Breakaway

I went to the doctor this morning and he said that I had a remarkable recovery in the last 48 hours since he last saw me. The fucker wanted to cut me open too. Bastard. The steroids and antibiotics worked and I was spared a trip to Mexico to get my throat spliced up in a clinic in Juarez. I woke up on Sunday feeling chipper. I think it's because I haven't smoked weed in days.

I'm well enough to travel and I'm heading back to Hollyweird in search of a literary agent and to see some old friends as well as some new ones. When I'm in LA I'll do some freelance writing. I have 7 assignments due this month and will try to get as many done as possible. I'm also going to be taking some time away from the blogs, aside from working on Truckin'. I need some rest and time alone to think about what I'm doing here on the web. I'm always questioning the direction of my writing.

I fell into a depressive funk the other day. I'm sure you had those moments when you were sick as a dog staring up at the ceiling thinking that death was just a few seconds away. I was thinking about all the things I never got to do and that made me sad. My goal of taking off three or four months at the end of 2006 to write and travel is getting more and more important to me. I would love to take a full year off. And I'm gonna take the next two weeks to figure out how to make that concept a full blown reality.

I lead an unhealthy lifestyle. I eat crap. I party too much. I don't sleep enough. I fall for "bad girls." And I'm a workaholic. I'm shocked I made it to 33. I thought I'd slow down in my 30s... instead I picked up more steam. Just like when I got that jaywalking ticket last month in LA, I felt as though it was the least illegal thing I did during my entire trip and happily accepted my fate. If catching tonsilitis is the worst health issue I experience this year, I'll take it.

My problem is that there's only one way I know how to live life.... fast.

I'm going to be taking the next few days off to reflect about a lot of things. Some times you have dig deep and ask yourself those tough questions, the ones you are afraid to ask because of the answeres you might get in return. I've reached a fork in the road and before I keep going, I need to do some soul searching.

See you when I return. In the meantime if you get bored, go read old issues of Truckin'.

I Love Getting Blogged

I was mentioned in a few blogs from friends of mine. Take a peek.

Change100 posted a funny scene from last Saturday and what she saw as the 8 of us stumbled out of the shuttle bus coming back from the Playboy Mansion. She also included her version of taking me shopping for new clothes called Outfitting the Doctor. By the way, I hate shopping. Here's a bit:

"Our first stop was Hugo Boss, where Pauly declared everything gay."

Joe Speaker also posted his version of our visit to a strip club last Thursday with myself, Change100, Grubby, and Senor. It's called Keeping Scores and here's my favorite part:

"The strippers were flocking to Pauly. He had the hardest-to-reach seat, the bottom of the 'u' in our semi-circle, but the man is a magnet. He turns strippers into bloodhounds. Every time I turned around, he had another female on his lap. And then every time I turned around, he had the same female on his lap: Nikki."

Tonsillitis

Here's the skinny. I have tonsillitis. That's why I haven't answered my phone if you've been trying to call me the last three days. If the killer drug cocktail of antibiotics and steroids that the doctor gave me doesn't improve my throat by Monday, I have to go under the knife. I'm hoping that the drugs work since I don't have health insurance. The doctor strongly suggested surgery but I talked him into letting see if the treatments work.

It all started on Wednesday. I felt a scratchy feeling in my throat and that blah sensation that's an indication that I was coming down with something. I drank some Airborne and canceled my Wednesday plans to gamble and hang out. Instead I bundled up on Grubby's couch and watched a 9.11 Conspiracy video. That would come back to haunt me over the next two days. Nothing is freakier than fever dreams and nothing, I repeat, nothing is more horrifying than having your friends who died on 9.11 haunt you in your dreams. Especially one guy who jumped to his death.

I've been ill the past few days. At first I figured I caught the flu. High temperatures and a sore throat were my major symptoms. I'd try to fall asleep only to wake up 10 minutes later. The problem was that it seemed like I was asleep for 3 or 4 hours and I would roll over to check my cell phone to see that just 10 minutes had elapsed. This went on for almost 36 hours just like out of a bad episode of the Twilight Zone... from about 10pm on Wednesday thru 7am on Friday. It seemed like almost a full week had passed. I tried all the tricks of the trade. Nyquil wasn't working. I'd pass out and wake up in a deep sweat 10 minutes later, only to have to change my damp clothes. I tried home remedies to cure the sore throat... gargling with hot water and salt, or lemon tea, or ricolas. Nothing worked. Depression set it. Being away from home when you are super ill is not fun.

My throat hurt so much I couldn't eat anything except sip on chicken broth and that was a chore. I'd drink some water and hot tea, but it was painful to swallow. My fever finally broke this morning, but then my entire neck was swollen. A quick glance at the internet told me that my symptoms meant I had strep throat and that I needed to see a doctor.

Grubby works at a radio station from 5:00am to 9:00am so I had to take a cab to the emergency room this morning. Lucky for me they treated me without insurance. The hard part was that I had to wait for three hours before anyone saw me. Nothing is more depressing than the waiting room with other sick people. The crying babies were the toughest to handle. I wanted to shoot them.

And as soon as the doctor saw me, I suggested that I had strep throat. He looked at me for less than 5 seconds before he sort of agreed.

"You should be a doctor," he joked.

"I'm not a real one, but I play one on the internet."

Of course the next five minutes involved the doctor bragging to me that he made $500,000 day trading last year. He gave me a few stock tips and then tried to get me to have surgery to correct my tonsillitis. Without insurance, asked him for a cheaper alternative. The only reason I went to the doctor was to get a prescription for antibiotics. That's when he came up with the cocktail with explicit instructions ... if I don't improve in 48 hours, then I have to get surgery... which means removal of my tonsils.

What am I, 8 years old?

So now, I can't talk and won't be able to for a few days. I can eat all the ice cream I want, since it's the only food that goes down smoothly with just minor pain. But I'm on steroids for now to reduce the swelling and I'm well enough to write now. I just can't talk. But I'm super tired and starving!!

Silent, exhausted and in pain, I wondered how I got so unlucky?

Update...

Thanks to Flipchip and the Poker Prof for driving me home today. It was a $25 cab ride to the hospital and not only did I save a few bucks, they cheered me up on the way home.

I'm on four different drugs... amoxicillin, a random steroid, lidocaine, and Motrin. Total cost: $50. I'm supposed to take four Motrin every four hours. I take 5 because I'm a badass. I can finally eat solid foods due to the lidocaine, which numbs my throat and entire mouth. I have to gargle 2 teaspons of this thick gooey liquid that tastes like Elmer's glue. I can't feel my lips. I tried eating a bagel and half of it kept falling out of my mouth because I have zero control of chewing functions. At least I can swallow with just some minor discomfort. I haven't eaten any solid foods in 2 days! I lost 4 more pounds.

The steroids are already working. I have to make sure I take them with milk, or ice cream, which I'm doing. I'm pretty sure I can hit 60 home runs this year and I might run for governor of California after all of this is over.

Last 5 Movies I Watched While Sick...
1. House of Wax
2. Two for the Money
3. 40 Year Old Virgin
4. Bittersweet Motel: The Phish Movie
5. History of Violence

Another Update...

I got an adorable email from Molly who offered to take me to Mexico to get inexpensive throat surgery then said she would take care of me at her house. Can we go to the cock-fight post op or before I go under the knife? Thanks for the offer, sweetie!

I did laundry and cleaned my new sheets (again) plus all my clothes that I wore this week to kill any lingering germs. Afterwards, I went to Subway acrosss the street and had to write down my order on a piece of paper. I handed it to the kid behind the counter and he freaked out for a few seconds because he thought I was trying to rob the place! He figured out I couldn't speak, so he calmed down and made me a meatball sub on wheat with extra cheese. I got the cookies but didn't eat those... yet. After not eating for 2 days, your stomach shrinks and I struggled to finish my sub while taking tiny baby bites with my numb mouth and throat. It was messy too. I was spilling out all over the place.

Man was I starving. Over the last 48 hours I had not gotten high, eaten solid food, got an erection, played online poker, nor took a shit. Not being able to speak is something you never think about until you are forced to deal with that situation. 90% of communication is non-verbal anyway, but a lot of good that does while standing in line at Subway.

Beds, Scales, Bagels, and Suicide Girls

I like my new bed after securing 8 hours of sleep inside of a nine hour period. That's about 2x as much as I normally get which is outstanding. I've only logged 8 hours three other times this year. Once at the Borgata, once in LA last month, and in NYC the day after I finished writing the Las Vegas book for 14 days straight.

I was exhausted from several days of gambling with Senor in Las Vegas last week, plus the travel to and from Vegas-LA, and all the partying I did at the Playboy Mansion... my body was spent. It felt good to catch up on a normal night of sleep. I envy people who can sleep for 6 hours wthout any complications. Right away the bed is 150x more comfortable than my bed at the Redneck Riviera last summer and I hope that can score me an extra 30 minutes of slumber a night.

Grubby suggested that I buy sheets with a 400 thread count. I have no idea about those sorts of things. Domestic things like that do not register with me. In the past, I purchased sheets based on color. Grubby explained that the high end casinos like the Bellagio or the Borgata have 400 thread counts in their sheets which is why the beds are so comfortable. The Redneck Riviera had 100 count, much like hospitals. I went the cheap route and bout a 220 count. The 400 or 300 count was just too expensive. I refuse to pay $90 for a set of queen size sheets. I washed them last night before I threw them on the new bed. I'm pleased with my bed and linen purchase. Oh and I bought two pillows too. I like one and I'm on the fence about the other one.

For fuck's sake, I've spent almost $1300 in the past week buying one shirt, a belt, a pair of pants, a bed, sheets, pillows, a flight from LA to Vegas, and a really crazy trip to a strip club with Senor, Joe Speaker, Grubby, and Change100. I look at the strip club as an entertainment expense, I'll do my best to write it off on next year's taxes. Uncle Sam recognizes lapdances as a legit expense, right? My counter argument is that it's research for my Las Vegas book.

At least I feel much better about the purchase of my bed. I don't normally spend money on material items. Usually I'm dropping cash on plane tickets and on travel, which is something I have no problem doing. Buying a camera or laptop is a necessity for me for work (plus those were paid by poker winnings). The bed was something I needed during an exhausting 2 month stretch of work, were I expect to log 16-18 hour days, seven days a week for 6 weeks straight. But that hipster shirt I bought for the Mansion has been bugging me. Especially since I stained it with cocktail sauce just an hour into my journey at Hef's.

* * * * *
Grubby has a scale in his bathroom and I weigh myself from time to time. Last summer, I put on nearly twenty pounds after no exercise and living next door to a Wendy's and In & Out Burger. I get a lot of exercise when I'm in NYC because I don't have a car and walk everywhere. By August 2005, I flirted with being 200 pounds, which is not too bad for someone who's six feet tall. Even in December my weight had slipped a bit, but I was still hovered around 190.

As of this morning, I weigh 181 pounds and I'm back to a size 34 waist. I can think of one reason why that is so... The Charlie Diet.

170-175 is my comfortable weight and I'd like to get down to that before the WSOP start since I know I'll balloon 15 more pounds.

* * * * *
I walked across the street to the strip mall that houses a Brooklyn Bagels next to a Subway. A buttered bagel is just $1.07 which is a lot cheaper than what I'm used to in NYC. The quality is not as good, but as far as non-NYC bagels go, they are up there with Noah's Bagels (in Seattle). The 20-something girl behind the counter commented on my Grateful Dead "steal your face" hat. I forgot I had it on. She said she remembered me at the other store (a few minutes away down the road) that I used to eat at when I lived in Las Vegas during October and December of last year.

"You want it toasted?" she asked.

"Nope."

"You must be from New York, right? Real New Yorkers don't get their bagels toasted."

"Really?" I answered.

She told me she was from the Albany area. She looked like one of those Suicide Girls in a dirty, yet sensuous kinda way. She had too many tattoos on her neck and arms for my tastes and her face looked like a pin cushion. She gave me extra butter on my Everything bagel, which I like. I tipped her $1.38 thinking that a huge tip from an internet celebrity like myself might get be a handjob behind the dumpster out back.

No such luck for me. Wheaton would have nailed her for sure.

Bloggers and Bunnies Part II: Where's AlCantHang?

Joe Speaker tipped the bartender $20 for a Jack and coke and a Vodka tonic. The bartender smiled an informed us that we were a part of the Platinum Club, which meant that he'd hook us with drinks whenever we returned. He also gave us a book of Playboy matches.

As I stood at the stone bar, I surveyed the scene and didn't see to many people outside. The Grotto was in front of us. To the left was a row of folding tables that had various items for the charity silent auction. Behind that was a raised terrace and the Mansion stood behind it all. I spotted a large white tent in the distance with a DJ booth in front.

We were one of the first shuttles to arrive and there were no naked women milling around the Grotto and Hef was nowhere to be found. We almost had the entire place to ourselves, but we were still missing AlCantHang who had split from the group and took a limo to the Mansion with Steve Dannenmann and Hoyt Corkins.

I spotted Scott from CardPlayer and his girlfriend near the terrace area and wandered over there to shoot the shit. Since we both cover poker tournaments, we've never actually seen each other outside of a casino. I was shocked that Scott actually had clothing that didn't have a CardPlayer logo on it. His girlfriend had to pay $350 to get in. When she told her parents, they agreed to pay for the price tag. They said, "It's a once in a lifetime opportunity!" which was a phrase that I heard uttered a lot. For my parents' generation, the Playboy Mansion represented an urbane sophisticated status. It was not the lair of some sleazy porn-guru from the Valley, rather the retreat of a successful businessman who enjoyed the company of women. Lots of them. Aged 18-25.

I looked around and took a deep breath. I stood in the backyard of Hugh Heffner's palace. He set the standards for the term "stud" over the past four decades. In many ways an invite to the Playboy Mansion was more prestigious that an invite to the White House, with the exception of the Slick Willy years, when Bill Clinton and his hooked penis meticulously jizzed all over chubby interns. With his pants around his ankles, Clinton ran rampant through the same hallways where Richard Nixon used to mutter drunk ramblings at the portrait of Abe Lincoln during the Christmas bombing campaign of Cambodia. Besides from Clinton's two terms, life at the White House was superbly lame compared to the Mansion. Yeah if I could pick two worthy souls who deserved to live at the Mansion after Hef died, it would be Bill Clinton and/or AlCantHang. Those two know how to throw a party.

BG figured out that we were standing right in front of the kitchen, so we were in prime spot for all the hors d'oeuvres. They had a variation of food such as fried wontons, crab cakes, several kinds of sushi, beef with spicy horse raddish sauce, and chicken satay. The beef was pretty tasty and I filled up on sushi as bloggers took turns returning to the bar for refills.

AlCantHang was still AWOL. He called (actually it was loud slurring) to say that his limo was turned away from the Mansion. Hoyt Corkins ordered the driver to take them to the nearest bar, which happened to be the swanky Polo Lounge at the Beverly Hills Hotel. I told him that they could get into the Mansion but had to check in at UCLA's parking lot.

I chatted with John Caldwell from Poker News. This was his second stint at the Mansion. One of the bands he managed in the 1990s was invited for a bash which seemed a lot more out of control that the mellow start to the evening.

Where were all the naked women? There were none.

I spotted a few good looking women and slowly more poker players started trickling in, but no Bunnies. Chad found a bar in the tent where the tournament would be played. Since it was on a slight slant, about 70 tilted poker tables filled the gigantic tent with a few gaming tables on the backside. We made a beeline for the bar and walked out a different entrance. We were on the otherside of the tent and saw a few tables set up and the infamous trampoline pushed to the side. Several ducks and peacocks sat on rocks in the pond in the darkness. You had to squint to see them. That's when I spotted the red light in the far corner by some trees.

I stumbled upon the aviary and zoo. A large parrot and cockatoo sat on a perch and I followed the stone steps down a spiral path near a few more cages. The spider monkeys were all the way in the back corner up near the top of the 30 foot high cage. No one was around and I figured that it would be a good spot to get lit. After a brief session, I found the other bloggers and showed them my discovery.

Originally we were told that there would be no photography. I usually carry around two cameras, my small digital camera and a larger professional one that I've taken pics for magazines and such. I left both behind and followed instructions. We soon found out that everyone had a camera except us. CJ and Bobby Bracelet decided to head back to the cars at UCLA to get theirs. While they were gone, I showed the rest of the bloggers the monkey cages.

AlCantHang finally arrived and he told us the most hilarious story involving Daniel Negreanu. He had been drinking with Hoyt Corkins and Steve Dannenmann who kept yelling at Negreanu from inside the limo. They questioned his sexuality and flipped him the bird. When Negreanu passed by us near the Grotto, Al stopped him. When Negreanu realized Al was part of the crew who verbally harassed him a few minutes earlier, he stormed away as we all laughed.

"Negreanu, you're a douchebag!" Al screamed at the top of his lungs.

By then the party started to fill up and a few stars began to show up like Joe Torre, Oliver Hudson, Morris Chestnut, Anthony Anderson, and Jerry Buss. There were more poker players there than I expected such as Amir Vahedi, Erick Lindgren, Mel Judah, Josh Arieh, Gavin Smith, Chad Brown, David Williams, John Phan, Ted Forrest, Johnny World Hennigan, Cyndy Violette, and The Grinder. Even Sean Sheikhan was wandering around. He wasn't hanging around any pros, because they all don't like him very much either.

At that point, the best looking women were some of the guests. Still no Bunnies and no Hef when CJ and Bobby Bracelet returned with the cameras. They shared the shuttle bus with Shannon Elizabeth who did not recall me cracking her A-A during the WSOP last year with J-J. She was kind enough to snap a few photos though.

The cocktail hour was winding down, and for the first time all night, the 8 of us bloggers were together at the Playboy Mansion. We toasted to Spaceman who was our inside man who scored us the invite. Then we headed back to the bar before we figured out how the hell we were going to cover a poker event without a media table, internet access, and a sufficient power source. I didn't care much. I didn't bring my laptop, just my notebook and voice recorder and started to interview random bloggers and guests as the players slowly made their way to the tournament tables.

Before we wandered inside, I turned to AlCantHang and said, "Let's go do some shots."

As the late arriving players rushed past us, he didn't say anything and walked to the stone bar. Just as Babe Ruth called out a home run in the 1932 World Series, AlCantHang made a similar motion towards the bartenders. He raised two fingers and by the time we arrived at the bar, two double shots of SoCo had been poured for us.

Yes, even at the Playboy Mansion, the bartenders know what AlCantHang drinks.

... to be continued.

Photo credits: Poker Pro Lynette Chan sent me the first pic and the Shannon Elizabeth pic is courtesy of Image Wire.

Previous Installment: Bloggers and Bunnies Part I: The Arrival

Back to Vegas

FYI... Part II of the Playboy Mansion posts will appear tomorrow.

My flight from LA to Las Vegas took less than 40 minutes. That was sweet, plus I got to fly on JetBlue to add to my frequent flyer miles. I was in Las Vegas less than thirty minutes last night before I bought a matress. I haggled a little bit and scored a nice queen size for Grubby's apartment. He's going to be my roomie during a two month stint at the 2006 World Series of Poker and I had been crashing on an air matress when I've stayed at his place in Henderson (a burb of Vegas). As an insomniac, I need all the help I can get. I decided that after sleeping like a baby at the Borgata... that a comfy bed is what I need. Seriously, if you ever stayed at the Borgata in Atlantic City, you know that their beds are awesome.

Anyway, I gambled until the wee hours and crashed late. Of course the mattress was delivered at 8:20am! I requested before 5pm and never expected such an early delivery. It's nice and somewhat soft. I tried to fall back asleep but gave up and woke up to write.

Before noon, here's what I did...

1. Completed one article on Doyle Brunson.
2. Made three phone calls.
3. Turned down a writing assignment.
4. Paid one bill.
5. Fixed the code on my blogs.
6. Fixed the code on Change100's blog.
   
7. Wrote 2,500 words about being on the Left Coast for 6 weeks.
8. Answered 103 pieces of fan/hate mail.
   
9. Booked two rentals cars; one for Vegas at the end of April and an SUV for Bonnaroo.
   
10. Tried to find my buddy BJ... who is AWOL. BJ, if you are reading this... please call me!!

We're all worried about you, BJ! I'm sure you're just shacked up with a hot French-Canadian chick knocking boots for 4 days straight, but your friends (especially Heather from Poker Wire) are concerned.

Now, I'm off to the Fiesta Casino because Grubby has an interview there. I might play some poker, but will probably get stoned in the parking lot and pick up 80 year old women at the slot machines.

In the past week, I have been offered jobs with two different magazines, an online poker/casino site, and another poker website. Sweet Jesus... when it rains, it pours. I can't turn down these gigs fast enough. I hope these folks will still offer me jobs in the future when I'm a broke loser...