Michael Johns "Across the Universe" Though it might not be the showiest performance Johns has given, I think it was his best pure vocal to date. I'm afraid, though, that he might ultimately meet his end on the show when America has to decide between the two male "rockers"-- he and David Cook-- and I think Cook is better. John's rendition was a bit straightforward and solid enough, but not a big enough risk with the arrangement and style compared to what the top of the pack has delivered this week.

Kristy Lee Cook "Eight Days a Week" Well that was 120 seconds of two-stepping redneck hell. Look, everyone who reads these recaps knows I'm not the biggest country fan, but this arrangement was ATROCIOUS. Now this, kids... this is the risk that doesn't get paid off. This is the risk that sends you home. Even on the country scale of awfulness, this was putrid. Seriously, there were about 20 fiddles and 10 banjos too many in this one. Kristy, why did you have to take the Country thing to such an extreme? Can't you at least find some nice alt-country chica to try and emulate? Lucinda Williams? Kathleen Edwards? Gretchen Wilson? I think Lennon is spinning in his grave and McCartney is forgoing green tea and tofu for steak and scotch after hearing this horror show of a performance.

David Archuleta "We Can Work it Out" Wonder Boy fucks up his lyrics!! OMG, he IS human! Everything was off about this performance. The falsetto notes were off. The phrasing was off. Showcase thought he looked lost. For a kid who usually sounds like such a pro, something was going on with him tonight. He just couldn't hit those notes that he'd normally belt out effortlessly. Even though he had a bad night, I think Archuleta is in no danger-- his rabid fan base might even vote for him more just to ensure he stays on.

My prediction for the week: Kristy Lee Cook will two-step her way home.

The actual results: David Hernandez will be getting back on the pole.

Saturdays with Dr. Pauly with Your Special Guest Host.... Me!

Since Pauly is at the Langerado Music Festival this weekend (me=so jealous), I'm taking the reins and hosting his tournament while he trips out to heady tunes with the unwashed hippie masses in South Florida. Same time, same place, same buy-in, just a cuter, blonder host(ess) who has much less of an idea of how to play PLO than her better half.

I hope to see you all there. Come relax, sling some chips, forget about TOC seats and bust my donkey ass.

American Idol Wednesdays: The Return

It's Season 7 of American Idol already. 7 years this monster has taken to the airwaves each spring and dominated pop culture and American television viewing habits. And this year, some of the contestants are young enough to boast that they started watching the show when they were 10. Welcome back to American Idol Wednesdays, where I'll re-hash and re-cap the week's performances and make my predictions as to who will be voted off all while skewering these poor young things' fashion and styling choices.

Yeah, I know it's Thursday, but by next week, we'll be back to one Tuesday performance show and one Wednesday results show. So I'm keeping the name.

We're down to 16 contestants this week, four of whom will be eliminated this week and won't even get to become C-list celebrities, just asterisks and anecdotes. It's 80's week, so let's get down to it!

THE GIRLS:

Asia'h Epperson, "Somebody to Love Me" They're cautioned against it over and over again, but still these kids try on Whitney songs. Epperson is full of the youthful energy the song demands, but her performance was rife with pitch problems on the bigger sustained notes. This song was too big for its performer-- just like she did last week by attempting a Celine Dion tune. Listen, for once! She'll probably squeak into the Top 12, but just barely.

Kady Malloy, "Who Wants to Live Forever" I've heard this Queen song done really well by women-- British stage diva Elaine Paige comes to mind-- but why go so for the super-dramatic ballad when it's 80's night for Christ's sake? Not to mention that you're a cute blonde girl, one of like, four of them in the Top 16, and you desperately need to separate yourself from the pack and define your niche as an artist. This song did none of that for poor Kady. The big notes on this one were either hopelessly flat or cringe-inducingly sharp. Ms. Malloy is our bad choices Barbie of the night and this performance should send her home.

Amanda Overmyer "I Hate Myself for Loving You" This Joan Jett song was a perfect choice for rocker-chick Overmyer (right), though I think the melody has been permanently killed for me due to the horrible "NFL Sunday Night Football" re-do of the song. (Seriously, all I hear is "I've been waitin' all week for Sunday night...") Overmyer slayed the song and cleaned up her look a bit as well after last week's strong critique. Most of those horrible white streaks were out of the front of her jet-black hair and her makeup was significantly toned down while remaining appropriate for her rocker vibe. I can't wait to see what she'll do next.

Carly Smithson "I Drove All Night" This Roy Orbison song was re-recorded by Cyndi Lauper in the 80's, then re-re-recorded more recently by Celine Dion-- and that's the version Smithson went with. Simon & Co. seemed to take issue with that choice, but I could have cared less. I love this girl. This Irish lassie had me from the auditions and she knocked "Crazy On You" out of the park two weeks ago. She's easily one of the top 2-3 female vocalists and unlike most of her competitions-- can sing a wide variety of genres. Smithson has proven herself as a solid rock/pop vocalist thus far... I'd love to hear her take on soul and blues.

Kristy Lee Cook "Faithfully" Cook comes at us with a slightly country-fried version of a Journey classic...and I decide to take out the trash, I'm so bored. Kristy Lee is one of that pack of attractive yet forgettable blonde girls that have made it on the show this year. Maybe the "country" aspect defined her a bit, but I just didn't find it interesting at all. The judges were talking about how to package it as a single, but if I heard it on the radio, I'd be like, "next!"

Ramiele Mulabay "Against All Odds" Seriously, it's starting to sound like LITE-FM in here. IT'S 80'S NIGHT! And you're a young, cute girl! So... start acting like it! Mulabay has impressive vocal chops-- I put her up there with Carly Smithson and Brooke White-- but what is she doing picking something this... stale? Song choice, people, song choice! It's really too bad she fell short this week because I think it will cost her a spot in the Top 12.

Brooke White "Love is a Battlefield" Brooke White (left) is another contestant that impresses me week after week. Our resident earthy guitar-playing chick, White is never content to go with the traditional, recorded version of a song. She constantly changes it up, like she did here, singing an up-tempo, stylized 80's number accompanied only by acoustic guitar. White's varied musical background is always reflected in her performances--there's nothing "karaoke" or "cabaret" about this girl at all. She's clearly a frontrunner among the girls and should sail into the Top 12.


Syesha Mercado "Saving All My Love for You" OMG... another Whitney song? Do these girls ever learn? Syesha is probably the only one that has a big enough voice to handle Whitney/ Celine/Mariah/etc., but that doesn't mean she should set herself up to be compared to those artists, like she did tonight. Like the judges said, it was "good, but predictable"-- but is it enough for her to squeak through?

THE BOYS:

Luke Menard "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" I just don't see this guy in pop music. In a Vegas show or in the Broadway company of "Beauty and the Beast," sure. I'm not saying the guy should hang it up and get a job as a Dealertainer, he's definitely talented and has a great voice. I'm just not seeing a great artist here. But definitely, definitely go and audition for Les Mis. Or maybe The Producers.

David Archuletta "Another Day in Paradise" Another solid performance from this year's Idol Boy Wonder. Props for playing piano on it too. I didn't dig it as much as I did last week's much-lauded rendition of "Imagine" but this kid will be a front-runner in this competition for weeks to come. Cowell even acknowledged that we'll likely see Archuletta "in the final two."

Danny Noriega "Tainted Love" Danny Noriega (right) is so very very young. And so very very gay. Like, the audience needs flame-retardant vests gay. And he's doing nothing to hide it whatsover-- major props to Danny for being so confident and self-assured at such a young age! And props to him for at least attempting to re-think the arrangement of the song and taking a risk to make it his own. But that said...it was a disaster. Every growling, hip-swiveling moment of it. Just wasn't my thing... or the judges' either. But make no mistakes, Noriega has a young, thriving fan base. He'll be back next week fo sho. Do we have this year's Sanjaya?

David Hernandez "It's All Coming Back to Me Now" OK, now the guys are going for Celine songs. Seriously, it's your funeral. Though, of all the "big" songs this week, Hernandez's rendition was probably the most successful. Though he struggled on some of the lower passages, the money notes were just that.

But that's not what people were thinking about while Hernandez sang. They were thinking "OMG! That's the one that was a male stripper in Phoenix!"

It's true-- Hernandez danced for three years at an all-male totally nude cabaret with a mostly gay male clientele. And yet... he's still on the show. And staying on the show, according to FOX. OK, so last year, Antonella Barba has naughty pictures discovered on the internet... and she gets to stay. Hernandez is a confirmed stripper... and he gets to stay. But Frenchie Davis shows her boobies on the 'net to help pay for college and gets thrown off for fear of not being a proper role model? Now that's a serious double standard.

Michael Johns "Don't You (Forget About Me)" There's something about dreamy Aussie tennis aficionado Michael Johns. He's not the best male vocalist in the competition, he's not the most original performer, and though he always makes smart song choices, they're not always the most interesting picks. But still, I enjoy him, the way he attacks a song, his formidable presence onstage tempered with his obvious good looks. Even so, Johns is probably better suited for singing in a cover act or a bar band. Like, a really good bar band... but a bar band. Whatever, he's still dreamy.

David Cook "Hello" Even Lionel Ritchie himself gushed over Cook's rock rendition of his hit song. When I talk about separating from the pack, about putting a stamp on the song, this is exactly what I'm referring to. Though Middle America may be drooling all over David Archuletta, Cook is my favorite among the guys. Like Randy said, this version of the song could be a hit single on the radio tomorrow. And isn't that what the competition is all about?

Jason Castro "Halleluljah" The Jeff Buckley version of this Leonard Cohen tune is one of my favorite songs of all time. And I'm happy to report that dreadlocks-boy did it justice. Though he's been accompanying himself on acoustic guitar the last few weeks, he put it down tonight and let everyone focus on his vocals. Good move, and great song choice. He's one to watch for sure.

Chikezie "All the (Woman) That I Need" Seriously, who told these kids it was Whitney week? Chikezie can sing, but this was an unfortunate song choice for him. Yeah, he hit all the notes, it sounded OK, but it was totally forgettable in a week where it's imperative to stand out. When you've got David Cook, David Archuletta, and even Danny Noriega re-arranging their songs... Chikezie needs to pop out with something really dramatic in order to go much further in the competition.

My predictions for the week: Kady Malloy and Ramiele Mulabay will bite the dust amongst the ladies, while Luke Menard and Stripper Boy will be dunzo for the guys.

Tune in tonight for the results!

The 3rd Annual L.A. Issue of Truckin'

Pauly just put out his third annual L.A. edition of Truckin'. For obvious reasons, it's always my favorite issue of the year and I was lucky enough to have a piece included. My beloved has an intense little Laurel Canyon-centric story in there, and some of my favorite writers in the blogosphere are featured as well, including Joe Speaker, Johnny Hughes, and Betty Underground, as well as enigmatic Brentwood resident Dan Keston.

Enjoy! And if you're thirsty for more stories about my hometown, check out the two previous L.A. editions:

Truckin' L.A. Edition I, March 2006
Truckin' L.A. Edition II, March 2007.

Truckin' - March 2008, Vol. 7, Issue 3

1. Next to Mama Cass by Paul McGuire
Dulce was an attractive peppy girl from San Diego. She diligently saved up for grad school and her first job funded her future. Her second job funded her addiction to weed, whiskey, and cocaine. She loved all three when her shift ended at midnight... More

2. The Drug Store by Change100
I walked down a cement pathway into the shade of unkempt trees and saw a cloudy glass door that led into a deserted elevator lobby. It was open. Someone was here. The lobby walls were covered in cheap faux-oak paneling and the floors in decades-old linoleum. Next to the elevator doors hung a building directory. And there it was. Dr. Jerry Greenblatt, M.D. Fourth floor. I gingerly stepped into the sketchiest elevator in Los Angeles and prayed it wouldn't drop me to the basement... More

3. Today's Special By Joe Speaker
Brad's last night on Planet Los Angeles started at El Caballo, clutching his beer like a dog eared paperback. Starched white shirt glowing red in the bloody lights of the place, same color as the naugahyde booths behind him jammed against the textured and cracked yellow walls... More

4. Smoking Is Cool by Dan Keston
As a man, I truly believe that if you feel comfortable walking down the street with a Coors Light in your hand then you probably feel comfortable wearing your fraternity letters well past your 35th birthday. I also believe, contrarily, that walking down the street with a cigarette in your hand makes you look suave, debonair, independent and just aloof enough to be mysterious... More

5. California: The Garden of Eden by Johnny Hughes
It seemed Los Angeles was in this artificial super-Technicolor, compared to West Texas. The first thing I saw was a grade school class with black, white, and Asian children. I had never seen that, since our schools were segregated... More

6. My LA by Betty Underground
Accidents happening all around you on the freeway. The world's biggest spectator sport! Traffic is not because of the carnage in the road, it is from the rubberneckers trying to catch a glimpse of the blood and guts, only to be disappointed when it was a minor fender bender... More

Marijuana Commercial

First of all, don't forget to play in Saturdays with Dr. Pauly this afternoon at 4:20 EST on Poker Stars. I'll be there donating and trying to suck out on my friends that actually know how to play PLO. Also, I won a $75 token and therefore will be playing in Miami Don's Big Game tomorrow night at 9:45 EST on Full Tilt. I heard it's the first event of some big blogger tournament series or something.

Showcase found this gem of a video and we've watched it a dozen times already. Except for the brief jab at Phish, it's pure hilarity (and even the Phish jab was kind of funny... sounds like something my dad would say).

Enjoy, and see you at the tables.

Copenhagen Photos

I just uploaded 40 or so photos from Copenhagen to my Flickr page. Check 'em out. Or enjoy the highlights reel below:

Wall art near Christiania

Ice skating at Kongens Nytorv

Demokrat?

The old and the new

Trippy mural right inside the entrance to Christiania

Nyhavn Canal

Windmill in Churchillparken

Old army barracks in the Kastellet

Rashuspladsen

The Little Mermaid

Brandi Hawbaker Still Making Headlines... In Danish

I can't read a lick of Danish, but when it comes to the saga of Brandi Hawbaker, some words need no translation.

From the Danish poker magazine Ace:

I will fly one day!

Captain Tom's Penis

P.O.B.

Velkommen til København

When Showcase pulled up to LAX to drop me off for my flight to Copenhagen, the traffic was backed up all the way out of the airport. "What the fuck?" we muttered aloud. It's President's Day Weekend. Isn't tomorrow supposed to be the freaky-hectic travel day?

As we passed Terminal 1 we saw rows and rows of cop cars forming some sort of a barricade around the part of the sidewalk where people are usually dropped off. A luggage-toting crowd several hundred strong was bundled together over to the side behind a rope. A TSA guy held a bomb-sniffing dog on a leash.

Terminal 1 had been evacuated. And Terminal 2, which I was flying out of, looked nearly deserted.

"Seriously, if you see anyone in a turban, RUN" said Showcase as I pulled my backpack out of the trunk. I immediately dialed Pauly.

"So... is there anything on the internet about LAX being evacuated for a bomb scare?"
"What?"
"There are cop cars and dogs that sniff bombs all over the place."
"In your terminal?"
"No, the one next to me."
"I don't see anything on Drudge. I think you're fine."

It's always something with me and airports. Either I'm stuck in a middle seat, saddled with a screeching infant for 10 hours, or like now, confronted with potential terrorism.

(Turns out it was just some nutjob on a Southwest flight who made a "suspicious comment," forcing the evacuation).

The Northwest/KLM counter was a mess as usual. I did the self check-in, then had to wait nearly 30 minutes before the confused old man behind the counter (the SAME idiot who tried to bump me off my flight to Amsterdam last August after I was told to wait in the wrong line and I had to resort to tears to get attention from his superiors and make my plane) could give me my baggage tags. I farted around in the various book and electronics stores in the terminal while I waited to board and picked up one of those universal power adapters. I loaned my Euro-plug to Mandy for her trip to Italy and haven't seen it since.

The flight itself was painless. I read about 100 pages of Beautiful Children, a novel I just started, ate the lousy airplane food dinner, popped two Xanax, and managed to sleep for about 6 hours. I woke up somewhere over Scotland to the sound of a baby shrieking. I couldn't fall back asleep so I watched a couple of episodes of The Office on my iPod.

I changed planes in Amsterdam and played a SNG on Full Tilt while I waited out the layover. I bubbled, of course courtesy of several sick beats by some Aussie donkey who thinks it's perfectly reasonable to call a re-raise out of position with 6-8 offsuit.

Noah Boeken was on my flight from Amsterdam to Copenhagen, as was a friendly American guy who had won his seat on Poker Stars. It was also the first plane I've ever been on where NONE of the seats go back. Thankfully I was only on it for an hour.

I took the train into town (way cheaper than a cab and far more convenient) and walked the few blocks to my hotel. It's very modern with chic decor (cow-print couches in the lobby?) and the rooms as typically tiny as any European hotel I've stayed at. The elevators, though are the weirdest things I've ever seen. I must have been standing there for 5 minutes hitting the button and wondering why the doors wouldn't open. That's because you have to open them yourself! There's a wooden door in front of the actual elevator doors, that opens out toward you, quite normally, like the front door to your house would. Then, once inside the elevator, the typical metal "elevator doors" slide closed before you go up. Once on your floor, it's the same story. The metal doors slide open, but there's another wooden one behind it you have to shove open. Very bizarre.

I wish I could say something more insightful about my first trip to a Scandinavian capital, but I simply haven't seen much of Copenhagen yet. It was already dark when I got here (though my body clock is at about 11 AM). I'm about to go downstairs and grab dinner with Mike, my Poker News cohort for this tournament. Maybe I'll get to see a little more as we wander the streets, searching for sustenance.

Oh, yeah. It's also really cold here. Like, 30 degrees. I brought a parka. I look like the Stay-Puff marshmallow man. Stop it, I can hear you all laughing...

The $320 Putt

Pauly flew back to L.A. from Vegas to spend Valentines Day with me. Do I have the best boyfriend or what? Inspired by our time on the mini-golf course in Queenstown, I got Pauly a portable putting green and a new putter for V-Day. The thing even shoots the ball back at you so you don't have to fetch it each time. We became such junkies down in New Zealand, and now we could bring the fun home. Golf (the miniature version at least)), I've found, is one of the few prop bets (aside from vegetable-eating) where I actually feel I have a shot against Pauly. Thank God for handicaps. We instantly started gambling on putts once we set the thing up. After a few practice rounds, Pauly set the ball at the end of the green and took his stance.

"$20 I sink it."

"I'll take it."

The ball broke left and Pauly missed.

"Double or nothing?"

"OK."

He took another shot. Wide left again.

"Double or nothing for $80?" I offered.

"OK."

He missed again and was approaching mega-golf tilt.

"OK, $160?" He had to get unstuck.

"Go for it."

He took a few practice swings, exhaled deeply and squited at the hole before taking his swing. He missed it again!

"Ship it! One more time. Double or nothing for $320" I said. I had a feeling he wasn't going to miss it this time, but I had to at least gamble.

My instincts were right. He sunk it in one graceful swing.

After that, we smoked blunts and watched one of my favorite films of all time-- Annie Hall. A perfect Valentines Day I'd say.

* * * * *

This afternoon, I played in Saturdays with Dr. Pauly even though my PLO skills are rather limited. It might even be my weakest game. On Week 1, I managed to bubble the final table (and the money). Last weekend I couldn't play because I was on the road from Vegas to L.A. so I was looking forward to getting back into the fray. On something like the third hand, Benjo (a French poker journalist friend of Pauly and I) opened for a raise. I had A-A-K-X and re-potted. When Benjo three-bet, I had a feeling that I was probably up against the other two aces, but there was no way I was folding the hand. I moved in and he called, showing A-A-J-X. My kicker ended up playing and poor poor Benjo was gone, courtesy of some rotten luck. Suddenly I had 3k chips and pretty much no idea what to do with them. I got involved in another hand soon after, and flopped two pair with K-6. When a straight card came on the end and my opponent bet $1,000, I had a feeling I had been rivered but made the donkey call anyway. Back to my starting stack. But luckily I was able to flop some big combination draws and pushed them aggressively. I ended up knocking out Joe Speaker (on a hideous beat when he turned a straight, bet pot and I called with a straight draw and the nut flush draw... I rivered a higher straight), Derek, and Iggy.

I had the chip lead at the final table, but gave a lot of it away playing too tight when it got shorthanded. I was card dead, but probably could have made some moves given my image. I just don't have the experience playing shorthanded PLO and I ended up running top pair into two pair and going out in 4th place. At least I was able to cash and boost my Stars roll a little bit.

I've only been home for about 2 weeks, but tomorrow I take off again. I'm flying to Copenhagen, Denmark to cover the EPT Copenhagen for Poker News. Mike Lacey of Antes Up is my partner for this gig. Pauly is going to join me in Copenhagen on Friday after spending a few days in Amsterdam editing his new project and smoking mass quantities of kind bud. We'll get at least a day to explore the city after the tournament finishes.

Don't worry. I made like, triple sure that I had aisle seats for the long (LAX-Amsterdam) legs of the flight. I also have a new book, and the iPod is charged and chock full of new tunes I've downloaded from Coventry, Pauly's group music blog that I've been contributing to as of late. Make sure to heck out the Justin85 mixes-- there are so many random bands on there that I'd never heard of that are great discoveries.

It is now back to hunting through my wardrobe for warm clothing. It's like, 30 degrees in Denmark and I think I own one sweater of any significant weight.

I'll catch you all from Copenhagen.

How I Puked in Becca’s Airplane

There's one on every corner. Some sort of adventure to be had. Kayaking and canoeing. Skydiving. Parasailing. Paragliding. Bungy jumping. Jet-boat trips. A street luge. Sailing excursions. Skiing in the wintertime. Helicopters that land on a glacier for you. Walking one block in Queenstown, New Zealand presents a traveler with all of these options, and everyone you'll see there is doing something remotely outdoorsy or is at least thinking about it. They ride bikes. They wear backpacks. There are a lot of stores that sell those athletic sandals that I really hate and a lot of people wear them around town in between their outdoorsy activities. They don't call it the adventure capital of the world for nothing.

We'd talked about the prospect of bungy jumping for weeks. In my mind, I was completely against it one day and totally game the next. However, once I rode up Bob's Peak in the Queenstown Sky Gondola and passed the actual ledge I was contemplating hurling myself off of, I made up my mind instantly. Yeah, I wouldn't be doing any of that. It sounded fun in principle, but in that moment I knew I'd get myself all harnessed up and in the stupid suit and helmet and everything and would be that girl who just couldn't bring herself to jump. I rode a street luge with great speed and abandon, but that was probably as far as my "adventure" was going to go.

Several of our Kiwi friends, including Jules' hubby Graham, had recommended we check out Milford Sound while we were on the South Island. Our guidebook even crowned it the "Eighth Wonder of the World." I was intrigued and it didn't look too far from Queenstown. Seeing it properly did, however involve flying-- namely in a tiny airplane followed by a helicopter. Though I've had a streak of bad karma lately in terms of my seat locations and the quality of my seat companions on recent international long-haul flights, I've been able to cope with the "fear" element of flying quite well as of late, primarily due to a robust supply of Xanax. I could do this. Pauly even said he'd buy my flight for me as an early Valentine's Day present. We popped into a Flight Centre on Shotover Street and booked our tickets for the next day.

We ordered room service in the morning so we'd be properly sated for our day out. I got oatmeal and fruit while Pauly had eggs and lamb sausage (which I sampled-- not too bad). We called to check on the weather at 9 a.m. and were told that it looked a bit doubtful, but that we should hop on the shuttle van and come down to the airport anyway. The van picked us up in front of our hotel and there were three retired couples seated inside. They were all my parents' age or a little older. I tried to picture my mom and dad tramping around New Zealand and couldn't. Their idea of adventure is the Sheraton in Maui.

Once we got to the airport we got the bad news that our 10 AM flight was grounded due to the weather. Being it's a scenic flight, any cloud cover sort of puts a damper on things. We did have the option to re-book for 12 PM or 2 PM. We went for 12 and caught a ride back to the hotel, where we waited out the delay by playing Chinese Poker in the courtyard.

Back at the airport, we were told that our flight would go off, but we'd be unable to take the helicopter back. Instead we'd fly to Milford Sound, take a 2-hour cruise, and then fly back to Queenstown. I was cool with that. We met Becca, a pretty brunette in her mid-20's who would be our pilot. Two of the three retired couples rounded out our party as we walked out to the tarmac and met our plane.



That's the plane. It really did say DRY on the side. All of the planes had clever little three-letter names including WET and SEX.

Becca could tell I was nervous. I guess it was pretty obvious. One of the two older ladies on our flight introduced herself to me. Her name was Carol and she was from the U.K.

"You'll be fine, love. There's nothing to be afraid of" she said in a comforting lilt.

Oh really?

I sat in the middle row of the 7-seat plane while Pauly happily took the co-pilot's seat next to Becca. We all put on noise-reducing headphones that we'd leave on for the entire flight. We'd also be able to hear Becca over the headphones, telling us what things were. I took inventory of the seat pocket in front of me, finding a safety card and a barf bag. I pulled the bag out just slightly, ensuring easy access if anything were to go suddenly wrong. It's a ritual I've performed on airplanes since age 9, when I spent the latter half of a flight from Newark to LAX covered in my own vomit when I couldn't get to the bag quick enough during a particularly nasty bit of turbulence.



I don't pray, but I said a quick one as we took off. As we soared above Lake Wakatipu, leaving Queenstown behind, I found myself so mesmerized by the landscape before me that I forgot to be afraid. Either that, or the half a Xanax I popped on the ground was working. I pulled out my camera and immediately began snapping away as Becca narrated. It was magic. A scene straight out of the Lord of the Rings. We even flew directly over that film's "Misty Mountains." Wispy clouds encircled their snow-capped peaks and the lakes below were peacock blue. The canopies of the trees below were as lush as a velvet blanket. Now I knew what everyone meant when they said this flight would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.



As we approached the Milford Sound airstrip, Becca banked the plane to the left and went into a 180 degree turn. Ohhhh dearrrrr. The plane descended as she turn, my stomach not quite making the drop along with everything else. And I got that feeling. That feeling that you know the vomit is coming. We all know that feeling. The bile rising. The sudden fever. The beads of sweat seeping out of your forehead. Can I hang on for another minute? Just concentrate. Mind over matter. Just hang on. Only another minute longer...

I couldn't hang on. I lunged for the bag and emptied the contents of my stomach into it. Ewwwww...

Before I knew it, we had touched down to land. I was shaking uncontrollably as I stepped off the plane, hiding my bag of puke behind my hoodie. Pauly was grinning ear to ear and excitedly started to show me some videos he had taken. Then, I held up the bag.

"Is that the lamb sausage?" he asked.

"And the oatmeal."

"Awww! Poor puke girl!"

Yeah. Guess who will be known as puke girl for the forseeable future.

Unfortunately, the weather was not cooperating. Upon landing, we were given the option to stay in Milford Sound for the cruise and then take a 4-hour bus ride back to Queenstown, or to fly back immediately. I was really torn. On one hand, I really wanted to see more of the area, but the idea of a bus ride that long, without a book or an iPod would be just excrutiating. Then again, in that moment, I couldn't even fathom getting right back on Becca's plane without even getting a few minutes to settle down, stop vibrating, and get my bearings back.

I looked at Pauly. He really didn't want to go on that bus ride. And neither did I. The flight won. We were going back up. Carol, the British lady gave me a couple of motion sickness pills before we got back on.

They didn't work. Before we could even reach our cruising altitude again, I was hurling into a fresh bag. Again, and again, and again until there was absolutely nothing left to hurl. I tried to puke quietly as to not disturb the others and not ruin their good time. I guess the whole noise reducing headphones thing helped out with that as well.

I desposed of the second puke bag as we walked off the runway. I was still shaking and looked positively green. I wondered if the pilots talked about their passengers to each other. Would Becca win some sort of prop bet about getting the most pukers in her plane or something? Maybe my story would be told over pints of Tui in some pilots' bar that evening.

"Puke girl! Puke girl!" teased Pauly as we rode back to the hotel. I wasn't gonna lose this name.

Still haven't.

Australia, New Zealand, and Las Vegas Photos

If you haven't stumbled upon them already, I've added over 100 new photos to my Flickr gallery from my travels down under, and from visiting Bean in Vegas this weekend. Check 'em out. Here are a few of the highlights:

Mountains in Fiordland National Park, New Zealand

Byron Bay, Australia post-sunset

Shop window in Nimbin, NSW

Views outside the plane on the way to Milford Sound, N.Z.

Dry riverbed in Red Rock Canyon, NV

Bean Touches the Rocks, Red Rock Canyon, NV

You Have No Place Here

I hadn't seen Bean in over a year, the little time we got these days to spend time face to face one of the many casualties of the months (years?) I've spent following the international poker circus. After we took our last university finals, donned caps and gowns, packed up our apartments and said goodbye one June morning in 1999, we both went back to where we came from-- she to Pittsburgh and me to Los Angeles-- and have spent the balance of the nine years since keeping in touch through phone calls and emails and a visit every year or two when her sales job would send her out to a west coast destination like San Francisco or Las Vegas and we'd converge on whatever business-class hotel was putting her up and pick up right where we'd left off. Bean and I are evergreen. We're stronger than oak. Such were the bonds fused between us through three years of cohabitation in dormitories and run-down student apartments on the frozen shores of Lake Michigan. I think of living with Bean and I hear Pink Floyd's The Wall, I see scenes from bad nineties movies like Twister and Reality Bites and remember sucking down bonghits of ditch weed we bought from the kid upstairs for $40 a quarter as we ditched class after class yet always managed to pull out decent grades in the end.

Bean was a fashionista from the moment I met her. Though I came from the beauty capital of the world and she from a place too close to West Virginia for my tastes, you couldn't tell it by looking at us back in those early days. Her positive fashion influence on me continues to this day. I remember vividly how she took me to Macy's during junior year and got me to sit down at the Clinique counter and get my makeup done for the first time. From that day on, the Cherry Chap Stick and Cover Girl pressed powder that had gotten me through all-girls high school were banished from my repertoire forever and replaced with proper foundations and concealers and eye shadows and lip glosses. My beloved red Doc Martens were replaced with sleek black leather boots and I shopped at stores not called The Gap for the first time I could remember. Without Bean, I still might be wearing brown lipstick and tapered jeans. Yeah, that's a horror show.

Bean was in Las Vegas for her ex-boyfriend's wedding. The two had dated for over three years but remained close friends after their breakup. His bride to be was about 7 months pregnant and they had the ceremony at one of those wedding chapels up on North Las Vegas Boulevard, followed by a luncheon reception at the Venetian. I drove the 273 miles from Los Angeles as they said their "I do's" and once the festivites were finished, I met up with Bean at the Luxor, where she was staying. Though we'd been together almost two years, Bean had yet to meet Pauly, and was very anxious to do so.

I'm happy to report they got along wonderfully. There were multiple utterings of "Ohmygod you guys are so cute together" throughout the weekend.

The three of us got a quick bite in the Luxor cafe. Then Pauly went back to his room at Excalibur to write while Bean and I hit the casino floor. We took seats at a $15 blackjack table. She watched me play for a while and I explained to her why I was hitting or staying in certain situations. So much for my expertise, I was down over $100 after the first shoe. After a shuffle, she pulled out $100 and nervously traded it in for red chips. She lost the first hand she played.

"That was fast. I wish this was a 15 cent table instead!"

"Come over to my place. I deal private 15 cent table for you" said the fiftyish Asian dealer with a leer.

I continued my downward slide through the next shoe. Down to my last $30 in chips, I pushed the rest of them in and was dealt two eights. I reached into my purse for another $30 to split them. A 9 fell on top of the first eight for a 17. And then a third eight fell on the second hand. Another trip into the purse for $30 more. A jack for 18, and and ace for 19. The dealer was showing a 7 and turned up a 9 underneath, only to peel off a three for 19. I pushed one hand and lost two. Yeah, that was gonna be it for me. I'd been in Vegas for two hours and I was already stuck $260.

We walked over to Excalibur and found Pauly in the poker room. I told him my blackjack bad beat story and then headed over to a Pai Gow table to try and get at least partially unstuck. Bean was intrigued with Pai Gow.

"You'll like it. You don't win a lot, but you don't lose a lot. Well, you lose a lot if you're Pauly. And you get lots of free drinks and it's social" I told her.

She watched me play for a while and got the hang of it. In favor of sitting down herself, though, she decided to go back to her room and take a power nap. She was determined to go to LAX, the Luxor's trendy nightclub later that night.

I love Bean, but to be honest I was dreading LAX. It shows how much I love her and want to spend time with her that I went at all. The last time I set foot in a Vegas nightclub was for a WSOP party back in 2006. I think I even brought the same outfit to wear to LAX. Clubbing... it's just not me. I'm not 21, I'm not single, and waiting in a line with a bunch of provocatively dressed, fake-tanned college chicks with their boobs pouring out of their tops is probably on the list of the top 5 worst things you could ask me to do with my time. But I love Bean. So I put on my black pants and cranberry silk halter top and got in line.

Bean had been gifted with some sort of VIP pass for the club. Some guy had seen her checking into her room and offered them up. Basically, what the VIP pass gets you is a shorter line. There's the main line that snaked all the way past the club, around the bar, and up to the concierge desk, populated with hideously dressed obese tourists that would be standing there for the rest of the night. And then there was the VIP line where all the guys in black button downs and designer jeans and girls with fake tits stood, craning their necks to get the attention of some former high school linebacker in a black suit with an earpiece and a clipboard. I moved us aggressively through the cluster of shivering, stilettoed girls until we were flush with the velvet rope. There was a sign there advertising Paris Hilton's Valentine's Day party scheduled for next week. Bean made her best goo-goo eyes at Clipboard Guy and after about 20 minutes he let us in.

LAX was dark and cavernous, giant chandeliers hanging over the dance floor, while a balcony full of velvet-curtained VIP booths lined the walls on three sides. We grabbed a drink and took in the scene from a perch near the back of the room. About every minute or so, some guy would walk past and check out Bean or throw out a pickup line. I stood there and sipped my vodka rocks with a splash of cranberry and counted how many guys I could spot in black button down shirts. I think I stopped somewhere around 24.

With our second drinks in hand, we ventured upstairs to check out the VIP booths. Bean marveled at the bottle service spreads-- crystal decanters full of mixers, stainless steel bowls with wedges of lemons and limes, a fifth of Absolut rounding out the frame.

"See, you just add Paris Hilton or those girls from The Hills, get them drunk enough to dance on the banquettes, and you have an item fit for US Weekly" I quipped as we turned to go back downstairs.

"Hold on there, you're going the wrong way" said a tall guy with sandy hair. He took Bean by the shoulders and turned her around, leading her back to their table. A dark-haired friend of his appeared out of the shadows and put his hand on the small of my back to lead me the same direction. I recoiled from his touch and practically jumped away, giving him a sharp look. Yeah, boy I'm the difficult one in this duo. It's not the easy con you thought it was going to be. But if my best friend wants to have a good time, I'm going to let her.

Inside their private balcony above the dance floor, a bachelor party raged. There must have been about 10-15 guys in there and a half a dozen soused party girls. Sandy Hair jumped up on the banquette and Bean jumped up with him. I looked down at the spread of alcohol on the table and wondered if I could at least get a free drink out of this escapade. Just as I was about to go for the Absolut I felt a tap on my shoulder. Dark Hair presented me with his empty glass.

"Hey, get me a vodka tonic."

What, am I your fucking waitress?

He must have seen my jaw drop and my lips prepare to form a retort because he went and gave his glass to another friend instead. I looked over at Bean and Sandy Hair had his hands on her ass.

"How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?" he said. Bean looked over at me.

"Should I lie?" she asked. I shook my head.

"I'm 30." Sandy Hair looked at her in disbelief.

"She's telling the truth" I said.

And then we found out that Sandy Hair was only 19.

"You must have a great fake I.D." I deadpanned as I downed the last remnants of vodka in my glass.

As Bean continued to flirt with Sandy Hair, I started talking about poker with a nerdy, rotund gentleman who had settled into the corner. But he lost interest after a few minutes and walked away.

"So... do you like the poon?" I turned around and there was a skinny guy no taller than me standing there. He was so drunk that his eyes had taken on that dead, ,motionless quality that onsets just before blackout.

"Do I like the what?" I club-shouted back at him.

"The poon. The poon-tang. Do you give it up?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you give it up?"

"I give it up to my boyfriend."

"You give it up to anyone else?"

"Not you, buddy."

"Then you need to leave."

"What?"

"You need to leave. Right NOW. You have NO PLACE HERE!" he shouted, inches from my face. I started to laugh. That really didn't help things.

"Bean, this gentleman says I need to leave."

"What?" she said, turning away from Sandy Hair.

"Apparently I have no place here since I'm not single."

"That's right, bitch, you have NO PLACE HERE!" Skinny Short Guy slurred, sloshing vodka out of his nearly-full glass.

"No, it's OK, they can stay. Chill out, man" said Sandy Hair.

"Did you hear what this bitch said to me?"

"Why are you getting up in my face, man? Do I offend you that much?" I laughed.

"Get the fuck out" he spat.

"OK, we're out of here" said Bean, disentangling herself from Sandy Hair.

"That's right you douchebag, I'm taking the one single girl out of your party that's still 100% conscious" I said, pointing to a blonde splayed out on a chaise lounge as I grabbed Bean's hand and pushed our way through the velvet curtains.

"Are you OK?" said Bean, concern washed over her face.

"I'm fine. Let's get another drink."

"What did he say to you?"

"He's just a tool. And drunk. Don't worry about it."

We got another round at the bar. Guys continued to chat up Bean as I stood to the side. I really didn't belong here. At 22, I desperately wanted to belong in places like this, but I was miles away from the person I was back then. Much happier with myself. Blessed with someone who loves me no matter what. I looked around and watched these guys trying to get girls to talk to them. I couldn't believe how predatory it had all become. I suppose it was predatory 8 or 10 years ago when I was more into this sort of scene, but perhaps just not as overt and premeditated. Guys hung out by the door to scope the new meat walking in. They whispered to their friends as they judged the pickings. And the girls did the same. I even saw Sandy Hair and Dark Hair back out in the field, looking for more prey. Bean and I passed by them on our way out the door. But there was nothing more to say to them.

Once outside the overstimulation of the club, all the vodka really kicked in. We made our way over to Mandalay Bay, where Pauly was playing poker. I caught my first glimpse of him as he was re-checking his hand, an agonized look on his face. All five board cards were out. He grimaced and folded, just like I knew he was going to. I'd have to clue him in on that tell later.

He cashed out and we went to the sportsbook bar to show Bean some of the local hookers. I told Pauly the story of what happened up in the VIP Booth and remarked that if he had been there, he would have put skinny guy into a wall. That's my man. Bean gasped.

"Seriously, he would. He's threatened drunk Dutch poker players over far milder offenses."

We walked Bean back to Luxor before heading back to Excalibur. There was still a huge line outside of LAX, even at 1 A.M. I saw some of the same faces I'd seen waiting there hours ago and desperately wanted to tell them that there were so many better things that they could be doing with their night than waiting to get into some place that obviously didn't want them. I mean, there weren't even any celebrities around. It was Grammy weekend.

Instead I just let my mind wander to the next day's plans... Red Rock Canyon... a nice dinner with two of my favorite people in the world... getting unstuck at the Pai Gow tables...

Places I belonged.

Saturdays with Dr. Pauly

"This was always a fun way to kick around a Saturday afternoon in a blogger tournament. No leaderboard, no tracking the money winners, no asshats. I suspect the new regular Saturday afternoon tournament will be a lot more relaxed then what our blogger tournaments have become. Back in the day when they were thrown for no other reason then to sling some chips around with invisible internet friends without the pressure of someone standing on your throat if they don't like your style of play."

-AlCantHang

Amen, my brother.

Come play. This afternoon. On Poker Stars. I have no idea how to play this game and will probably be really high while I play it.

Take my money. I dare you.

Brandi Hawbaker Sex Tape

I step off an 11-hour flight from New Zealand and what's the first little slice of internet goodness I lay eyes upon?

A Brandi Hawbaker sex tape. 'Fo reals.

It's of the home-made variety, and primarily consists of a static shot of the poker world's favorite train wreck fellating some anonymous man to the sounds of 50 Cent's "Candy Shop."

Only a middling, standard performance, that lacks creativity, I'd say.

The extremely NSFW link via 2+2.

Byronian Days

Byron Bay is lovely this time of year. Hell, it's probably this lovely any time of year, but for now, it's the middle of the summer here in coastal New South Wales. The full-blown summer days of the end of July for us Yanks arrive here in January, and since departing Melbourne on Tuesday, Pauly and I haven't done much besides lying on the beach, drinking pots of the local Aussie brew, playing excessive amounts of Chinese Poker, eating in cafes, and of course, smoking some of the local dank. How we came upon the former is a story unto itself.

Nimbin is a hippie haven in the middle of Bumblefuck, Nowhere. It's about a 60 km drive from Byron on windy, often one-lane roads through rolling green hills. The speed limit on the road is 100 kph , but I could only manage 80 without getting us killed. As I drove, Pauly recounted the story of Senor's trip to Nimbin over a decade ago, where an 8 year old boy, and then a grandmother tried to sell him weed. So it wasn't going to be too much of a hassle to find a qualified salesperson along the town's notorious main drag.

As we entered the town, the first thing I spotted was a head shop called "Bringabong" (a riff on the surf-clothes line Billabong). Dirty hippies roamed the sidewalks and dread-locked rastas with leathery skin played instruments as they hocked their wares. I found a parking space in front of a crumbling wooden bungalow that looked to house at least a half a dozen junkies that likely grew hydroponic weed in the basement. After walking a couple of blocks, I ducked into a dress shop while Pauly executed the "transaction." I was barely through looking at one rack of skirts before he came back and gave me the "mission accomplished" nod. My love was even savvy enough to negotiate the price down 20%.

We made a quick stop at a public loo. When I came out, Pauly had a stricken look on his face.

"Dude... I just saw a three-legged dog."
"What?"
"I've got bad vibes about this place."
"Yeah, let's get the fuck out of here."

We headed back to the car and sampled the local product. While not as primo as the medicinal nugs I'm used to, it looked soft and fluffy and certainly did the job.

Our days here typically begin with breakfast at one of the local cafes. I had wonderful pancakes at The Balcony, garnished with fresh strawberries and mascarpone cheese and today enjoyed a spinach and goat cheese omelette at Fresh. Brekky is followed by a trip to the beach and some light reading. I've been plowing through Lee Nelson's "Kill Everyone." It's the sequel to his bestselling "Kill Phil" and focuses on advanced tournament and sit-n-go strategies. In a word, it's been enlightening. Post-beach, it's time for the best shower in the world back at the hotel, followed by a trip to a seaside bar where we drink beer and play Chinese poker. Pauly totally whipped me in the afternoon session yesterday, making 21 unanswered points, but in the night session, I convinced him to add deuce-to-seven in the middle hand and I stormed back +19. Ship it!

I got a bit roasty=toasty from the sun yesterday, so much that Pauly is calling me "lobster girl." Alas, it's time to depart this little internet cafe and purchase some sort of floppy hat so I can safely sit in the sand this afternoon and listen to the waves.

Two more days here, then it's on to New Zealand. Pauly wants to jump off a bridge. While I wasn't considering it before, I'm now contemplating joining him...

Jeciimd Makes Day 2 of the Aussie Millions

After all the fuss and drama over the BBT, has anyone noticed and/or written about jeciimd making Day 2 of the Aussie Millions Main Event with a rather healthy stack?

HELLO, people!

I saw him take out the guy on his right early this afternoon. Here's what I wrote about it on Poker News:

Eric "jeciimd" Chadwick Knocks Out a Player

The money went in on the turn, with Chadwick holding {Q-Diamonds}{J-Clubs} and Peter Spann showing {K-Hearts}{9-Spades} on a {9-Diamonds}{8-Diamonds}{2-Spades}{J-Diamonds} board. The river was the {6-Clubs} and Chadwick dragged the pot, eliminating Spann and increasing his stack to well over 60,000.

We've lost over 90 players in the first level of play today and will likely hit the money sometime late this evening. 240 remain, 80 get paid. Tune into Poker News and cheer on our boy!

Photo by Dr. Pauly, courtesy of Poker News

**Update**

3:45 p.m. Unfortunately, our boy is out. Here's how Pauly reported the hand:

Eric "jeciimd" Chadwick Eliminated

Holding {A-Spades}{A-Clubs}, Eric "jeciimd" Chadwick pushed all in on the turn with three spades showing. His opponent called with {5-Spades}{3-Spades}. Chadwick missed his flush on the river and his opponent won the pot. Chadwick, an olnine qualifier who won AlCantHang's BBT2: Aussie Millions Challenge, was eliminated from the tournament.

Nice run, Eric. At least now you can enjoy Australia!

Annette_15 is Taller Than Amanda Leatherman

Pauly offered me a prop bet today that I thought was a total gimme. It didn't even involve throwing things. We wagered on who was taller-- Annette "Annette_15" Obrestad or Poker Road / Poker News' on-air interviewer Amanda Leatherman-- and I got first pick. Both ladies barely cross the 5' marker, but I was pretty confident in my choice: Annette. Pauly got to judge the contest on-camera.

Check it out for yourself:


Note: If you are reading me in Bloglines, you have to click through to my site to see the video.

You can't hear me in the background, but I'm about three feet off camera behind media row, yelling "SHIP IT!"

Later in the day, we did end up doing a throwing things bet. $20 to hit the trashcan. Will he ever learn? I bought my beloved and Dave beers after the tournament ended for the day with the winnings.

It's day 13 and I'm already totally sick of the food court.

Keep up with all the Aussie Millions nuttiness on Poker News.

Oz Dreams

I don't think I've slept a night in Australia where I didn't have a bizarre dream. I don't know if it's because I'm on the other side of the world or what, but my subconscious always seems to go into overdrive when I'm in Oz. Last night's edition featured the Big Man's ex-wife of all people. We were a playing $0.25-$0.50 no-limit game with a bunch of illegal Mexicans in a hair salon where we were both waiting for our appointments. I wanted to felt her so badly and she was playing every hand, so it was only a matter of time. But then, her new boyfriend showed up and wanted to buy weed from me. I told them to meet me outside in the alley behind the building so I could give it to him. I went out there and waited for hours but they never showed up, so I ended up taking off on a motorcycle, even though I didn't know how to ride it. Then, I woke up to the sound of fingers on keys, as I do most mornings when Pauly's around. By the time I gain consciousness, he's been pouring out his thoughts on a blank screen for hours. I'd really do anything to be able to sleep as little as he does.

Today is our sixth in Melbourne. We took off from LAX Tuesday night and after some shenanigans with the International Date Line, we arrived here on Thursday morning after a relatively uneventful fifteen-hour flight. That night we joined newlyweds Jules and Graham for a spectacular dinner at Rockpool, the 2007 winner of Melbourne's restaurant of the year. Those two were planning to celebrate their wedding and their respective new jobs that night and were kind enough to let us crash their dinner.

The food was just amazing. I had a sashimi appetizer featuring velvety slices of Ocean Trout, Yellowfin Tuna, and Hiramasa Kingfish in a soy dressing. The quality of the fish was impeccable. I could have kept eating plates and plates of just that all night, but the star of this restaurant is the steak. Pauly and I had the bone-in ribeye for two and it did not disappoint. It came with sides of Bernaise sauce and Horseradish dressing, but they were hardly necessary in the face of the bold flavors of the dry-aged Australian beef. On the side we enjoyed a refreshing tomato salad, some tasty roasted mushrooms, gourmet onion rings and Rockpool's signature mac 'n cheese. Oh, and there was also the matter of the three bottle of Shriaz we tore through. Pauly took photos of course.

I so enjoy the company of these two and our dinner clocked in at a four-hour running time that seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. During the course of our meal, the sun set, flames flew from the Crown's half-dozen giant torches along the Yarra River, and the once-packed restaurant completely emptied out. We adjourned to J.J.'s bar upstairs for juuust one more bottle after dinner. If we'd had two, I might have had to warble along with the cheesy lounge singer/piano player who played a set while we drank.

The next morning, we moved into the Crown Towers. I thought the rooms at the Crown Promenade (the other, less fancy hotel at the Crown Complex) were the nuts last time we were here, but let me tell you, the Towers are a significant upgrade. Fluffy bathrobes and matching slippers, a jacuzzi tub, a seperate changing room, a sick plasma TV and chocolates on your pillow from the maids. 17 nights of luxury living...ship it! Well, yeah, then there's the matter of those 16-hour days in a casino that comes with it.

We're already through three events at the Aussie Millions. Yesterday, Pauly and I spent the day and most of the night covering a mixed stud event. Yeah, mixed stud. Stud high/Stud 8/Razz. The early hours were sheer torture. It took about three hours just to get to the first elimination. Jules turned up to play and went out (natch) on a Razz bad beat. To put it in her words:

"A-2-3, brick, brick, brick, brick."

In the early evening hours, Jimmy "gobboboy" Fricke began pulling away from the field by employing his typical aggressive style and "running good in Razz." He arrived at the final table as the overwhelming chip leader and really never had to look back. He completely ran it over and beat Aussie poker legend Graeme "Kiwi G" Putt heads-up to win the event. I was really happy for Jimmy-- though Howard Lederer may think he's a freak, I think he's a sweet kid with a good heart. He did a great video interview for Poker News with our new on-air hostess Amanda Leatherman a few days ago. Check it out.

The days have been long here, but I'm excited for the arrival of the Full Tilt jet tomorrow, carrying April, Dawn Summers, and Bacon Bikini Mary down under. I can't even imagine the volume of Chinese Poker matches on that flight.

Oh... and thanks again for all the concern over my poor little burned fingers. They are doing much better now and it looks like I'll hardly have any scarring. The blisters are gone, the bandages are off, and all that is there to remind me of that night is some dry, peeling pink skin.

That, and a fear of hot wax.