Ramblings from a writer, traveler, and insomniac

 
Um, Moscow?

I was offered a freelance writing assignment in Moscow, Russia. I'm on the fence and don't know whether I should take it or not.

Here's the downside... I'd have to miss Turkey Day with Derek and my family.

Here's the upside... a free trip to Moscow.

Here's another downside... don't they kill journalists in Mother Russia?

Your thoughts are appreciated.
posted by Pauly at 8/31/2007 06:41:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Morning Breeze

Barcelona... For some unknown reason, the A/C in the apartment went out around 8am. I had been asleep for about two hours when I noticed it. Around 10am Nicky woke up and mentioned something to me, which meant, "I'm sleeping and hot. Go fix it."

Two warning lights blinked on and off. I tried hitting a few buttons to no avail. I couldn't unplug the thing because I couldn't find the plug. That's when I opened up the window to the bedroom and a breeze rushed inside. I didn't realize how hot the apartment had been. I walked into the living room/kitchen area and opened up the balcony doors to get more circulation. We live in a railroad type of apartment. It's a rectangle and goes the length of the tiny block. The street by the balcony has more pedestrian traffic as it spills over into the plaza of El Born. Across the way is a store that is renovating and construction workers were ripping something apart. I had to close the balcony for a bit until they finished.

When the noise stopped, I sat outside on the balcony in just my boxers and read email. Amazing to have wifi.

I paid my cellphone bill and did a quick run down of my budget in Europe. I'm about half way complete in my six week trip to Europe and I'm under budget by about 600 Euros, maybe more.

I was running over budget by about 5-10 Euros per day during the first week in Amsterdam. Thanks to my hosts in Sweden, I barely spent any money and I was able to make up my overage. I didn't spend too much money in the days before Nicky arrived and when she arrived in Amsterdam, we spent less than anticipated.

Barcelona is a lot cheaper than Amsterdam, especially the food and booze. We took two cabs from the casino to the apartment and they were less than 4 Euros each ride. I'm spending less than 30 Euros a day on food and drinks here, which is the reason why I'm under budget. I'll try to maintain this pace.

I usually do my best to go under budget as a traveler. Whatever I saved last year went to fund my gambling binge at Red Rock Casino in Las Vegas during March Madness, where I used the extra money that I didn't spend at Vegoose (Oct 06), Amsterdam (Nov 06), Las Vegas (Dec 06), San Francisco (Dec 06), Australia (Jan 07), and Langerado (Mar 06). In essence, that was a free trip and I lived high off the hog eating amazing expensive meals and recklessly betting two or three dimes on a single March Madness game.

I spent less money than anticipated during the summer in Las Vegas for the 2007 WSOP, which pretty much paid for the Amsterdam leg of this trip. Whatever I can save for the remainder of this trip will pay for next year's March Madness (if I don't have to work).

I set aside a portion of my income for savings and travel and started saving money for various trips next year. There are places I want to see, but I'll wait to find out what my work schedule is like before I can plot an adventure. I wouldn't mind moving back to Amsterdam for a month at sometime next year.

Anyway...

I worked the last two days at the Barcelona Casino and I was rusty the first day. I had not covered a poker tournament five plus weeks and it took me a half a day to get my shit together. Luckily things are more laid back in Europe instead of the intense madness and pressure I feel when I'm in Las Vegas.

Yesterday went a little bit better even though I had to deal with internet issues. The entire international media shares the same connection and the majority of them are uploading video which takes up a shitload of bandwidth so there are times when pages load at the same speed as dial up or worse... they don't load at all.

I was going to write about poker this morning, but I didn't feel it. I'm forced to deal with poker for 14 hours a day and when I come home, I find myself watching the Yankees/Red Sox games online instead of writing. And when I wake up... all I want to do is write about other things before it's time for me to go to work.

I have three very long days of work ahead of me followed up by four days off before I have to work for ten straight days in London. At least we get two days in Barcelona before we fly to London and have a day and a half in London to chill out before the next assignment begins.

On the food front, I ate paella one night and we found a cheap Italian joint around the corner that served an amazing gnocchi in a four cheese sauce. Yesterday, Nicky and I set up our stuff in the media room at 3pm and grabbed lunch at one of the restaurants in the casino. I opted for a burger. I tried them two years ago and they weren't bad. That was the first red meat I had since I almost shit my pants after eating steak in Amsterdam. Wait, does ham count as red meat? Because I ate a shitload of ham and cheese in Amsterdam and when I ordered a pizza the other day during a lunch meeting, it was topped with grilled mushrooms and prosciutto.

I usually eat dinner around Midnight. The bar near the poker room serves a light menu. On Tuesday, I ordered a bikini (grilled ham and cheese) and a beer on my break. Last night, my friend Jen (a British writer from London who is fascinated with my latest blog Tao of Bacon) told me that they serve omelets on baguettes. I had been dying for an egg sandwich and finally found one. It was yummy, except the only problem is that the locals put a tomato spread on all their sandwiches... and I'm not that big of a fan of the spread. In Australia, they put a beet relish on burgers and sandwiches and it didn't bother me as much. I actually started liking it by the end of my time down under. But in this instance, I'm not digging the spread.

My boss Schecky didn't have a positive experience ordering food at the bar the other night.

"I made a bad decision," he said. "I ordered the local sausage."

All this talk of food is making me hungry. Time to go downstairs to the market to buy some bread and cheese.
posted by Pauly at 8/30/2007 06:08:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Inspiration Daydream

Two years ago, I showed up in Barcelona with a camera (that Flipchip gave me), my laptop and my backpack with a couple of days of clothes. I was alone, in a foreign country, working on spec. I paid my own way to Spain and lined up a couple of publications to buy a couple of articles that I'd write once the final table of EPT Barcelona was complete. I knew that I'd be losing money on the trip and didn't care. After a long summer in Las Vegas living at the Redneck Riviera, I needed to get out of Nevada and out of the country. I heard about the European Poker Tour from Otis and said, "Fuck it. I'm going."

Luckily, Mad Harper helped me out. She was an British ex-pat living in Spain and had worked with Otis at Poker Stars. She offered to put me up for a few days in Sitges (a beach town just outside of Barcelona) and showed me around Barcelona. She secured me a fantastic deal on a hotel room and allowed me to tag along with her. That's how I met a slew of people at Poker Stars.

Shortly after Joe Hachem won the 2005 WSOP in Benny's Bullpen at the Horseshoe, I emailed the creator of the EPT, former British TV-producer John Duthie, and asked him about press badge for the Barcelona event. He was thrilled that an American writer would be interested in covering his little tournament. At the time, there were no press procedures for season two of the EPT. He told me to show up at the casino and that I'd be allowed to take photos and live blog the event on Tao of Poker. At the time, there were about five or six of us there including Rolf Slotbloom (Dutch writer for Poker Pages), Tom Murphy and Mike Lacey (The Irish guys from Antes Up), David Lloyd (British writer Gutshot), Howard Swains (British writer from Poker Stars Blog), and myself. We were huddled around a table underneath the stairs. At the EPT Barcelona this year, there were over 100 media reps from all over the world. The EPT and poker has come a long way in just 24 months.

Two years ago, I met Brandon Schaefer at the bar next to the poker room of all places and said that he loved reading my blog. We'd hang out a lot during that trip and became good friends. Not only did I have a blast covering my first event outside the States, but I also got asked to announce the feature TV table and then the final table.


Announcing the final table in 2005...
I might have been the first American poker writer to come across a good looking skinny kid from Finland named Patrik Antonius. He made the final table along with Gus Hansen. I couldn't believe what had happened to me, as I was overcome by one of those existentialist moments like... how the fuck did I get here? Just six months earlier I was unemployed, broke, and homeless. Then all of a sudden, I had a microphone in my hand and was doing my best Johnny Grooms imitation for the crowd.

The Barcelona Casino has a special place in my heart and was a monumental place on my journey through poker. I was given a rare opportunity to visit a new place, make new friends, and have an original mind-blowing experience. After the final table was over (and after a long night of drinking), it was 6am and I managed to get a taxi to drive me to La Sagrada Familia. It was closed, but I sat in amazement on a bench in a park across from Gaudi's infamous church that has been under construction since 1882.

I had a religious experience that morning as I gazed up at the church, something that I had not spoken about to anyone. Until now. Ever get that feeling that you're supposed to be where you are at that specific moment? That's what happened. I was overcome with emotion and wept for a few moments. Not too many people are given second chances in life, and I was awarded a golden ticket. I vowed not to screw up anymore in life and pushed myself harder than I had ever. Even though I made some mistakes along the way over the last two years, I look back at Barcelona in 2005 as a major turning point in my life and the development as a writer.

When Poker News offered me an assignment to cover Season 4 of the EPT Barcelona, I immediately said yes. I would get to travel to Spain for free with my girlfriend and be reunited with a lot of friends I made along the way. And during my time in Barcelona over the past couple of days, I reflected about the last two years of my life. The words humble and lucky come to mind. On Monday morning, I returned to La Sagrada Familia. I didn't cry (although Nicky admitted that the building was so powerful and full of energy that she was on the verge of tears) this time, but I felt overjoyed that I was able to return to the sacred place that inspired me and kept me going over the last 700 days of my life. I also made another promise to myself. Maybe someday I'll tell you what that was.

Editor's Note: This post originally appeared on Tao of Poker.
posted by Pauly at 8/29/2007 08:57:00 PM | Permalink |

 
La Sagrada Familia Pic Dump

Here are some photos that I took on Monday afternoon in Barcelona after a visit to Gaudi's majestic (and unfinished) La Sagrada Familia. My initial reaction? Dammit! I wish I took some acid.

You can click on the photos to see an enlarged view.


From two blocks away...




Construction started in 1882... and should be completed in about 10 years








Sample of the stained glass inside...


Just look up in amazement










Love this guy trying to get the highest parts on film




posted by Pauly at 8/28/2007 05:12:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Barcelona Quickie


Where Papa used to get sloshed....
The move out of the canal apartment in Amsterdam took less than five minutes. Johnny Mushrooms (or the character formally known as RK) called us a cab and we headed to the airport together. His flight left an hour earlier than ours, which gave Nicky and I time to grab a bite to eat and play Chinese Poker at the airport lounge.

The flight to Barcelona was a quickie. I'm so used to flights longer than five hours than anything less than ninety minutes is a breeze. I read a few chapters of Atomised, the second book from Michel Houllenbecq that Benjo gave me as a gift.

We walked out to the cab stand at Barcelona airport and there was no line. We could have taken the train, but we opted for a quick cab ride, which is a business expense. It was cheaper than expected at 23 Euros. Our cabbie let us out a few blocks from where we needed to go. The area where we are living has pedestrian only streets.

We walked two short blocks to the rental agency. The woman there showed us to our place and pointed out all the things we might need were a couple a blocks away (like the pharmacy, market, bank, and laundry). The apartment has pink walls. I didn't get to choose. Nicky found the place online. It's in an amazing part of town a few blocks from Bari Gotic and just around the corner from Santa Maria del Mar church. The Picasso Museum is up the street and we're about a fifteen to twenty minute walk from the Barcelona Casino, where I have to work for the next week.

After settling into the apartment, we took a walk. We stumbled upon the gun store that was featured in Bittersweet Motel, the documentary about Phish. There's a hysterical scene when Trey haggles with the store owner over the purchase of a 357 Magnum. Trey's price was too low and he walked out of the store. As soon as he left, they agreed to sell him the gun at his price. Trey was fucking around and didn't want to buy the gun. He bought a whip instead. I will post a pic of the store later.

We walked up and down La Rambla, which was packed with tourists. We stopped off at a cafe and drank a large beer as we played Chinese Poker. We took a trip down a side street to London Bar, where Hemingway used to drink during his time in Spain.

We had dinner around the corner at a cheap Italian place with amazing gnocchi. The dinner was around 20 Euros and we had an appetizer, two main dishes, sparkling water, and wine.

After dinner, we hung out in El Born square and soaked up the Midnight scene. There were a dozen couple dancing a waltz nearby as music played. Tons of people walked past us on their way out to party. Sitting down next to us, a young woman was on her cellphone and she was in the middle of a break up. Tears were pouring out of her eyes and she sobbed.

We had an early night for Barcelona standards. I have one full day to explore the city before I report to work at 3pm on Tuesday. Stay tuned for a pic dump.
posted by Pauly at 8/27/2007 05:21:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Last Days of the Dam and How I Almost Shit My Pants

Amsterdam

After I returned from Sweden, I cranked out a solid amount of quality writing and caught up on work in the small window of time before Nicky arrived on Thursday morning. On Wednesday, I uploaded pictures to my Flickr gallery and completed one column for Poker Player Newspaper and wrote two-thirds of my column (due in two weeks). I edited 75% of the September issue of Truckin' and also penned the first draft of a "On the Road" type of magazine column for a new client which is due in the first week of September.

I lived my first week in Amsterdam in a murky haze. The weather was grey and hazy and my mind was foggy and groggy. It was nice to just let loose on an old-fashioned bender without worrying about responsibilities. I needed that. Once it got close to the Sweden excursion, I scaled back the partying a couple of notches, although I saved myself for one last wicked three-day bender when Nicky arrived.

She nearly missed both of her flights. LAX was backed up and she barely made her connecting flight to Minnesota, which also arrived just in time for her flight to Amsterdam. When she called me from LAX, I was walking to dinner with Benjo and RK. We craved steak all day and Amsterdam has an abundance of Argentine steak joints. We picked one near Rookies in the Leidseplein. I ordered a hefty 33 Euro steak. On our way home, RK noted that I walked at a super brisk pace.

"I have to go to the bathroom," I said.

"We can always top off at a pub on the way and we can also get a beer," he mentioned.

"Can't," I said as I picked up the pace. "I ain't taking a dump in a bar."

When we reached the church behind the Anne Frank house, I knew we were less than five minutes away. I also knew that I couldn't hold it any longer. I was ready to explode. Thank God that it was night time. I ducked behind two parked cars and dropped my pants with my ass facing the canal. What ensued was hideous. Think about the scene from American Pie when Finch had explosive diarrhea in the girls room. That was me, except, I was in the middle of Amsterdam, shitting my brains out in between two cars. Luckily no one walked by. Not one boat drifted down the canal. Not one person on a bicycle whizzed by.

RK and Benjo were a block or two behind me. When they caught up to my spot, they looked over in amazement. They couldn't figure out what I was doing. Luckily, I had tissues and a few napkins on me and able to clean up without any problems. Disaster averted. Although I busted ass on some dude's back wheel... I wonder what his expression was like when he left for work the next day?

You never know how you will handle a crisis until you are faced with said situation. It was a complicated matter... and a worst nightmare for some... the fear of shitting yourself in public. Luckily, I had developed the necessary survival skills and knew my body so well that I held out for the last possible moment before the inevitable occurred. When you have to go... you have to go.

It was embarrassing to say the least. Slightly humiliated, I was in near tears as I walked back to the apartment. But I couldn't stop laughing either. It could have been a disastrous moment and even worse. Luckily, I managed not to shit myself.

* * * * *
I woke up early on Thursday and wrote for a little bit before I walked to the train station. I got caught up in a wave of people exiting Central Station on their way to work. I bought a croissant and then boarded a train to the airport. I listened to my iPod and read a Dutch newspaper. I looked at the photos. When I got the airport, Nicky's flight info was updated. She arrived fifteen minutes earlier that scheduled. I told her to meet me at the red and white checkered cube near the ticket window, but ended up bumping into her as soon as she cleared customs.

You can never gauge how much you miss somebody until you finally see them. I had one of those moments.

We took the train back to Amsterdam and made the fifteen minute walk back to the apartment. I taught her how to climb the stairs of the canal house and gave her a quick run-down of the apartment. It was still before noon, and although it was like 3am for her via Left Coast time, she was still wide awake. We went for brunch at Haarlem Cafe and soaked in street scenes. We hit up Pink Floyd, which was one of our favorite places to hang out and play Chinese Poker during the trip in November.

After a nap, we woke up and headed out to dinner, followed up by a coffeeshop and a bar/cafe a couple of blocks from the apartment called De Vergalde Gaper. The main menu there was in Dutch, which meant it was a total local's place. They had outdoor seating with slanty tables and chairs. We played Chinese Poker and the cards kept falling to the ground. At one point I bent over to pick one card up and leaned the wrong way. I started to fall and was forced to make a quick decision. I could have balanced myself by grabbing the table, but that also meant I would have spilled our pints of beer. I decided to take the fall and tumbled sideways onto the cobblestone street. Someone on a bicycle swerved out of my way. I popped back up as the waitress rushed over to ask me if I was OK. The owner and her stood near the entrance and saw everything happen. He said something to her in Dutch that maybe I was too wasted. Far from it. I was relatively sober and the waitress told him that she had just brought over my second pint.

That could have been embarrassing... falling down in front of a restaurant full of people. But since the "almost shit my pants" incident, falling down was minor.

In my notes, I scribbled down...

11:20pm... fell out of chair playing Chinese Poker.

After that bar, we headed to another place that we drank at a week earlier. RK wanted to do more Absinthe shots. Even for fake Absinthe, those get me super wasted. Nicky had never tried it and we gobbled down two rounds.


Fake Absinthe
We watched TV and EuroSport broadcasted Sumo matches from Nagoya, Japan. RK and I wagered on a dozen or so. Since we had no idea who was who and the majority of sumos looked alike, we'd shout out, "Guy on right!" or "Left!" to indicate who we picked. After a while, I had all the guys on the left of the screen, while RK had the guys on the right. After several exciting matches, I had pulled ahead by four units. Yeah, my sumo guys won four more matches than RK's.

* * * * *
On Friday, I woke up early and read for twenty minutes. I wrote for a bit before I headed to the market to buy croissants and juice for everyone. When Nicky woke up we headed out to a few coffeeshops. I took notes on the various music playing as I walked into each place.

Cofeeshop Sountracks:
1. Grey Area (Public Enemy)
2. Rookies (The Dandy Warhols)
3. Pink Floyd (Led Zeppelin)
4. Siberie (Chemical Brothers)
5. 420 Cafe (Bob Dylan)

For most of the afternoon, we played more Chinese Poker as I rolled more blunts that I have ever done in my life. I'm a novice, but like most things in life, you can only get better if you practice.

We met up with RK and headed out for dinner. He had been reading a book called Dice Man, where the main character becomes obsessed with dice so much so that he carries around dice and rolls it to make decisions. When we couldn't figure out what to eat for dinner, RK assigned each number a different type of food. 1 was shoarma. 2 was Chinese. 3 was Indian. 4 was Italian. 5 was fast food and 6 was "roll again." We stopped on a canal bridge as he bent over and rolled the dice. it spun on a cobblestone and then stopped at 1. Shoarma for dinner!

Since we also ate near the Leidseplein, we wandered over to Rookies to continue our Chinese Poker match. We alternated between coffeeshops and bars and eventually found ourselves in the Red Light District around Midnight. Prime time. Hordes of horny wasted guys wandered up and down the streets looking for action, while curious tourists sauntered by, and there was even a tour group going on at that hour. The women look more like animals in the zoo and have become part of the freak show. They should get a cut of the tour group fees. But then again, I'm the last guy who should be standing up for hooker's rights. They have unions for those sorts of things.

* * * * *
I woke up on Sunday with that somber feeling I get whenever I have to leave a place I really wanted to stay. Amsterdam has taken over the second place in my favorite cities rankings (behind NYC). At one point New Orleans, then Las Vegas were my second favorite cities. I'm not jaded by Amsterdam yet. I wish I could stay here longer and live here indefinitely. Alas, my holiday is over. I have about two assignments ahead of me and a couple of days before and after each gig to explore Barcelona and London. I am excited about both of those cities, but I'm also going to miss Amsterdam.

I will not miss the mosquitoes that dive bomb my body during the few moments of slumber. My right arm looks like I've been shooting junk with all the little red dots. I also got bit on my ear and it's itchy. Bastards.

In November, Nicky and I hit up 12 coffeeshops in 12 hours on our last day. We vowed to break that record. We got off to an early start and showed up at Amnesia (1) around the corner at 12:20. I bought Sweet Tooth. At 1:30, we walked up the street to Siberie (2), followed by Picasso (3), and then a smoke-and-run at a crowded Barney's (4). We were seated at the Pink Floyd (5) by 2:50pm. By 3:45pm, we hit up our sixth place... Grey Area which is home to my favorite strain in Amsterdam... the Grey Haze.


We took a forty-five minute meal break around 4:15pm for pizza and beers at an Italian restaurant nearby. After our break, we headed to Rokerij (7) a few blocks away from the apartment where they played weird Euro trance music. We were still super wasted by that point and hopped on one a tourist canal cruise boats to kill an hour as they took us around the city. I snapped a few photos and we passed our building at some point oon the cruise as we floated down the Singel.

It was 6:40pm when we wandered into the 420 Cafe (8) after the cruise. We stayed there the longest. It's one of my favorite places with cheap drinks and a decent selection of product. We played Chinese Poker for almost ninety minutes before we wet to Any Day (9), which is about three blocks from the apartment. I picked up Stella Blue Sour in memory of Jerry Garcia and sat down at a table outside to roll up a doobie. As much as I wanted to avoid big chains, we ended up at Grasshopper (10). As soon as I walked in, I got a flashback to almost 11 summer ago when I arrived in Amsterdam for the first time with Senor. That Grasshopper was the first ever coffeeshop I got shitfaced in. Fun times.

Benjo mentioned to me that Quentin Tarratino hung out at Betty Boop (11) when he wrote the first draft of the screenplay for Pulp Fiction, while he lived in Amsterdam in the 1990s. Nicky and I checked out that place. Nothing special. We tied our record at Abraxas (12) and sat upstairs near a window overlooking the alley. Since Kandinsky was our 12th place in November, we went back there for coffeeshop #13. It was 11:30pm when we walked inside to break our record. Just 11 hours earlier we began our adventure. I now have a new goal of 14 coffeeshops inside of 12 hours the next time I'm in town.

On our way back to the apartment, I snapped two pictures in the red light district, right around the corner from the apartment.


A brothel around the corner from our apartment


A couple of johns cruise an alley around 1am in the Red Light District
By the way, I jotted down the music that played as I walked into various coffeeshops on Saturday. Here they are:

Coffeeshop Soundtracks:
1. Amnesia (Miles Davis)
2. Siberie (Buena Vista Social Club)
3. Picasso (James Brown)
4. Pink Floyd (Rush)
5. 420 Cafe (Van Morrison)
6. Abraxas (Gypsy Kings)
7. Kandinsky (Karl Denson's Tiny Universe)

I packed about 90% of my gear before I crashed for the night, which means that I'll have a couple of hours to write and go for one final walk on Sunday morning before we head to the airport.

Next stop... Barcelona
posted by Pauly at 8/26/2007 02:14:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Flickr Galleries & Tao of Bacon

I updated an old project and created two new photo sets via Flickr. The Sweden and Amsterdam pics were all taken in the last two weeks. I also updated my food gallery with tasty food images that I snapped so far in Europe. Check them out...

Sweden (23 pics)
Amsterdam III (62 pics)
Pauly's Food Pics (144 pics)

You can click here to view all 19 of my photo sets which include pics from all of my travels over the past two years.

And for all of you bacon junkies out there, check out my new blog... Tao of Bacon.
posted by Pauly at 8/23/2007 11:48:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Sweet Sweet Sweden


"Do you want to go to Sweden?" Benjo asked me a couple of weeks ago.

Sweden. The land of Ikea, Abba, and the Swedish Bikini team, not to mention the homeland of NY Rangers goalie Henrik Lundquist. I dreamed of going to Sweden and finally had an opportunity.

Benjo is friends with several guys from a bigtime online gaming company in Stockholm. He did some freelance work for them in the past. They happen to be avid readers of Tao of Poker. When they heard that I was in Europe, they not only invited me to a conference, but they flew me in and put me up at a swanky hotel a few blocks from their offices. Benjo and our roommate RK was also invited to attend.

We left Amsterdam on a sluggish rainy Monday morning. I traveled super light and only brought my laptop and two days of clothes with me. I flew non-stop to Stockholm on SAS (Scandinavian Airlines). They did not serve free food or drinks, but you could buy stuff priced in either Euros or Swedish Kronors (SEK). $1 US = less than 7 SEKs.

The flight to Sweden from Amsterdam is less than 100 minutes. Stockholm is in the same time zone, but to the North. I passed out on the flight for about fifteen minutes and when I woke up, we were on the descent into Arlanda airport. I looked out the window and saw dense forests and lots of blue sky with white fluffy clouds.

Two stoic people in blue uniforms greeted you before you could step off the jetway. A middle-aged woman said something to me in Swedish. I handed her my passport. She glanced at it and said "Thank you," in English.

I changed $300 US for about 2000 Kronor. The airport is about a twenty minute drive from Stockholm and linked up by an express busses and a train. The line for train tickets into the city was too long, so we opted for a cab. They have a flat rate posted on the outside of the cabs. 440 SEKs. That was over $60 but I had been dealing in Euros so I thought 44 Euros wasn't so bad. It didn't matter anyway since it was a business expense.

The first ten minutes of the drive featured plenty of trees and reminded me of Seattle or Portland in the summer. The land was lush and as we slowly approached the city, more of the landscape took on an urban vibe.

We had about an hour to kill before the conference. I showered quickly and watched five minutes of Swedish TV before Benjo and I headed downstairs to a fast food burger joint called Max. It is the equivalent of In & Out Burger for Sweden. I stopped and stared at the window advertisement of a Frisco Burgermal (with those funny dots over some of the letters). It made my mouth water... bacon, cheese, special sauce on a sourdough bun.

I walked up to the counter and the workers wore all white. Two of the most adorable girls worked the registers. One was a blonde and the other had dyed bright red hair. The freaky one took my order. 61 kronors for the Frisco Burger, Orange Fanta, and fries. We ate outdoors and soaked up downtown Stockholm.


Ah, the bacon cheeseburger... good stuff. Better than BK and definitely better than McDs.

We walked a few blocks to a gigantic glass building across from the Central Station and the World Trade Center. The company we visited had offices the top five floors. As I stood on the 11th floor in front of the receptionist, I could see an amazing view of the city courtesy of the glass walls.

We met up with our contact Kim and was given a tour. Everyone was dressed casually. I met almost everyone in the office and did my best to memorize names. They all spoke English and of course, I spoke no Swedish aside from a few curse words.One room housed just pinball machines. Another room had a sweet poker table with classic hardwood chairs. They also had a room with a ping pong table where two guys were playing. They asked if I played, and I said, "Only for money."

That got a hearty laugh. The Swedes have a reputation for not showing too much emotion. That's why they make excellent poker players... since the are difficult to read.

Their various conference rooms and bigger offices were named after Las Vegas Casinos. Our conference was held inside the Bellagio Room.

"Almost like home?" Kim joked.

For three hours, I took part in a panel where the execs picked our brains about different things in the poker industry. Benjo and myself represented the media and RK was there to give the perspective of a poker pro (especially someone who plays a ton online). I was nervous for the first few minutes. I don't normally speak in front of people, especially for individuals where English is their second language. I started out slow and by the end of the conference, I spoke fluidly and cracked more jokes.

After the conference, we were treated to an amazing dinner down on a boat. Since the sun sets a lot later in Sweden during the summer, we were also treated to an amazing sunset. The weather was splendid... warm with an occasional breeze off the water.

We drank at the bar while our table was prepared. I asked Nils what is a good Swedish beer to drink. He said that he usually drinks Carlsberg (which is Danish). That's one of my favorite beers and I saw it on tap. I was afraid to order it without a proper recommendation. When Senor and I visited Iceland in 2001, I had been drinking a pint of Carlsberg when the bartender scolded me. He dumped it out and then poured me a fresh Icelandic beer called Viking. I didn't want to offend the locals so I decided to ask my hosts. Since they were drinking something I liked, there were no problems.

There were eight of us at dinner and I sat with Tobais, Lisa, and Nils. They translated the menu for me and ordered a variety of items from the tappas menu; such as lamb sausage, another were sauteed mushrooms in a red sauce, and then there was a traditional Swedish dish called Toast Skagen Med Lojrom... which was basically shrimp salad with lots of mayo on toast with a bit of fish eggs on top. Not only did I take a photo, I ate the entire thing.


We drank plenty of wine at dinner along with endless beers. The conversation drifted back and forth between poker and random things. Since it my first time in Sweden, they wanted to know my initial impressions. I told them that everyone was friendly and didn't hesitate to speak English. Stockholm is clean and beautiful, made of several islands (sort of like NYC) and there was plenty of water and bridges around. It's a pedestrian city. Amsterdam is ruled by bicycles, where Stockholm has waves of people walking around... and yes, many of them were drop dead gorgeous Swedish women.

For my main meal, I went with a Tuna burger served with a spicy Thai sauce. Scrumptious. After dinner, we continued to drink. Just before Midnight, Sam missed his last train home, so he partied with us until the next train... at 5:30am. We closed out a Belgium beer bar and then ended up at the Cosmopol Casino which was two blocks from our hotel. You paid 30 kroners to get in. Like most of the European Casinos I visited, they scanned your passport. These guys also took my photo. Great. So much for keeping myself off the European grid.

When we walked into the casino, Benjo bumped into another Swedish friend of his. Thomas had been drinking with friends and joined us. We headed up to the poker room, which was hidden away on the fourth floor. You walked down a long corridor and up a flight of stairs, past a gaming room before you took another side exit, then up three more flights of stairs which reminded me of being inside a fraternity house. The stairwell walls were covered with photos of various winners from previous tournaments. They also had playing cards framed according to their nickname... such as "Walking Sticks" for 7-7 and "Cowboys" for K-K.

The room had a dozen or so tables (and about five tables going) with a bar off to the side. There were a couple of fruit baskets at the end of the bar. The bananas cost 5 kroners. We drank more beer while the two Swedish guys in our group constantly made fun of the bad players that happen to frequently play at that poker room.

"They are horrible. These retards are giving their money away. Just watch for ten minutes then get in the game."

The tables in front of us spread 20/20 (kroners) NL. There was also a 50/50 NL game going. Swedish poker players also have a reputation of being competitive and playing crazy. They like to raise a lot pre-flop and play any two cards. They are tough to put a hand on.

I flipped through a copy of Bluff magazine (the European edition) while I drank more beers and listened to the Swedes tell us about the local poker scene or their hilarious Las Vegas stories. Benjo and RK eventually made their way to the blackjack tables and were playing 50 kroners a hand. I didn't gamble at all and watched. I eventually crashed while they stayed out until dawn.

I woke up early and wrote for an hour before I went for a walk. I got breakfast (OJ, a banana, and a muffin) and checked out the surrounding streets. I went back to the room and wrote a column for Poker Player Newspaper. I had a Thursday deadline and finished the first draft. I headed back out to meet up with Benjo and RK. Benjo had been to Sweden several times before and there were a few sections in Stockholm that he wanted to show us. He took us to the old part of town with cobblestone streets and stone buildings that were centuries old.

Here are some random pictures from Sweden. You can click on the photos to see an enlarged view.


The menu at Max








Sign near the subway




View from my hotel room
















Outside the Royal Palace






posted by Pauly at 8/21/2007 09:33:00 PM | Permalink |

 
Monk's Siberian Dream

Brain dead. Deep into the sixth day of a foggy bender, I had forgotten the day of the week. Frisatursunday? I successfully lost time. The demoralizing result was that my conversational skills had dwindled down to a few muttering sentences. I walked around the city like a zombie, one of those aimlessly wandering hasheads that the locals curse at after smashing into them in the bicycle lanes.

I left the milky blue curtains in my bedroom open before I passed out. The sunlight forced me to wake up an hour or so earlier. The sounds of church bells greeted me as I climbed the stairs to the attic and stepped through the sliding glass door onto the roof. I sat on a wooden chair and lost myself as I stared out at the other roofs. That's been the first thing I have done every morning. Rain or shine.

The local weather reminds me of Seattle... scattered clouds with the chance of precipitation at any moment. Sometimes it's sunny on one block and raining on the next one. There are times when you can feel the hotness of summer. Then when you least expect it, a bitter wind whips off of the canals which makes my nose itch. Some people are dressed for summer. Others are prepared for winter.

I struggled through Dharma Bums during the morning roof reading sessions. After reading the majority of it in one sitting, I labored through about ten or so pages a day. I'd have to go back and read the previous three or four to figure out what the hell Kerouac was rambling about before I'd slowly make my way through his feast of words. With that book done, I moved onto the next one... Whatever.

Benjo gave me two English translations of books by Michel Houellebecq, a contemporary French writer. There's a copy of his third book on the bookshelf in the living room, left behind by a previous tenant. Maybe I can read some of that before I leave for Barcelona.

Whatever is a short and quick read and was originally titled "Extension of the Domain of the Struggle." Some of Houellebecq's chapters are a mere six paragraphs long. In the first chapter, his main character (an uninspired and angry thirty-something engineer who can't get laid) gets drunk at a party and pukes on someone's couch. He forgot where he parked and returned the next day and could still not find the car. Instead of searching some more, he told the police he got his car stolen.

I enjoyed the morning breeze and read before I climbed the spiral staircase down to the kitchen to write. The apartment is quiet before my roommates wake up, watch DVDs, and start playing online poker. I opened up the windows to let out all the stuffy air from Benjo's cigarettes and all the blunt leftovers from the night before. I wiped the table clean which was cluttered by empty water bottles, a jar of Nutella, dirty silverware, a thin layer of ashes, used baggies, a deck of Paris casino cards, a pile of Euro coins, bits of torn up rolling papers, and flakes of crust from croissants.

Outside on the street below, the procession of Sunday morning tourists slowly trickled past our building as the sound of a motor boat in the canal almost drowned out a British couple arguing about the proper way to get to the Anne Frank house. An American woman joked at the window hookers across the street as a group of six people on rented yellow bicycles whizzed by. One lonely guy with that sex-starved gleam in his eye quickly passed our building while looking for the next side street with more hookers.

I wrote for ninety minutes. Then I was wired... on a creative high.

My original plan for this August was to move to Amsterdam for three weeks and write. That never happened. I had to cut my holiday short by a week for a work assignment in Barcelona in addition to a ten-day assignment in London. The entire mentality of the trip shifted. Instead of delving into new writing projects, I spent the first week partying... all the time.

Every waking hour I alternated in a deviant cycle between drinking Belgium beers in bars and getting hammered in coffeeshops. During those late nights, I trolled the red light district at 2am with Benjo admiring the never ending freak show while drinking in seedy bars filled with groups of sweaty horny tourists. And when I wasn't doing running rampant through the streets, I retreated to the slanted room on the top floor of our canal apartment, where slept almost six hours a night in a comfortable bed.

The bender has been a week long, which meant that it was time to slow down. I implemented a more disciplined schedule to squeeze in couple hours of work every morning. The Sunday morning writing session in the kitchen was the most intense since I had been here. I also uploaded a slew of photos and made a list of things to do before I went to Sweden on Monday. I also had forgotten about a column that was due on Thursday. I'm glad I realized now before it was too late.

I wandered outside and found Siberia just up the street off the Signel canal. The doors to the coffeeshop were open upon my arrival. The empty coffeeshop blasted Thelonius Monk and I felt that was a fitting soundtrack for the day. I had been listening John Coltrane and Monk while I wrote in the kitchen only five minutes before.

I found a spot up front at a table looking out to the canal. I smoked and read Michel Houellebeacq. I added more things to do on my list and jotted down some thoughts. I'm usually an avid note taker but I abandoned my pad for a week. I had a pen and paper on me at all times, but that was used to keep a running tally of our three-way Chinese Poker match, which we played sporadically throughout the day over the past week or so. I made a promise to myself to take more notes.

More tourists walked past the coffeeshop and carried suitcases with wheels that rumbled behind them and made loud clapping sounds against the cobblestones of the streets. A Dutch family of four across the canal loaded up their car for a drive out to the country. I read a little more before a wave of inspiration hit me. I was hungry and had a list of items to buy at the market, but skipped that. Instead, I rushed home past the window hookers so I could write. My roommates were still sleeping and I went into to the kitchen to write. I fired up iTunes and listened to Jerry Garcia and David Grisman perform an acoustic cover version of Miles Davis' So What.

I opened up my note pad and looked at the initial two words that I scribbled down. Brain dead.
posted by Pauly at 8/20/2007 01:32:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Random Pictures of Food: Amsterdam Edition

I took these over the past week...


Frites


Space cakes!


Benjo's cafe breakfast


Cheese tosti


Amnesia's cheesecake


Fried egg & bacon sandwich


Beers for breakfast


Euro Pub's French Onion soup


Bacon cheeseburger at the Euro Pub


Tortellini Bolognese


Bacon, mushroom & cheese omelete from Haarlem cafe


Spicy chicken


Beers at 2am
You can always check out Pauly's Food Gallery (via Flickr).
posted by Pauly at 8/19/2007 04:20:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Ten Minute Fridays

The DVD player does not have a remote control. Benjo couldn't switch the language on The Big Lebowski so we had to watch dubbed in French. They call The Dude... The Duke.

What the fuck, Duke?

Two nights ago, we got hammered. Really really shitfaced hammered. I had not drank that much since I left Las Vegas. There were no beer sales at the Ajax football game. Since it was a Champions League match, they only sold weak beer or non-alcoholic beer. After the match, we took the train back to Central Station and got shitfaced at a bar next to the 420 Cafe. They served Absinthe (not the real stuff made out of wormwood) but it got you fucked up for sure. We did two shots in addition to drinking pints. I called AlCantHang for a Dutch Dial-a-Shot.

I don't recall too much after 3am and before I woke up on Thursday. I was mildly hungover when I finally rolled out of bed. I didn't write much and only read a couple of chapters of Kerouac before we stumbled out of the apartment around 5pm for breakfast.

We pretty much wander around alternating between coffeeshops and bars. Sometimes we stop off at the apartment for a little bit and the roommates play online poker.

Late nights, Benjo and I have been taking walks throughout the city. We ended up in the Red Light District last night and I found a narrow alley with plenty of hookers. The alley was packed with tourists who gawked at the dozen or so windows which ended up having the best looking crop of hookers that I had ever seen.

I embarrassed Benjo. One hooker who looked like Norah Jones winked at him. She stood underneath the bright red lights and wore a skimpy black bathing suit and slutty high heels. She opened up the glass door and waved us over. I pointed at her, then I pointed at Benjo and myself indicating that I wanted her to do both of us. She got angry and slammed the door.

"What ze fuck did you do zat for?" he said in his accent.

"Just fucking around," I answered.

It was very late and we went to a few coffeeshops and bars we had never been to before mainly since they were the only ones open after 1am. The places that we frequent by our apartment close early.

I went to bed earlier than the last few nights (earlier meaning before sunrise). I woke up early and read for an hour on the roof. That was followed up by a quick post on Tao of Poker about my poker blog turning 4 today.
posted by Pauly at 8/17/2007 06:30:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Thursday Amsterdam Picture Dump

Here are some pics that I took over the last week. These are NSFW and contain images of at least one hooker, illegal gambling, and a chick about to bang a horse:


A view of Hotel Ibis from my room at The Victoria


The view of the canal from our living room


Self-Portrait: Crooked Reflection


The window in the strairwell leading to the attic


Animal porn!


On the job... a local window hooker
(I snapped this super quick from inside a
coffeeshop around the corner from where we live)






Action junkies!


No hats and no heroin
posted by Pauly at 8/16/2007 08:08:00 AM | Permalink |

 
1650


"This house was built in 1650. You can see the floors. It is the original," the owner of the building told us.

His name was also Paul and we bonded as he showed us the five story flat in the Jordaan neighborhood which included a basement with a washer and dryer and an attic, where I told him that we would hide little Jewish girls from the Nazis. He smirked when I said that. He mentioned that he didn't like the Germans and that his parents and grandparents had to eat tulip bulbs during the Nazi occupation of Amsterdam during WWII.

Three of us shared the apartment including my friend Benjo, a journalist from Lille was a well-known poker journalist in France, and his good friend RK, who happened to be an poker pro from Australia. For under 60 Euros a day (each), the magnificent place was ours. It intersected two canals and around the corner were the window girls. Bars and coffeeshops and cafes were all within a ten minute walk.

If you have not seen a video of the apartment, click here to take a quick tour.


Taken right in front of the apartment
Benjo took the downstairs bedroom. RK liked the one on the 4th floor and I took the top floor. It had the most space, a TV, and access to the attic and roof. Except it was a bitch to get all of my luggage up five flights of stairs which was more like a ladder. I had to make two trips. The stairs are tricky. There's not much foot space on each step and you almost have to climb sideways while holding onto the hand rail. I banged my head a couple of times. By the third day, it was a lot easier.

The owner went through the entire apartment with us and told us about the closest market. He even circled the red light district on the map just in case we were looking for entertainment.

I knew the surrounding Jordaan area somewhat well. Our place was about the same distance from two of my favorite coffeeshops. We would wander around and hang out at some places I knew about and a couple of new places I walked past but never went into. One of those places was called Amnesia. It's decked out in all red with comfortable chairs. Their specialty is shakes, particularly the chocolate shake. We've stopped there three days in a row for a shake.


Amnesia's shake
We also went over to Rookies and Grey Area. I stopped off at Barney's to pick up Willie Nelson. We drank a lot at random bars.

I've been sleeping an amazing amount. The first three nights in Amsterdam, I slept at least six straight hours and racked up over 22 hours total. I haven't slept like that in over a decade! The combination of Unisom (first two nights), hashish, tired legs from lots of walking, and a giant bed has allowed me to catch up on all the sleep I lost over the summer. Last night I only got five and a half hours. Normally, that's a lot for me. Here, it's not a good night. If I can keep up that pace... I'll catch up on all the sleep I lost for the entire year.

I can recall a couple of individual days this year where I slept a lot. Once was in LA the day after I got home from Australia. Another time I crashed for almost ten straight hours in NYC shortly before I went to Florida. And after a week long assignment in Monte Carlo (where I was working like 21 hours a day), I crashed hard for one night... so much so that I extended my trip for an extra day just to compensate for the day I lost from sleeping so much.

Normally, I'd get bummed out if I didn't write and read as much as I would like... but in this instance, I have a rare opportunity to catch up on sleep... which has not presented itself in several years. And old hippie I once met on the road told me that you can do a ton of drugs and party your ass off as long as you drink lots of water and get enough sleep. That's the secret to surviving the road. Then again, if I slept less, I would get less done.

Anyway, I dig Dutch TV. They have weird game shows and dub the most random shows like Smallville and King of Queens. The first night I watched The Office (US version) and The Simpsons as I fell asleep. Both had Dutch subtitles.

My roommate RK has been playing in a series of online poker tournaments that start at 3am Amsterdam time. RK crashes around 11pm or Midnight and sleeps for a few hours before he wakes up to play poker then goes back to sleep when it's done. That's when Benjo and I have been going out for a late night walk.

We had been around our surrounding blocks a couple of times to recognize the different shifts of day and night hookers. In our part of town, they are sketchy looking. Tired. Worn out. Most of them are old and skanky. During the daylight hours, they sit with their doors wide open. Most of the ladies are on their cellphones or reading the news paper. One hooker was on a laptop and checking her email. The atmosphere is more laid back and the clientele is mostly locals with the occasional tourist.

One night we ended up at Rokerij and last night we wandered around the neighborhood in the rain. I woke up early this morning and read on the roof since it was no longer raining. I'm re-reading Dharma Bums) and was listening to my iPod.

When RK woke up we headed out to a Euro sports pub for lunch and beers. We saw the schedule of games that they were going to be aired. One of them was the local team... Ajax. We found some available tickets for tonight's game. The local record store a few blocks away sold them to us. They had seats in a decent section near midfield for 50 Euros. It was a bit steep but I had never been to a proper European football match, so we went ahead about bought tickets. The game is tonight and I hope to take some pics.
posted by Pauly at 8/15/2007 10:41:00 AM | Permalink |

 
The Amsterdam Apartment

We finally moved into the apartment yesterday in the Jordaan neighborhood. It's actually located in an entire five story building right off a canal. We have it for two weeks. Check out a short video tour that I whipped up on You Tube.


Click here to view the Amsterdam video via RSS or Bloglines
Stay tuned for pics and stories.
posted by Pauly at 8/14/2007 06:25:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Dirty Sunday

Amsterdam... The morning light fought its way through the clouds. Patches of blue sky were scattered among a canvas of a grey and white sky. 8am on a Sunday in Amsterdam. The dirty streets were quiet as church bells ominously rang in the distance. A handful of elderly tourists wandered around looking for breakfast. They didn't have much of a choice. Only a few places were open. Aside from travelers walking towards the train station on their way out of Amsterdam, the streets were relatively empty. In a few hours, they'd be swarmed with tourists.

The scummy streets reminded me of New Orleans during Mardi Gras. Trash of all sorts cluttered the sidewalks and streets. Every few minutes, I'd step on broken glass, which would make a scratching then popping sound as I crushed different pieces into the cobblestones. Someone puked on the front window of a sneaker store. The dried vomit was being pecked at by pigeons. Most of the stores on the Nieuwendyk were closed, but you could see cats scurrying around inside. That's the old school form of pest control.

The streets were filthy. Did I mention that? Cleaning crews emerged and started cleaning up the mess leftover on a wild Saturday night in Amsterdam. A slippery and soapy film covered some of the cobblestones as guys in orange waterprooofed work suits hosed down the streets with pressure washers. I had never been up that early before in Amsterdam, and it was interesting to see the "morning after" effects of the city.

I rented a hotel room for one day before I was supposed to move into an apartment on Monday afternoon. Since the room was not ready until noon, I dropped off my bags and walked around. It was 8am but by my standards, it was only 2am NYC time. I was wide awake. My flight left JFK on Saturday around 6pm and we got into Amsterdam a half hour early.

The toughest chore was finding places that were open at that odd hour. The bakery I usually bought croissants was closed. I wandered over to a coffeeshop called Pablo Picasso. It opened up at 8am everyday and the clientele at that hour included an mix of travelers getting their last session in before they leave Amsterdam, or junkies who had been up all night partying. I ordered tea and some nugs, and hung out there until the bakery opened. When it did, I bought a chocolate croissant, a plain croissant, and some sort of kaas stick concoction. It was basically long twisty bread baked with cheese.

I walked over to the Jordaan neighborhood where I rented a place. I found the street and eventually the building. My apartment is spread out over at least four or five stories and located on a smaller canal perpendicular to a larger canal (the Signel) on quiet street with pedestrian foot traffic spilling over. The Anne Frank House is about four blocks away, which is a popular (non-drug and non-sex) attraction. I wandered around in concentric circles, walking up and down the side streets trying to familiarize myself with my new digs. Across the canal and down one block is a pub. If you go the other way over another canal, there's a French cafe. And if you walk two blocks (either north or east), you will find yourself by the window girls.

Yeah, there are hookers just two blocks away from my apartment.

I stumbled upon them by total accident. I made a sharp turn down one alley and heard a knocking sound. That's what the window girls do to get your attention. I turned to my right and saw a big black woman in a fluorescent green bikini winking at me. I turned to my left and saw more windows with red velvet drapes. I discovered a lesser known red light district, which was not as popular as the one near Chinatown just off of Dam Square. The women who worked at 9am on a Sunday were not the cream of the crop. Old. Disgusting. Trannies. That is the place were hookers go to die. At the end of the block, there was a window (with the drapes closed) that had two guys waiting in line. I assume that she was the only decent looking one on the block since I passed six or seven of available widows.

Hookers always add flavor to any neighborhood. Mix them with Dutch yuppies and hipsters and hijinks ensue. Should be a fun two weeks.

After I surveyed my neighborhood, I popped into the Pink Floyd, which is an old favorite coffeeshop of mine. During previous trips, I stop by there once a day. I read a book that I brought with me and waited until noon. I headed back to the hotel to check in.

I picked up my luggage and went up to my room overlooking Central Station. It's small by American standards, but large by European standards. I bought Unisom at JFK airport. I intended to pop them on my flight to Amsterdam, but then decided not to. I wasn't tired and KLM has a great setup similar to JetBlue. They offer free inflight entertainment. There's a section of TV shows which are broken into current and classic. I watched one episode of the Simpsons. There's also a movie section that includes the latest releases, new releases, and a classics section.

I watched Blood Diamond with Leo DiCaprio and it was pretty good. I thought it was going to suck. I watched a weird flick with Adam Brody (aka Seth Cohen from The OC). It was called In the Land of Women. He's plays an LA writer who gets dumped by his actress girlfriend. He goes to Michigan to take care of his ailing grandmother. He befriends the neighbor, played by Meg Ryan and a weird love triangle occurs between those two and Ryan's teenaged daughter. It was a lame movie.

I also watched about forty-five minutes of Dreamgirls. It was shown with Arabic subtitles. The guy who wrote the screenplay went to my high school, so I figured I should give it a shot. I knew most of the songs already since Nicky and Showcase sing them all the time! That Jennifer Hudson chick can sing. She blew away Beyonce. Eddie Murphy was good in the scenes that I saw.

Anyway, by the time I got to my room it was a little past Noon. I popped a Unisom and crashed out. I slept for five straight hours (that's rare) and went back to sleep for an hour before I got up around 6:30ish. It had rained while I slept and I had weird dreams, which I wrote about as soon as I woke up.

I showered, then walked over to the Grey Area and bought one of my favorite strains. I sat at a table by the window and ripped bingers while European parents walked past the coffeeshop holding their childrens' hands.

After Grey Area, I wandered over to Dam Square. I sat down at one of those crowded bars/cafes and ordered a huge mug of Bavaria beer. I nursed that for a half hour and people watched. I ordered another beer and then ate some fries with mayonnaise at a stand on the Damrak.

Next up was the 420 cafe. They were one of the few coffeeshops that used to serve beer. Glasses of Amstel were 1.60 Euros. New Dutch law said no more booze in places where they sell weed, so the 420 had to put a halt on liquor sales. Too bad. The place had a homey feeling with a really nice wood bar and old school beer taps.

By then it was 11pm. I finished my book and was starving. Since I woke up, I only ate fries. There were not too many places open. I wandered around and found myself standing at the entrance to Burger King. I loathe fast food and aside from Subway and In & Out Burger, I only eat it as a last alternative. I was debating for a few minutes when a gorup of four smoking girls nearly knocked me over and stumbled into BK. I decided that was the Fast Food Gods giving me a sign. I followed them inside. One girl wore a pink scarf and very tight jeans. They were from Spain (I overheard them speaking Spanish) and two of them were extremely high.

I was going to get a chicken sandwich when the hottest girl in the group in front of me ordered a triple Whopper. What? A fucking triple? I felt embarrassed about my impending healthy purchase. I didn't want her to think I was soft. So when it was my turn, I also ordered a triple Whopper. Just the sandwich. No meal deal.

It took like ten minutes before I got my order, which meant I stood off to the side with the high Spanish girls while we waited. And waited. I forgot what I ordered until I looked down at the receipt. Triple Whopper with Cheese.

I couldn't finish it. I ate about 2/3 which told me I should have gotten a double instead. Wen I walked out, I spotted the table of high Spanish girls. The hot one with the pink scarf crushed her triple Whopper. Daddy and Derek would have been proud.
posted by Pauly at 8/12/2007 07:23:00 PM | Permalink |

 
Truckin' - August 2007, Vol. 6, Issue 8

We're back with the last issue of the summer featuring some of your favorite writers.

1. Pyramid by Paul McGuire
I quickly discovered that Seattle was a bastion for the super weird. You needed to have layered eccentricies in order to stick out among the masses of freaks. Goth-dykes with foot fetishes might freak people out in conservative cities and small towns, but in Seattle, that puts you in the core group of "normal people."... More

2. Cross-word by Sigge S. Amdal
Her hair was in explosive disarray across the pillow like the blood spurt pattern from a shotgun blast. It was slightly blond, streaked with brown and very beautiful. It looked like the crossroad of infinite options where only a handful suggested returning to the bed. She was fast asleep... More

3. Meeting Mama McGrupp by Change100
I had yet to meet Mama McGrupp. Pauly assured me it was for a good reason. All I knew about this woman was that she was five feet tall, chain-smoked, had a wicked New York accent, was overly fond of Amaretto, and never had anything nice to say about anyone... More

4. Kansas Clouds by Susan B. Bentley
Click. I got a photo of Kat just before she gave me the finger. Lying back down, I moved the lens across the sky, trying to capture a cloud on its journey. I sat up and took a picture of the track ahead. Nothing but mud and dust, bordered by fields of corn slowly moving in the breeze, nothing but empty for miles ahead... More

5. Summer Story by May B. Yesno
Friends are a difficult thing. As a matter of fact they are almost impossible. Difficult to find for the first thing and just as difficult to keep - especially in a mobile society... More

The August issue Truckin' features veterans such as May B. Yesno, Susan B. Bentley, Change100 and everyone's favorite Norwegian writer... Sigge S. Amdal. I also penned a short story about a bad job that I held when I first moved to Seattle.

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.

Thanks to the writers who exposed their souls to the world and wrote for free. I'm lucky that you were willing to take that leap of faith with me.
posted by Pauly at 8/11/2007 04:20:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Invisible Swedes

New York can be a humbling city. It is also the perfect place to practice the toleration of assholes since there are so many of them. The sheer numbers of people you walk by on the street, stand next to on the subway, and work in the same building with total up to a high volume of daily human interaction that most Americans do not experience in other vehicular cities, small towns, and sprawling suburbs. Millions of idiots, nimrods, and assclowns. Everywhere.

Sometimes, I inadvertently evoke my powers of invisibility, which happens frequently in New York City. In front of Grand Central Station, a suit on his Blackberry crashed into me when he was too busy checking his email than to pay attention to when he walked. Of course, he quickly faulted me and barked, "Watch where you are going, buddy!"

Buddy? I didn't say anything to him and continued on my way as I muttered, "Blackberry douchebag. How many girls did you date rape this week, you cash poor hipster?!?"

The other morning at the bagel store, an old Jewish lady cut me in line. I was on deck and she ran up to the counter just as the person behind the counter yelled, "Next!"

I called her out right away. I pointed to everyone behind me and said, "I was next in line. You cut me and all these other people."

A fat guy wearing a wife beater, a Mets hat, and holding a rolled up newspaper chimed in, "Get to the end of the line!"

The person behind the counter would not take the order of the lady and she asked me what I wanted instead. The old lady gave me the evil eye like I was the bad guy. I wanted to say, "Fuck you cunt, and get your wrinkly ass to the back of the line!"

If she asked to cut, I would have said yes. She acted as though she was entitled to waltz up to the counter and get her toasted onion bagel with extra lox.

The other day, I encountered a run in with an unruly New Yorker on the uptown #1 subway train. I was seated and read Low Life by Luc Sante, a thick book about 400 pages in length. I held it up face high so I could read without straining my neck. An ethnic lady decided to stand right in front of me and grabbed the pole above my head. As the subway sped out of the station she fell into me and banged into my book. That's when she flipped out and accused me of hitting her on purpose.

"What?" I said. "I'm just sitting here."

She said a few other things but would not budge. There was plenty of other places she could have stood. At the other end of the train there were seats. For some reason she wanted to bust my balls and stood over me and trying to fall again into my book so she could start more shit. Some people are looking for trouble, As soon as the train arrived in the next station, the guy sitting next to me got up. I slid into his seat and said, "You smell bad so I'm going to find a new seat."

I jumped up and went to the opposite end of the subway car. She was stunned and didn't know what to say. And no, she really didn't smell bad, but I said it loud enough that around a dozen people heard it.

* * * * *

Errands. I have been running around doing a bunch of errands over the last few days. I made two trips to the post office. I paid several bills including writing two check worth over $4K each to the IRS. My second quarterly tax payment was due on July 17th and I missed it by a few weeks. I also decided to pre-pay the third quarterly payment due in September (for some odd reason). I also had to cut checks for my school loan and a $50 bill to the doctor when I went shortly before I left NYC. Money comes in and it quickly goes out.

I sat around for most of the afternoon on Wednesday waiting for a Fed-Ex package... my international cell phone. It finally arrived and I will be forwarding all my calls from the US and be able to answer my phone in Europe. I have a London number and get free incoming calls when I'm in England, so wait until I get there in early September to call me. Otherwise, email is the best option.

On Thursday afternoon, I wandered around Barnes and Nobles in the Flat Iron District. I read through a few Eastern Philosophy books and stopped to read five pages of Confessions of an Economic Hitman. I eventually bought a book to read during my flight to Europe. As soon as I get there, I'll give it away and hope to find another book. The last time I was in Amsterdam, some guy from Spain gave me a copy of The Iliad.

I purchased a new travel power adapter plug which is supposed to work in 150 countries. It comes in a cool traveling case. I never thought I'd be thumbing through magazines hawking travel products, but now I find myself both fascinated and interested at the products I see. These days, I'm not much for material items, but if there are things that can make my life easier on the road... then I'm interested. I find myself spending more and more time in the Brookstone stores in various airports and reading business traveler's websites and forums for tips on both business and international travel. I've racked up a ton of miles over the last three years, but I still have plenty to learn.

I went to the bank twice. I paid some bills via the ATM machine and did some other transactions. I also purchased a shitload of Euros, which I had to order and wait three days to pick up in Midtown. I asked for $100 bills and they gave me $50 bills. A lot of them. Over fifty. I wasn't happy. I only have one superstition and that is... I don't carry $50 bills. It's an old time gambler's superstition that I picked up in Las Vegas courtesy of Grubby. I try to convince myself that the superstition only applies to US currency and not Euros, Pounds, or Aussie bucks.

I purchased a direct roundtrip flight to Australia on Quantas for $1,500 (via LAX). In January, I flew on United. The leg from LAX to Sydney was infamous for being one of the worst international flights. Lucky for me, I was able to upgrade to business class on my way home. Anyway, I found a good deal and jumped. I can change my departure date once without a penalty and I can add any other flights within Australia for $150 each way. After my work assignment, I am considering side trips to either Uluru (aka Ayers Rock) and/or to New Zealand before I return to Melbourne for the infamous Melbourne Cup horse race.

I still have a few major things to do before I leave... like load up my iPod, do laundry, and pack. But for the most part, I'm almost ready to hit the road once again.

The last two days were productive. I caught up on writing assignments. I handed in my column for Poker Player Newspaper. I also worked on six different websites (Tao of Poker, Tao of Pauly, Truckin, My Music & Phish Blog, LasVegasVegas, and my Flickr gallery) over the last 24 hours. I'm done editing the August issue of Truckin' and it should be out sometime next week. I'm holding it back a few days so I can space it out with the last issue which came out about 10 days later than normal. As soon as I get to Amsterdam, I'll sit down to write a story for the September issue.

I got two very important emails on Thursday. The first one was from a editor who offered me to write a column for his magazine. He wanted me to pitch him a concept and I came up with a series called.... On the Road... where I write about my travels over the next few months. He loved the idea and we just have to figure out salary and deadlines. After losing a slew of freelance clients over the last year, I'm finally adding a new one. And I finally get to pick my subject along with style and tone of my column. Very excited about this possibility. At the least, it's a steady paycheck for a few months. At the best, it gets me more exposure as I get to finally showcase my writing ability. More details to come for sure.

The other bit of exciting news appeared in my inbox on Thursday evening. I was invited to attend a poker industry conference... in Sweden. A major Swedish company wants to pick my brain and get my opinion on a few projects they are launching soon. In exchange for my time, they'll provide me with a free hotel and free airfare from Amsterdam to Stockholm. My Amsterdam bender will be interrupted for two days while I head off to Sweden to attend the conference. Thanks goes out to Benjo for mentioning my name to the right people. As Nicky said, "You have lots of fans in Sweden."

Sweden. My first time. I'm pretty geeked about it and excited to visit a new place. Plus, don't forget to mention all the hot Swedish ass! I see Swedish women all over the place, but I have never saw them at the source.

Looks like I'll visiting four countries on this adventure. At some point on this journey, I'll be dealing with four different currencies.... US dollars, Euros (Amsterdam & Barcelona), Pounds (London), and Swedish Kronors.

I will be taking eight flights in all... NYC to Amsterdam; Amsterdam to Stockholm; Stockholm to Amsterdam; Amsterdam to Barcelona; Barcelona to Amsterdam then connect in Amsterdam to London, London to Amsterdam and connect in Amsterdam to fly home to NYC. Wish I had a direct flight home... but that was the cheapest flight I could find.

Next stop... Amsterdam.
posted by Pauly at 8/10/2007 08:17:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Hollyweird Pic Dump

I took these last week... including a couple of food pics.






Junior's Omelet


Fried egg sandwich with chorizo home fries from bld


Nicky's pasta from bld


Declan drools on Ryan




Beer with dinner at Angeli


Angel's Pizza







* * * * *
For more Pauly pics, head over to my Flickr gallery.

If you are a food junkie, check out the special gallery that includes 120 photos of food that I encountered along the way during my travels over the last year or so.... Pauly Food Photo Gallery.
posted by Pauly at 8/09/2007 04:20:00 PM | Permalink |

 
Old Neighborhood

New York is not really my home anymore, more like a hometown or a homebase. When I walk around the neighborhood I grew up in, I feel like a stranger and more like visitor on powerful LSD. With every step around the old neighborhood, my brain is fried with another colorful and vivid flashback. Wild flashbacks of memories that happened decade ago bombard me at every turn, with every street, and feel as though they occurred right there in the spot instead of years ago.

Some of the stores and places have been the same for thirty years while other spaces are brand new. Older houses and dwellings are being torn down and replaced by gaudy five and eight story condos. What used to be a beauty salon is a pet store. What used to be a bar is a beauty salon. What used to be travel agency is now a Subway. And the corner deli? Originally run by a Jewish family, they sold the business to a Chinese couple, who in turn sold it to an unknown Middle Eastern man who hires guys right off the boat from Yemen. The ciggies you buy may go to fund terrorist evil-doing. Who knows, but as Derek aptly put things in perspective, "I would never buy a sandwich from the Al Qaeda deli."

I walk around the streets with the same feeling I had 15 years ago when I was a student in college. For four years, I pretty much lived in Atlanta only to come home for short visits at Christmas and Thanksgiving. I'd notice the subtle differences then and I can recognize them now.

The faces of the neighbors are getting older while a new wave of unknowns replace the vaguely familiar. The old folks have gotten older and now require the use of canes, walkers, and wheelchairs to get around. I rode the elevator with one elderly woman in my mother's building. She had not see me in years and commented, "I remember when you were this high," as she held out her right hand and measured out to a couple of inches below her waist.

I wanted to say, "I remember when you used to be a mean racist cunt and complained when we used to make too much noise in the hallways."

While walking to the post office, I bumped into an old catholic school classmate. She was a year or two older than me and her brother and I played on the basketball team together. She pushed a stroller with a sleeping baby inside, and held a six year old kid by the hand. She looked like I remember, except that she was also about eight months pregnant. I had not seen her in several years and I had not spoken to her brother since I graduated college. She mentioned that he was a cop in the Westchester suburbs. Their dad helped get him the job. Most of the kids I went to school with were Irish and many of their fathers were policemen. She happened to be married to cop who worked with the anti-terrorism task force downtown. I told her she should have him keep an eye on the Al Qaeda deli.

She asked the typical New Yorker questions like where do you live and what do you do. I told her that I was a writer and lived in Las Vegas for a couple of months a year and the rest of the time I'm on the road... traveling for work and pleasure while I split time between New York (family) and LA (girlfriend).

"Las Vegas? Is that in Arizona?" she asked.

"Actually it's in Nevada, right across the border from Arizona."

"Didn't you use to work on Wall Street?"

"Used to."

She asked where I had been working this year and I mentioned Australia, LA, Las Vegas, and Monte Carlo including the upcoming trips to Barcelona, London, and Australia (for a second time).

"Australia and Europe? In the same year? Most people don't get to see those places once in their lifetime. You've going to both twice this year. Lucky dog."

"Didn't you and (your brother) go to Ireland when we were in school?"

She made a face as though she just remembered the punchline to a joke, but then shrugged her shoulders.

"Ireland?" she said. "Yeah we went twice when we were kids. But that doesn't count as Europe. It was Ireland and we went to see our relatives."

By then her oldest kid started to get bored and tried to pull her away. Thank god for restless children. I said a quick good bye before she could ask me where I wrote for.

When I went into the Greek diner, the guy behind the counter said he hadn't seen me in a while. He didn't even ask me for my order. He knows that if I'm in there in the morning, that I want a breakfast sandwich (bacon, egg, and cheese on a kaiser roll with salt, pepper, and ketchup). I sat at the counter and read the NY Times while construction workers ate the $4.99 breakfast specials and talked about the Yankees' playoff chances while a group of old Jewish ladies sat in a booth and complained about the heat.

I noticed that there was more graffiti around. Since it's summer, the bad seeds don't have anything to do except tag up on various walls a few blocks from Derek's apartment. Usually, the local neighborhood association gets free paint and brushes from the local hardware store and volunteers chip in and paint over the tainted walls. It's nothing more than a staged photo op by the local politicians who try to put up the appearance that they are "cleaning up the neighborhood." But their crooked used car salesmen smiles are not enough of a deterrent. The fresh white walls are invitations for punks who use private property as a canvas for their scratchwork. Pre-9.11, the NYPD had a graffiti task force than went around arresting the kids. Now they are more focused on catching Al Qaeda than maintaining a clean neighborhood.

Derek's apartment building is an interesting mix of three types of people; Manhattan college students, ethnic working-class families (Eastern European, Black, and Hispanic), and old white people. The building is OK, but the owners don't spend any money on upkeep. The super is barely around and his wife and kids usually do most of the general maintenance around the building.... if they feel like working. In the winters, the sidewalks are rarely shoveled in a timely matter. Most of the time, you're trudging through slush. The hallways are dirty and the stairwell is completely filthy. It was not uncommon to find pools of dried urine in the corners (from residents with dogs that couldn't wait to get outside so they pissed in the stairs), stepped-on cigarette butts, empty beer cans, half-eaten containers of Chinese food, and any other random garbage you expect to find on the streets on NYC.

I was shocked to see that over the summer, the powers to be cleaned up the stairway and put a fresh coat of paint on the floors and steps. The old yellow urine stains are gone. The stairway was spotless except for a pair of ripped boxer shorts that sat on one landing in between the 6th and 7th floors.

I got a haircut with Vinny the barber. During the summers, he takes off Sundays, Mondays, and Tuesdays. I saw him on Saturday at 3pm. I was his last appointment of the day... before he had a three-day weekend ahead of him. About five minutes in my haircut, an old lady walked in. She had just finished up getting her hair done when I arrived. She went to the bodega next door and bought two bottles of Guinness. Both were in brown paper bags. She handed one to Vinny and she kept the other one. They toasted and took a big swig. She left and Vinny finished my haircut pausing to have a sip of beer every few minutes.

I had conflicting emotions about that incident. I'm the last guy who is going to call some one out for having a pop or two on the job. However, there are certain occupations that I don't think they should be consuming alcohol... that would be airline pilots and barbers.

Vinny did a good job, as usual, and one beer wasn't enough to get him drunk that he'd snip off my ear by accident. Usually I tell him about my last trip and about my next one coming up. Our discussions during the haircut also revolve around local sports and gambling. He touched briefly on A-Rod's 500th homerun, Barry Bonds and the legalization of steroids in sports, the non-smoking rules at the Borgata in Atlantic City, playing golf in Westchester, and his favorite topic... the buffet at the Wynn.

I had been getting up early to jog a couple of miles before I start writing. The jogging is good for both the body and mind. While my body gets the physical wok out, I'm also taking time to mentally prepare what I will be working on that day. I might not always writer better after I work out, but I do find myself writing and working more efficiently after a morning run which I call jogging meditation.

I've done all of my favorite local places to eat like the diner, the bagel store, the pizza place, and the Chinese restaurant down the street that gives you a free can of soda for any delivery over $10. I still haven't been to the Jewish deli and had a knish... but I'll get to that eventually.
posted by Pauly at 8/08/2007 09:58:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Last 5....

It's been a while since I did a list of five different things. So here you go...

Last 5 Books I Saw People Reading on the Subway...
1. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling
2. Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky
3. The Holy Bible
4. The 6th Target by James Patterson
5. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling

Last 5 Books I Saw People Reading in Airports...
1. The Road by Cormac McCarthy
2. The Secret by Rhonda Byrne (Editor)
3. The Yiddish Policemen's Union by Michael Chabon
4. The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
5. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling

Last 5 Random Text Messages That I Got...
1. "Jessica Alba sighting..." (Nicky)
2. "1300 dollar bartab tonight. 1300. Yahtzee..." (AlCantHang)
3. "See you in London..." (Spaceman)
4. "Construction and high-speed chases everywhere, we're 15 minutes behind..." (Ryan)
5. "Yo. Benjo won back four bills last night. Thank God. We're going to the shooting range soon. You down?" (Ed)

Last 5 Movies I Saw in the Theatres...
1. Live Free or Die Hard
2. Sicko
3. Knocked Up
4. The Simpsons Movie
5. Bourne Ultimatum

Last 5 Books I Read...
1. Low Life by Luc Sante
2. Under the Banner of Heaven by John Krakauer
3. Henry Miller: The Paris Years by Brassai
4. Into Thin Air by John Krakauer
5. Stranger Than Fiction: True Stories by Chuck Palahniuk

posted by Pauly at 8/07/2007 04:18:00 PM | Permalink |

 
Layover

New York City. A glorified eight day layover in between jaunts from the Left Coast to Europe. Almost the midway point, NYC would be a stop to load up with supplies before I embark on another six-week journey. Getting to NYC was no easy task. Crappy weather and plenty of storms on the East Coast fucked me up. The plane I was supposed to fly to JFK had arrived over an hour or so late to Long Beach. When we eventually took off, the pilot said he get us into NYC only 30 minutes behind schedule despite the delay.

I sat in the same row as a strung out 40-something model wearing jeans a a green pajama top. There was an empty seat between us. During the boarding process, she was given a few pills by her friends sitting a few rows ahead.

"What's the little one for?" she squealed loud enough for everyone on the plane to hear.

"Just take them both," a giggly voice shouted back.

She downed both and by the time the plane reached cruising altitude, she was passed out and took up both seats. I didn't mind even though I was on minor travel tilt. I loathe delays especially when I'm trying to get home after a long stint on the road.

Since I had a couple of long flights ahead of me, Nicky surprised me an early birthday present before I left Hollyweird... Bose noise reduction headphones. I always bitched about crying babies on planes and she wanted to help out in that department. I didn't get to test the baby-proofed headphone out on my flight from Long Beach to JFK... there were no crying kids. On a positive notes, the headphones managed to reduce the background noises and the roaring engines. I didn't have to crank the volume up all the way to hear.

The weather messed up the DirectTV service. For most the flight, half of the channels were out. I watched dogfights of the Vietnam War on the History channel and listened to the Yankees game on XM radio, which some JetBlue planes come equipped with these days.

Somewhere over Nebraska I flipped to the channel with the inflight LiveMap (now sponsored by Google Maps) to check our progress. A little white airplane is shown over a map of the United States with little purple dashes behind it to let you know where you flew over. But that instance, the little white plane was headed west... and pointed left on the map headed back towards Colorado.

I did one of those double takes and thought I was having a flashback or something. Too much liquid sunshine. Too much nitrous. The screen changed to a quick advertisement before it returned to the map. The little white plane on the map was pointed to the right... or east... like it should be headed towards Iowa instead of Colorado. Then fifteen seconds later it changed. The plane was pointed toward the south to Kansas. That's when I thought I was tripping. Definitely too much liquid sunshine.

The pilot then announced to the passengers that the weather was so bad at JFK that there's a severe back up of arriving planes that air traffic control sent them into a holding pattern over Nebraska in order to let them catch up. I was not bugging out after all. We were going in circles.

For the next twenty minutes, I stared at the map as the little white plane moved around in a circle and constantly made right turns over North Platte, Nebraska. I began to think about how much gas the plane had left and if we'd die in a horrible crash in a farmers' cornfield because of an unexpected tornado or something. That's when I popped a generic Vicodin and bought a beer from a perky flight attendant. If I was going to die in a flyover state, I might as we be sloshed.

In between Chicago and Detroit, the plane went back into a holding pattern. They made more right turns and flew circles over Kalamazoo. We arrived at JFK almost two hours later. And they didn't have a gate for us to disembark. Too many planes. Not enough gates. Angry and pissed off passengers. Mayhem. The plane stopped in the middle of the runway somewhere and shuttle buses took us to the baggage claim area.

Usually the Midnight arrivals at the Jet Blue terminal have about two flights of people waiting for luggage. The weather delay meant that a dozen flights were crowded into the area. People fought for elbow room to get their luggage. A little good luck finally came my way. My bag was one of the first one to come out. I sprinted for the taxi line and it was backed up. Just when I expected to wait another hour, a tall Haitian guy with a green Jets hat walked over and asked me if I wanted a taxi. I asked him if I would be a solo fare and he agreed. Sometimes gypsy cabs at the airport make you share rides with other customers. We haggled for a few minutes on a price and off we went.

When I finally home, I quickly picked up the huge shopping bag that housed most of my mail. My mother and Derek had flown out to Las Vegas and July. They gave me the most import mail (spanning a month) such as a few paychecks checks from freelance work. But when I arrived home after almost two months, I had a small mountain of other mail to dig through.

I have a sorting process; I dump all the mail on the floor and make four or so smaller piles. One pile for bills. Another for checks. Another for bank and brokerage statements, and the biggest pile is junk mail. I also pick out the magazines and sort those into piles; poker, non-poker like Rolling Stone, catalogues, and alumni (high school, college, and fraternity - everyone is looking for a handout these days). I sift through the junk mail and pick out items that I can toss immediately... such as credit card applications or postcard invites to art galleries and concerts that occurred weeks ago. I set aside the questionable mail into something I call "most likely junk mail but I'm going to open it anyway" pile. 95% of the time I end up tossing that shit out. I also always flip through the pages of the magazines very quickly and shake each for a moment. Sometimes envelopes get stuck in between the pages.

I open up the paychecks first. There were three. Nothing larger than a couple of hundred bucks. Alas, those smaller checks add up. Then I put the rest of the mail aside until I wake up the next day. I head over to the bigger boxes. There's a stack of several including big envelopes that could not fit into the shopping bag. Like a little kid on Christmas morning, I start tearing away at the envelopes and ripping open the boxes with my keys. Within minutes the area around me is cluttered with pieces of tape and torn paper. In many ways, my infrequent visits to NYC makes me feel like I'm in college again when the only time I came home was during the holidays.

Over the last couple of years, every time I return to NYC after a tiresome trip, I celebrate my own personal Christmas. It's usually 2 or 3am and I'm exhausted after a long flight home, yet I conjure up enough energy to tear into those packages. Most of them are books and magazines. I'm a junkie for the written word. I can't get enough books. Usually across my travels I run across someone who recommends a book. When I can, I find a used copy online and buy it. By the time I arrive back home, I have a half a dozen of books waiting for me to read during my time in NYC or somewhere along the way on my next journey. And most of the time I forgot that I bought those books. A pleasant surprise.

PR reps, publishing companies, and literary agents send me books to review on the Tao of Poker or the other places I write. Most of them are poker or gambling books, but I also get random CDs from indie bands that I never heard of. After writing for a German music magazine, I was placed on a weird mailing list from a small PR firm based out of Toronto that handles record labels on the east coast that I never heard. I have a stack of CDs from bands like Panda of the Purple Promise, Muppets Collide, Miserable Neptune, and my favorite new band... Crank Detour. I'm not usually fond of four guys in Ed Harvey t-shirts with messy hair that can't play their instruments fronted by a chick covered in tattoos who sounds like Cyndi Lauper getting anally raped by a garden hose... but when a band has a name like Crank Detour and sing songs about meeting Jesus in an A.A. meeting in downtown Oakland and then skipping out early to shoot dice in the alley, I quickly hit their MySpace page and see if/when they are touring.

Then there's the business cards. I amass a small collection during a long assignment. I pulled a few out of my wallet and threw them on my desk with the rest of them that I took out of my computer bag. I quickly looked through them all, stopping to check out the ones with the cooler designs. I keep every card that someone gives me. I might never use the information on there, but it's always important to have a big shoe box full of business cards. You never know if you might need to contact them or the company that they represent.

The cards were a reminder of the diverse people that I met. I looked at each one and was amazed at the different people that I crossed paths with over the last two months. That list included an Editor of a Canadian business news site, a poker agent, a PR executive, a camera store owner, a tax accountant from Santa Fe, the manager of a Las Vegas bar, poker teacher from The OC, a craps tutor from Las Vegas, a restaurant owner in LA, assistant poker room manager in Tunica, the owner of a South African TV production company, an engineer from Utah, AP writer, real estate appraiser from NJ, an insurance wholesaler from Ohio, a writer from Vancouver, a comedian from Santa Monica, an attorney from NY, a freelance artist from Oregon, a photographer from London, a fund raiser from Pasadena, web designer from Philly, commercial real estate financier from New York, a tax attorney from Reno, magazine editor, head of marketing for an online poker site, A British magazine writer, an events manager from Spain, a film maker from Brazil, media relations manager from Dublin, bookstore owner from Texas, player management rep from Gibraltar, and a journalist from Germany.

And of course, I handed each of them my business card.
posted by Pauly at 8/06/2007 01:18:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Sunday's Pic Dump: Final NYC Photos and Random Las Vegas Pics

I took these during a quick trip to NYC two weekends ago...




Midnight on Broadway... view from a rooftop on W. 77th Street




Not Guinness





And I took these in Las Vegas shortly before I left:


Sitting at the Hooker Bar at 5am


My Last Day of Work...
Leaving by the loading dock outside the Rio Convention Center


Benjo flips the double bird after losing a bet


Bowling at Gold Coast


Leaving Las Vegas
posted by Pauly at 8/05/2007 03:28:00 PM | Permalink |

 
The MoMA Pic Dump Continues

I took these at MoMA almost two weeks ago. Enjoy...


A view of four different floors of MoMA


Shooting Monet's Water Lilies










Action Jackson




Jasper Johns






Kandinsky painintg music...


Matisse's Goldfish


posted by Pauly at 8/04/2007 07:25:00 PM | Permalink |

 
The German Annexation, Life's a Beach, and The Bourne Ultimatum

I barely slept on Monday night due to a tough bout with insomnia. I was tired Tuesday morning and managed to write for a while as I listened to Medeski, Martin & Wood with John Scofield. I had a lunch scheduled with my buddy Ryan, a writer who has been a film reviewer over the last few years. He and his wife Kim just had a baby three months ago. We met up for lunch to catch up... and to see the baby.

Ryan suggested bld on Beverly. It wasn't until a day later that Nicky pointed out to me that the bld stood for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The posh eatery is a spinoff from Grace by their owners Neal and Amy Frase. The first thing that you notice about bld is the abundance of light in the eating space. The large windows provide the diners with a lot of light. Sometimes I'm irked by the lack of lighting in eateries. I always had a theory that skecthy restaurants lowered the light so you couldn't see how bad the food was -- or to save money on electric bills. I hate eating at places where you need a flashlight to read the menu and to see your fellow guests... especially during daylight

Their specialty is a wide selection of freaky cheeses and charcuterie. We skipped that and ordered sandwiches. I got the ball rolling with a fried egg sandwich, which seemed to be a popular dish since Ryan and Kim ordered the same thing as well. It was served with a side order of hash browns with chorizo. Nicky got some sort of pasta concoction that she said was very good. For dessert, I went with a raspberry sorbet. We talked about a lot of things including the two month beast of an assignment in Las Vegas, random movies that Ryan had to review, and random baby things like the sheer amount of spit and saliva a baby unleashes in a given hour.

After a long lunch, we headed back home and completed our search for an apartment to rent in Barcelona. Apartments tend to be cheaper alternatives to hotels in Europe, especially for stays of a week or longer. The hotels closest to the Barcelona Casino were booked solid and the closest hotels with vacancies were about the same distance that the apartments that Nicky had zeroed in on near the Santa Maria del Mar Church. The apartments were much cheaper too. Nicky had spoken to one of the rental agents and locked us in a great rate. We'll have to cab it to the casino everyday, but I dig the part of Barcelona we're staying. It's about a 10-15 minute walk from La Rambla.

We were both given a flat rate to cover travel expenses for two assignments in Barcelona and London, which means we book our own hotels and flights. If we want to stay super cheap, we can pocket the difference. If we want super extravagance, we pay the difference. I think we found a sweet deal with the Barcelona apartment, of course, it could totally suck when we get there. Regardless, after she booked the apartment, Nicky seemed super excited that we were going to be having our own place for a week and a half in Spain.

We headed over to Swinger's for a late dinner. I ate a patty melt and ordered German chocolate cake for dessert. Our waitress was a cute 20-year old actress/part-time waitress. When she asked Nicky is she wanted anything, she said, "No thanks. I'll just annex his cake."

She walked away then whirled around and asked Nicky if she meant to use that pun, "You know, Germany... and annex?"

We pegged her for a ditz. It turns out that she actually had a brain.

* * * * *
I woke up early on Wednesday and wrote for two hours while I listened to the latest Wilco album. I ripped bingers with Showcase before he left to walk dogs. I woke Nicky up so we could go to the beach. We headed over to O'Groats. I ordered the usual French Toast and bacon. Our waitress just brought me the bacon and I waited for ten minutes before she brought over the French Toast. By then, I had finished the bacon and Nicky was half-way through her breakfast. I should have stiffed her or ratted her out to the owner. But I did neither. She's in her 60s and still slinging hash for a living. I cut her some slack.

It was cloudy in Hollyweird when we left to drive up to the beach. By the time we got up the Pacific Coast Highway to Zuma beach, the clouds started to "burn off" as Nicky would say.

The first hour still had partly cloudy skies that gave way to sunshine. I forgot to use sunscreen on my face and got a little burned. During the three plus hours we were on the beach, I read an entire book... a biography about one of my favorite writers.

When we got back home, I had an idea for a short story idea for Truckin'. I sat down and churned out as much as I could before I had to get ready for dinner. Nicky finally finished up booking the last leg of our European trip. Hotels in London are super expensive, which is part of the reason why we went for the cheapest alternatives for Barcelona. Renting an apartment in London was harder than expected (couldn't find anything within our price range and near the casino we'd be working at) and it seemed inevitable that we'd have to book a hotel (for 15 days!) and spend the bulk of our travel budget on London accommodations. I made the command decision to pay a few extra dollars for the convenience of a five minute walk to the casino instead of having to take the tube or a taxi to/from work everyday. Taxis are pricey in London, so even though we'd save a few bucks renting an apartment or hotel on the other side of the city, we'd more than make up a few bucks in money we saved from cab fare and extra time we saved by have a shorter commute. That meant more time for us to sleep.

We met Showcase and his girlfriend Tina for dinner. She just finished working on a film (a bad Nick Cage flick) and had two weeks off before her next job. We all caught up about everyone's summers and talked about random shit at Angeli (also on Beverly). Nicky picked the Italian eatery that had great personal pizzas. I skipped wine and ordered a bottle of Fin Du Monde (a Quebec beer that tasted more like a Belgium beer).

* * * * *
On Thursday morning, I rented an international phone and switched my calling plan on Verizon. I had been wasting money by sticking with a plan that gave me a ton of minutes that I didn't use. I locked in a new plan that would save me $40 a month.

I wrote for a bit and started to answer a slew of email. I'm way backed up and I might have to break my one hour a day email rule in order to read and answer everything that had backed up since the summer began.

We ate breakfast at Nick's Coffeeshop. A couple of undercover cops walked in. I wonder what they were staking out today? Drug Bust? Human Trafficking? Gangs? People committing fashion faux pas like wearing socks with sandals?

We headed to the beach after breakfast. I made Nicky stop off at the bookstore so I could buy a new beach book. I ran in and out in less than five minutes. I bought Chuck Pahlaniuk's collection of short stories called Stranger Than Fiction. The lady at the check-counter was confused and thought that the book was the basis of a film with the same name. It was just a coincidence, I told her. The film and the book had no connections whatsoever.

The weather in Malibu was about the same as the day before... partly cloudy with the sun breaking out around 1pm. Except that it was super windy and a little chilly. We picked a spot and started reading. A group of four Scandi tourists wandered by. Two guys and two girls. They all wore jeans. One guy had a video camera and the other guy had a serious camera with a pretty big lens. The girls snapped photos with their cellphones. The had their jeans rolled up as they stepped into the Pacific Ocean, took a few photos, and then left.

On the weekdays, it's common to see tourists (not dressed for the beach) show up and wander down to the water's edge to snap a few photos or take a walk around. The day before, a group of Middle Eastern looking men were lying on a blanket. They were in pants and longsleeve shirts and stood out from the rest of the beachgoers.

I finished my fourth beach book in less than a week. I also read about 50-60 pages of Augusten Burroughs' Dry before I gave up on it. I re-read one book (Into the Wild) and re-started another (Under the Banner of Heaven). In NYC, I only get a chance to read books on the subway. In LA, I only get to read books on the beach.

That would be the last time I get any beach time on for a while. My plan to fully decompress from Las Vegas worked. In the past it took a month to 6 weeks to get back to a normal mental head space and finally get some rest. All the time on the beach worked. In about two weeks time, I was almost back to pre-WSOP standards. I'm still about a week or so behind in actual catch up work and have a ton of shit to prep for my upcoming trip... but overall, I'm much better than the previous two summers.

After the beach, I did some research on Amsterdam apartments and did my laundry. We left to drive to Santa Monica for dinner. I wanted to try the burgers at Father's Office. Except that the place was super crowded and we'd have to wait an hour for a table. Since El Cholo was around the corner, we headed there and were seated right away. I went for the Burrito Dorado which was a beef chili burrito.

When I got back from dinner, I bought a new travel power adapter - which will work in 150 countries. I wrote for an hour or so with the Dodgers-Giants game on the TV in the background. Barry Bonds failed to hit that "homerun" he's been waiting to hit for a couple of weeks it seems. He didn't do it at home in San Francisco. He didn't do it in LA and it looks like he'll be due this weekend in San Diego.


We saw 12:01am viewing of The Bourne Ultimatum. I wondered if the theatre would be crowded. Nicky didn't think so and talked us out of going early. We bought tickets online and the theatre was less than five minutes from the apartment (during the day, the drive would take about 15-20 minutes depending on traffic). We arrived at 11:40pm and there was a line out the door. The movie theatre is two stories inside a glass building. We could see the massive line starting from the second floor and snaking down a flight of stairs and outside the theatre. We were towards the back of the line. One of the pimply-faced kids working the theatre said that they sold all 264 seats for the Midnight show. By my estimation, we were 250th and 251st in line.

We considered bailing and coming back at 9:50am. However, once we got into the theatre we managed to find two seats next to each other that wasn't in a bad spot. The crowd was dominated by guys and the audience was buzzing. I rarely go to flicks on the opening day and aside from Snakes on a Plane, I have never been to a Midnight opening to a movie. Since everyone there was a fan of the franchise, there was plenty of clapping at certain moments after Bourne kicks people's asses or kills them by crushing their windpipe with his bloodied hands.

The Bourne Ultimatum was one of the best flicks I saw this summer. Plenty of non-stop action. Lots of foot and car chases. Lots of close-quarters fighting. I dunno what particular style they use, but I read somewhere that a lot of the moves are similar to Brazilian street fighting. A lot of close punching and wrestling moves to disarm weapons.

The Bourne Ultimatum starts off in Moscow. It takes place in London, Madrid, Morocco, and New York City. The rooftop chances in Morocco were pretty intense. Go see for yourself. That's the last flick I'm going to see during my time in Hollyweird.

Next stop... NYC.
posted by Pauly at 8/03/2007 11:31:00 AM | Permalink |

 
Fucking Big Lebowski

Showcase's girlfriend Tina pointed out this gem on YouTube called The Big Lebowski the Fucking Short Version. Take a peek.


Click here to view this video via RSS or Bloglines
posted by Pauly at 8/02/2007 06:56:00 PM | Permalink |

 
NYC MoMA Pic Dump

Here are nine pictures that I took at MoMA almost two weeks ago.




Titled: The Emergency Room








Philip Guston - one of my favorite painters




DeKooning


posted by Pauly at 8/01/2007 10:35:00 AM | Permalink |