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Friday, March 31, 2006

Short and sweet 

Happy Friday. That's about the most you're getting out of me this morning. Crazy busy shit going down around the 'hood and exhaustion is kicking in. Plus, anything I write today would be mistaken for an April Fool's Day joke.

Speaking of which, BadBlood and G-Rob gave it a fine effort but no one who knows these guys actually bought it. Except for the actual G-Vegas crew which is still cracking me up.

If you want to read the best all time poker blog April Fool's Day post, DoubleAs dropped a beauty last year that nailed everybody.

Here's the classic.

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Don't forget, Iggy is hosting another Blogger WSoP satellite on Monday.

Blogger WSOP Satellite Tourney
PokerStars - Private Tab
April 3rd - MONDAY
9PM EST
$30 +3
No Limit
Password: socoshot

Bloggers only, but feel free to stop by and sweat.

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Michael in New Zealand signed up on the frappr map and requested a song. Here ya go. Wag the Dog - Mark Knopfler. Courtesy of the very missed ScubaSteve.

Finally, Landow recorded a voicemail I left him from the Mansion on Saturday and uploaded it. Here it is. Wait til I tell you about Bambi. "My name is Al, I'm an improvisational jazz drummer. I just make the shit up as I go along."

Cheers

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Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Standby... 

We interrupt the Playboy Mansion Files for something completely different. The Politically Correct are attempting to change history again.

The Beatles' smoking habit snubbed out

LIFE STYLE EXTRA (UK) - Record bosses are erasing any evidence of The Beatles penchant for smoking from the cover of an album re-release.

EMI are shipping a new version of LP 'Capitol Albums Volume 2' on April 3, but there will be a distinctive difference on the cover.

While John, Paul and Ringo were seen puffing away on the evil weed on the original 1964 version, they've magically kicked the habit on the re-release. And that's not the only thing to have vanished into thin air, two of Ringo's fingers, that were holding a cigarette, have also gone on the missing list.

The band were all big smokers, with John still smoking when he was shot dead in 1980.

Paul is believed to have quit in the 80s, but his wife Heather Mills recently revealed he was still smoking marijuana until former wife Linda McCartney died in 1998.

She said "I would not get married to him if he was taking drugs."

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The Grotto Bar 

"Seriously man, the bartender said they didn't have any Southern Comfort."
A tiny moment of panic set in. I can and will partake of other drinks, I just chose not to if I possible. Go with what ya know, I always say. My blogger brethren did mention that it might be possible to get some if done properly. I made my way down to the stone bar next to the grotto and got the attention of the bartender with the most intelligence. Not an easy task amongst this crew.

When I asked for a double southern, the bartender just shook his head, but instead of ending it there, he grabbed the guy in charge of all the bars set up around the "Mans". He pulled me aside and told me that Southern Comfort wasn't included when this little private party was setup. He might be able to get me some, but I was going to have to make sure and take care of the bartenders. Hell, I do that anyway, let's get with the drinkin'.

He came back with a huge honkin' cup of my nectar and I discreetly asked him what amount would be appropriate. "Ten dollars should do it sir", he replied.

"Really? Hell, give 'em twenty and tell them I said thanks," were the words instantly out of my mouth.

"Wait! I'm probably going to need more than one bottle, give 'em 40 bucks."

Now I'm not rich by any standard other than those in sub-third world countries and it's not like I was throwing around Benji's. Just a couple of 20's to make the bartenders happy, nothing more. That's why I was stunned when the guy in charge of the bars (AND my new bestest friend) announced to the 3 bartenders that "we have a new Gold member at the Grotto bar!"

What the....

The bartenders thanked me and I still had no idea what was going on. Gold member? It's not like I received a membership card or special access behind the bar. Hef and the girls weren't sending down someone to take care of my needs. What the hell was he talking about.

I found out not long after.

I made my back up to the blogger gathering with the expected Soco, apparently to no one's surprise. Somewhere during this time, The Negreanu Incident occurred. I didn't think it was that big of a deal. He finally made into the party after turning down the limo ride and standing in line with the great unwashed. I shook his hand and slid him into the blogger conversation. Apparently non-meat-eating, teetotalling, five-foot-nothing, Canadian poker players are horrified by fat hairy drunken retards. Go figure. He shrank and walked away before I had the chance to ask if he wanted to split one of the beef appetizers over a shot of southern.

I turned back to our table and there was a full second pause, then everyone burst out laughing. Poor Daniel. To be so sheltered must be awfully boring. I remembered quickly that I was amongst bloggers. Cameras, notepads, and voice recorders came flying out of pockets.

"Awe crap, that's definitely going into the blogosphere...."

When they were getting ready to start the poker tournament, I found out the true benefit of being a "gold member" of the Grotto bar. In Pauly's words...

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.
How's that for service? The rest of the night, no matter how many were at the bar, no matter WHO was at the bar, I was first in line. If I happened to catch a bartenders eye before I even got up to the bar, I just threw a number of fingers in the air and they'd be sitting on the bar by the time I nudged away the C-listers and the occasional A-lister.

I've always taken pride in telling people that I can make any bar I walk into my home bar, but this was just a little on the ridiculous side. My favorite bar moment occurred when Dannemann was waiting to be served while the wanna-be-seens were wasting air and space making it very tough to get a drink.

I got the bartenders eye and we had shots set up immediately. Many more behind those. Let me tell you something about that guy. Good lord, he can drink with the best and the girlies were all over him.

Steve couldn't be stopped. Once the bartenders realized that we were drinking for the long haul, we had more shots than we could count. The girls picked up on the scent and now "Action" Steve Dannemann was the center of the hottie universe. They were crawling out of the woodwork just to get his attention. He was having trouble fighting off the hordes of whores women and I was forced into crowd control. If it had gotten much more out of hand, I would have had to make them take a number.

I think it all ended when Steve, Tara Reid, and Tara Reid's much hotter friend all vanished at the same time. The Infamouse Grotto was a short walk away. Coincidence? I guess we'll never know for sure.

Thus endeth my submission for the "best" Steve Dannemann story. Top that one. How was your green tea and tofu salad Mr. Negreanu?

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Tuesday, March 28, 2006

The Beginning... 

"Dude, where I am?" - me
"Sir, you are at THE Beverly Hills Hotel" - snooty bar hop
That's the conversation I had before I even stepped foot into the legendary Playboy Mansion. I was on the phone with Jason at the time and he was trying to track me down to make sure I got into the mansion. How did I end up at THE Beverly Hills Hotel?

I was the first of the bloggers to reach our hotel and immediately set up camp in the bar waiting for their arrival from Vegas. While sitting at the bar, I ran into a couple of guys who would also be making the trek to the Mecca of Decadence and we struck up a friendly conversation over beers and shots. It turned out to be the only "professional" photographer hired for the event and the owner of a well known poker publication.

Before long the rest of the bloggers had arrived and we have the first running of the shots. Pauly was knocking back double soco's on the rocks. Jason was trying to drink a beer from every country in the world. The BoyGenius was trying to explain to the bartender how to make the perfect Soco Manhattan. Before long we were joined by Steve Dannemann, Hoyt Corkins, and friends. The tiny hotel bar was flowing with food and booze as the time was ticking down for our departure.

We were trying to figure out sleeping and driving arrangements for the evening. Change100 was kind enough to offer up a spot on her couch to me due to some booking problems with the blogger rooms. Hey, I have no problem sleeping in the bathtub, but I'd rather not, if given the choice. When it came time for transportation to the event, I somehow found myself sitting in a limo between Corkins and Dannemann instead of the local blogger rent-a-wreck. How'd that happen? Beats me, I was talking with them and they said it was time to go.

So I went.

But not before we ran into Daniel Negreanu in the lobby. He graciously turned down the offer of a ride to the event, instead choosing to get himself there. Oops.

Some interesting conversations as we made our way through the horrendously cliche Los Angeles traffic and we found ourselves sitting at the gate of the Playboy Mansion.

And getting turned away.

No, we cannot go straight into the mansion. No, it doesn't matter who the heck is in the car. Everyone must check-in at the UCLA campus and we were early anyway. Someone, I believe it was Dannemann, told the driver to find the nearest bar. My new favorite poker player. We were in dire need of rest rooms and drinks. Each had their own priority but we were all looking for the bar. Next thing you know we're walking into some swanky ass bar looking for a quick round of shots. I don't remember which WCP paid the bartab, but I know we definitely turned some heads with our "storming" the Hotel of the rich and famous.

Hoyt and I adjourned to the outdoors while I continued my Marlboro chain smoking and we discussed tournament poker and the plus/minuses of split pot games. Before you know it, the limo is pulling back around and we have our marching orders. Our limo driver was told to proceed immediately to the UCLA parking lot so they could usher us into the Mansion post-haste.

As we were being processed through the system, you could see the line of celebs/poker players/media queued up waiting to get their shuttle ride up to the house. I can neither confirm nor deny who said what, but Mr. Negreanu was standing in line with everyone else and someone (and for once it definitely was NOT me) presented him with a couple one finger salutes and MIGHT have said something about him going to get his shine box.

I'm just the reporter here. Don't shoot the messenger. I will say that we were doubled over laughing as we drove through those hallowed gates. A big thanks to Ms. "Can you see my nipples through this?" for getting us in quickly. We pulled up to the red carpet with the media and paparazzi crowded behind the ropes. As we stepped out, I made my first mistake of the evening.

"Celebs, please walk this way. Normal people, you can walk over here." Normal?! That was the instructions we received when exiting the limo. Naturally Corkins and Dannemann made their way to the red carpet as I was hussled the other way behind the media sharks. I should have walked the red carpet then and there. But I would make up for it later.

I tracked down my fellow blogger brethren and we caught up on what's gone down so far. During the conversation someone decides to tell me that the bars DO... NOT... HAVE... SOCO!

I was shocked and appalled. This was not acceptable. I needed to correct this situation as quickly as possible. And I did.

Next up, how I became a Gold member of the Playboy Mansion Grotto bar....

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Monday, March 27, 2006

Soon.... 

I'm back and I'm alive and I'm writing. Patience grasshopper.

My night started sitting in a limo between Hoyt Corkins and Steve Dannenman and ended with some silly fake boobed girl insisting on giving me her number and then she mooned a guy covered in his own vomit.

Everything in between you'll just have to wait for....

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