Budapest Part II: No One Can Eat Fifty Apples

By Pauly
New York City

Somewhere late on Day 1A of the PokerStars.com EPT Hungarian Open at the Las Vegas Casino in Budapest, Annette15 surged to the chiplead. While the Norwegian wunderkind was out in the tournament area schooling online qualifiers and other Eurodonks, an interesting prop bet germinated in the media room.

"I can eat fifty apples in ninety minutes," blurted out Rod in his very distinct English accent.

Like most Brits, Rod is a reserved guy. He's a veteran journalist with several years of experience at Blonde Poker and PokerListings. I saw him everyday at the 2008 WSOP in Las Vegas but it wasn't until the Main Event when I discovered that he was British and not Canadian. I just assumed he was Canadian since he worked for PokerListings. It's just that Rod is not a man of many words. He doesn't say much so everyone dropped what they were doing to listen after he uttered, "I can eat fifty apples in ninety minutes."

Over the next few days, the terms of the fifty apples prop bet were eventually worked out between Matt and Rodd. Matt didn't think he could do it. Neither could I. Rod was determined and over the course of a week, a philosophical discussion broke out about competitive eating. It was always on the back burner because we all had a tournament to cover.

The Hungarian team from PokerNews helped me figure out which local players to cover on Day 1A and Day 1B. Peter and I walked around the room and gave me a crash course on the locals. Europeans don't like to physically point at someone so he would whisper seat numbers to me. At one table, a gentleman who could have been an Elvis Costello impersonator quietly sat behind a stack of red chips. His name was Attila Foris and one of the best cash game players in Eastern Europe. Peter told me about Richard Toth sat. Among his peers, Toth was considered the best tournament player in all of Hungary. He's third on the all time Hungarian money list and almost won a bracelet in 2006, but finished in second place in a $1,500 donkament. Peter also showed me where Kwaysser Valdemar Akos was sitting. Otherwise known as Luigi at the virtual tables, Kwaysser won the first ever PokerStars.com Latin American Poker Tour in Costa Rica last May.

I only recognized one Hungarian pro... Denes Kalo who took second place at the EPT Grand Finale in Monte Carlo earlier in the year, a similar feat that Brandon Schaefer did back in 2005. Kalo was the number one money winner in the history of Hungarian poker with almost $2.5 million in career earnings.

There was also one guy that everyone seemed to know. However, I had never seen him before because he was a Hungarian reality TV star. Peter 'Majka' Majoros was one of the most lively players in the room. Known around town as Majka, he was considered a huge celebrity in Hungary because of his appearance on the reality show called Való Világ. Majka came in second place but won the hearts and minds of all Hungarians. He parlayed his celebrity status into a music career and became an even more famous Hungarian rapper. I wish I was making this stuff up. Majka caught the poker bug and he was considered one of the noteworthy celebrities playing in the EPT Budapest.

One extremely loud Hungarian that stood out that Peter never mentioned to me. His name was Joseph Rutkai and he wore clothing that was as loud as his booming voice. One media rep described him as "looking like a total tool." He could be considered the Hungarian Mike Matusow but that's an insult to Matusow since Rutkai is no where near the level of skill as the real Mouth.

Dana and Matt witnessed one hand before the first break on Day 1A. It was a battle of the blinds between Rutkai and a young Scandi. Rutki's A-J beat out his opponents A-K. Rutkai four-flushed his opponent and busted the Scandi but not without a display of poor sportsmanship. Dana wrote...

"Not content with the outdraw, Rutkai went for the rubdown too -- he shouted something that sounded rather like, 'Hasta la vista, baby,' before getting out his car keys and offering them to his hapless and now busted opponent, saying, 'Here, take the keys to my Hummer, go see Budapest.' Extraordinary."

Dana is from the UK and I love how the Brits drench their posts in utter sarcasm. I was told the poor Scandi kid was devastated at the bad beat and then stormed away after being humiliated by Rutkai.

"What a dick," described one member of the media.

From that point on we described him as Joseph "Take the keys to my Hummer" Rutkai. He even parked his Hummer out front in an illegal spot. I told one of the Swedish reporters that the kid should get revenge on Rutkai and key his beloved Hummer.

Rutkai showed up on Day 2 wearing all yellow. Bright canary yellow pants and a matching shirt. I needed sunglasses to protect me from the glare. Change100 would have taken this guy behind the shed in one of her infamous fashion update posts. Garish clothing on a foul-mouthed man. Just another day on the tournament trail.

Here's a hand Joseph "Take the keys to my Hummer" Rutkai had on Day 2 with Johnny Lodden...


The guy has tons of class as you could see in the above video. When he won the hand, he screamed, "I beat the pro!"

Overall, there were 71 Hungarians in the field. That was the second highest number of players from a single country according to PokerStars. The Huns were outnumbered by the Italians. There were 86 of them in total. EPT Player of the Year Luca Pagano bought into the event along with his dad. Two Italian bracelet winners were in the field including Max Pescatori and Dario Minieri. I didn't know Dario was playing until I saw him show up very late.

"I think Dario has officially lost his virginity," mentioned on member of the international press. "Look at that shirt he's wearing. Influenced by Isabelle of course."

It wasn't so much as Dario's shirt as it was the fact that he didn't have it buttoned all the way to the top. Gus Hansen and Patrik Antonius can get away by showing off their chests. Dario? Not so much. An expensive and rather large silver crucifix dangled around his neck as he exposed his bare chest. It looked smooth, like a seal. I couldn't stop from giggling every time I walked past his table.

There are no racks in Hungary. At least, I did not see any. When a table broke, players were given a bucket. Similar to the one your grandma used to use at the slot machines to haul around quarters rotating from slot machine to slot machine. Yeah, you would frequently see players carting away their chips in massive cups and dumping them onto the table. It slowed down the game because players had to restack every time they got moved instead of sliding their chips out of racks.

This was an unconfirmed rumor.... but supposedly there was a local player who won a satellite to the EPT Hungarian Open from a different casino or maybe it was online. Anyway, the tournament was hosted at the Las Vegas Casino in Budapest which is a part of the Sofitel complex. Well according to the rumor, the idiot flew to Las Vegas, Nevada because he thought the tournament was there. Even if it's not true... it's still a funny story.

On Day 1B, the Hungarian press was buzzing because Andy Vajna was in the building. Vajna was the owner of the Las Vegas Casino in Budapest and also a major player in Hollywood. He produced several mega-hits and was a integral part of the "Rambo" and "Terminator" series. His current project is The Sarah Connor Chronicles, a popular TV program which is pulling in tons of dough. Vajna also produced art house films such an influential Hungarian film called Children of Glory, which detailed the aftermath of the Hungarian Revolution and push for independence that was squashed by the Soviets in 1956.

Vajna's filmography as a producer is massive and includes such films as Basic Instinct 2 (2006), Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines (2003), The 13th Warrior (1999), Evita (1996), Nixon (1995), The Scarlet Letter (1995), Judge Dredd (1995), Die Hard: With a Vengeance (1995), Color of Night (1994), Renaissance Man (1994), Tombstone (1993), Jacob's Ladder (1990), Air America (1990), Total Recall (1990), Red Heat (1988), Rambo III (1988), Angel Heart (1987), Rambo: First Blood Part II (1985), First Blood (1982), and Victory (1981).

I told him that Victory was one of my favorite Stallone flicks of all time. I wussed out and didn't tell him that I dropped acid the first time I saw Jacob's Ladder and it made perfect sense. I think it was a good idea that I held back that bit of personal information. The last thing he needs is a known acid freak running around his casino.

Change100 used to work in Hollyweird and mentioned that Vajna is an elite category. He's richer than rich. Vajna has what Hollyweird insiders call, "Fuck you money." When you have that much money, you can tell anyone to fuck off.

I briefly met Vajna and he was a polite and warm guy, nothing like the slithery snakes you'd find holed up in the hills of Hollywood. Vajna looked a bit like old Ernest Hemingway. The crew at Hungarian PokerNews conducted a brief interview with the legend, which they helped translate into English. Vajna was happy with the turnout since he heard it was not going to be a sell out. The EPT Budapest was actually oversold. He also said that he'd like to play but his skill level is nowhere near the superior levels of the European pros.

The EPT Budapest had plenty of members from Team PokerStars, but the event did not attract as many big names as other EPT events. The main reason was that although the EPT expanded into Hungary for the first time, they made a decision to not televise the event. It wouldn't be a part of the TV package. That kept a few named pros away.

Johnny Lodden from Norway used to play under Betsson, but he got sponsored by PokerStars for Budapest and Prague. Like his fellow Norwegian, Annette15, Lodden is a master at amassing a massive stack early on in a tournament. His hyper-aggressive style is tough to keep up with. Lodden's problem has always been his inability to switch gears and slow down. Selective aggression is the key to a winning formula. Guys like Lodden can only play one speed.... fast.

Perhaps he wants a full time sponsorship with PokerStars, or maybe he's evolving his game. Whatever the reason, Lodden played a lot different that normal. He picked his spots more carefully instead of trying to steamroll the table on every single hand.

As the field thinned on Day 2 and eased into Day 3, Lodden was still hanging around. He always had a ton of media around and as the action approached the bubble, more and more reps circled his table. He was one of the biggest names remaining along with Kara Scott. She's the EPT hostess and was able to play since they were not taping the Budapest event. She's been a fixture on the EPT and finally had a breakthrough in the US during this summer at the WSOP. Kara went deep in the Main Event and cashed. Norm Chad couldn't stop drooling over he and kept referring to her to "Kara Scott Chad." It was funny the first time, but got old after a while.


Kara Scott
(Photo courtesy of Adam Steiner)
Anyway, Kara never had much to work with stackwise for most of the tournament but she's a true grinder. She was one of the notable who made the money which also included Sorel Mizzi, Ludovic Lacay, and bracelets winners Alex KGB Kravchenko and Ivo Donev.

Ludovic Lacay was involved in a wacky pro bet with one of his fellow Frenchman. Lacay lost the bet so he had to hold a toothbrush in his mouth for the entire duration of Day 3. Lacay busted out late in the night and finally removed the toothbrush.

Ivo Donev is a Hungarian who lives in Austria. He's known as the "Chess Master" and bubbled off the final table in ninth place. He loved to complain about the play of Zoltan Toth, the longest lasting Hungarian who made the final table as the chipleader. Donev repeatedly chastised Zoltan for being a calling station.

"He thinks he's playing bingo!" bitched Donev who got beat out in a few pots with Zoltan.

Alas, that's poker. The best player usually doesn't win. Zoltan advanced to the final table with the chiplead and properly imploded. He finished in 7th place.

Johnny Lodden was probably the best player at the final table. He was definitely the most popular. The 24-year old played in 15 EPT events and cashed in 7 of them. We were seeing the new and improved Johnny Lodden. Although he was in the middle of the pack in chips, almost everyone picked him to win it all. Sadly, Lodden was the first player to bust from the final table. It was a nasty beat too.

Here's what I wrote for PokerNews...

Hand #16. Johnny Lodden raised 55,000 from under the gun. Zoltan Toth called. Ciprian Hrisca made a few jokes with Johnny Lodden and folded. Martin Jacobson called.

The flop was Jd-8s-2d. Lodden bet 125,000. Zoltan called. Jacobson moved all in. Lodden called. Zoltan called and had everyone covered.

Lodden: Kd-Kh
Jacobson: 10d-7d
Zoltan: Ad-Kd

Massive pot. Lodden was ahead with pocket Kings against Zoltan's nut flush draw and Jacobson's gutshot and smaller flush draw.

The turn was the 7h. And the river was the 9c. Jacobson won the pot with a straight. He doubled through Zoltan. Lodden was eliminated in 8th place. Jacobson took over the chiplead and has almost 2 million in chips. Zoltan was crippled and left with around 40,000.

Lodden was a slight favorite after the flop. We expected he might get flushed out. No one saw the gutshot coming. Alas, Lodden was out and he quickly headed to the bar. Because when I saw him several hours later, he was three sheets to the wind or what the Norwegians say "beruset som skunk" or drunk as a skunk.

The EPT Budapest final table went faster than usual final tables. 76 hands. 4.5 hours. As a tournament reporter, you couldn't ask for a better final table. Once action was three-handed, the remaining players took a break and cut a deal. They took almost 35 minutes to hash out the details. So out of a 4.5 hour tournament over 1/9th of that time included the deal discussion. Once the players agreed to a fair deal, the tournament was over shortly after.

Will Fry from Nottingham, UK won the EPT Budapest and a seat into the EPT Grand Finale next spring in Monte Carlo. Fry was involved in a controversial hand early on Day 2 with "Take the keys to my Hummer" Rutkai. The floor made a sketchy decision against Fry. He was furious but he managed to stay calm and cruise to victory, while "Take the keys to my Hummer" Rutkai busted out soon after.

Fry is one of the good guys in poker and a modern day Robin Hood. He said he was going to donate a percentage of his winnings to charity. He wants to help raise awareness to third world hunger. He's going to be researching various groups over the next few weeks to figure out which one he'll support.

Since the event ended early, my friends in the media had time to finish up their assignments and eat a proper dinner. Dana and I feasted at a local Hungarian restaurant before we joined the party. A group of 30+ took over a bar around the corner from the casino. Lucky for us poor journalists, a couple of the players who cashed showed up and help picked up all of the tab. Johnny Lodden, Kara Scott, and Will Fry all made cameos. A drunken Johnny Lodden sat next to me and chatted up a storm. Most Scandis are very reserved, but they finally loosen up when you get a few drinks in them. Lodden was telling me about playing a couple of hands blind and or raising a couple of times with the Hammer when he knew his opponents were weak.

The bar closed early since it was a public holiday. All Saints Day. Most of the locals went to cemeteries to pay honor to their loved ones who passed away. We still wanted to party, but options were limited. I offered up my apartment to host the afterparty. 20+ people showed up and we partied until sunrise including Will Fry and his entourage. They brought tons of beer.

At some point, the discussion came back around to Rod's 50 apples bet. Benjo and I wondered if we could get him to do it that night. The difficult part was finding 50 Granny Smith apples since that was the specific ones Rod said he'd eat. I snuck out and headed to the 24 hour store on the corner. Luckily they had apples, although most of them were bruised and shitty looking. I picked out five of the best they had and ran back to the party.

I offered Rod €50 to eat all five in 15 minutes, but he backed down. He had never eaten more than three apples in one sitting and needed tons of practice. He tried to eat one as fast as he could, but decided against taking the bet. I offered Matt Showell €50 to eat three apples in ten minutes. He quickly said yes. I got smoked. He ate three of them in roughly 8.5 minutes. He admitted that it was not an easy task and that Rod would have a tough time eating 25, let alone 50.

Rod is confident that he can train over the next few months and achieve his feat. I set the over under at 36.5 apples in 90 minutes. Despite pleas from various media reps to have the prop bet settled in Monte Carlo after the EPT Grand Finale ends, Matt wants a showdown at the 2009 WSOP in Las Vegas.

As the line in Cool Hand Luke goes, "No one can eat fifty eggs."

Yeah, no way Rod can eat fifty apples. No one can eat fifty apples.

* * * * *
I uploaded pics from my trip to Budapest. Check out the Budapest gallery.

I also have dozens of other galleries from various other trips and music festivals and different collections of food galleries and Pauly paintings. Click here to view all of my photo galleries.


Original content written and provided by Pauly from Tao of Poker at www.taopoker.com. All rights reserved. RSS feeds are for non-commercial use only.

Budapest Part I: Danube Waltz

By Pauly
Budapest, Hungary

I party frequently. I'm a multi-bracelet winner when it comes to throwing down and having a good time. However, there are a couple of times a year that I think I'm 18 years old again and can drink anyone under the table. I've come a long way the mid-1990s when I had Jim Beam pumping through my veins and I ran through the streets of Atlanta like a lunatic. Boys will be boys and former frat boys are a dangerous pestilence upon this land. I know because I am one.

Alas, my thirtysomething body takes a pounding whenever I found myself caught up in a whirlwind bender. I've been wiser and more self-aware about those epic moments of celebration and do my best to avoid a hellacious hangover of the Category 5 variety. Pace myself and drink lots of water. Don't mix and all will be well. Ah, of course I forgot all of those basic rules to drinking. I have those mental lapses about twice a year. It's the my former teenaged soul trying to escape from my body. Everyone once in a while, he takes over the bus and I just go along for the savage ride as I embark on a bender of all benders. A bender of Barbaric proportions.

The last mishap was in Melbourne during the Aussie Millions. I has a momentary black out and made a run to McDonalds in the Crown Casino and totally forgot about the 4am munchies until I woke up the next morning and discovered a grease-stained McDs bag on the floor next to the bed.

Hmmm, what else did I do last night that I don't remember? That's one of the most humiliating conversations to have with yourself, usually done in the middle of a wave of dry heaves as you clutch the porcelain god. Check your pockets for clues. Inspect your bodies for UDIs or unidentified drunken injuries. Look at your cell phone for traces of drunken texts or phone calls and get those apologies ready for the next day.

The culprits were Palinka, Unicum, and two salacious Hungarian women that I was convinced would make out on camera for me if I got them shitfaced enough. The locals drink the local liquors such as fruit-flavored Palinka with ease. Me? Well, I foolishly attempted to run a marathon in flip flops. And my innards were spewed across the tiles of my bathroom floor. There's a reason why it's called Black Death. And my Hungarian landlady is gonna be wicked pissed when she has to clean last week's goulash off of her walls.

Dana saw the shoddy condition of my soused self during my first night in Budapest. 'Peaks Too Early' should be my Native American name. It was not flattering. I fell down. Hard. I couldn't get up as a seizure of laughter fell over my entire body. I fell down again. Otis would have shook his head. I was more than Bad Iggy drunk, hell, I flew past that truck stop on the edge of the Nevada desert miles down the road. I found myself at a destination where no one ever intends to wind up.

I couldn't believe that I puked on that naked chick and got tossed from a strip club. In the same night. Bad bad, Pauly.

There's always a price to pay for your actions. I didn't have to wait until karma swung its sledgehammer down upon my cranium. Splintered into thousands of shards piercing my brain. I woke up on the first day of an assignment on the verge of death. No,wait... death would have been a plausible alternative to the living hell I had to endure over the next horrid day. The longest day of the year is always the day after you get flagged for multiple excessive celebration penalties. Alas, I chose a path and had to endure the pain. The throbbing. The waves of nausea. Ghastly pains from the spots where I fell. And not to mention the utter torture of being locked inside the sweltering basement of a casino for 12 hours to watch the opening flight of a poker tournament where I only knew a dozen or so players. Pure fuckin' joy.

I rented a flat with my work colleague Dana from London. She is also known as Snoopy's girlfriend and best friends with Jen from Blonde Boker. She's an amazing musician by trade and does a few freelance writing assignments on the side to pay the bills. We were teamed up together by PokerNews for the PokerStars.com EPT Budapest. We decided to stay off the casino property at an apartment. It was cheaper than staying in a hotel near the Las Vegas Casino adjacent to the Sofitel. And the Sofitel is fuckin' pricey. A baller, I am not. I'd rather save my money on less wasteful things. I didn't want to have to take taxis everyday so staying in a fleabag on the other side of town was not an option either. Schecky suggested an available apartment to rent near by. I contacted the owner. He was German and owned a two bedroom flat which he would rent to me for next to nothing.

The swanky place was a block from the Danube and about a twenty minute walk to the casino. It ended up a clutch move. The best in a very long time. Staying in hotels has worn thin on me and I've been opting for short-term apartment rentals like Change100 and I did in Barcelona, Amsterdam, and London over the last year or so. The alternative to a hotel is cheaper and puts me in a better mindset. Makes me feel normal while I'm on the road following the circus. Yes, the circus came to town. This stop was Budapest and I was about to begin the show with a sadistic hangover. Clown music drives me me to thr brink of utter insanity.

Dana and I slowly walked from our rented flat in Budapest to the Las Vegas Casino through the winding shopping streets that catered to tourists such as plenty of crappy Hungarian folk art souvenir shops with overpriced scarves and chess sets. Those were too many to count and were sprinkled in between the collection of old buildings, department stores, tourist trap restaurants, and dozens and dozens of money exchange booths that offered up shitty rates to convert Greenbacks to Forints.

Dana and I stopped at Subway for a meal to go. I did not want to eat it in the media room for fear of embarrassing myself and yakking it up on my new British laptop while chatting with Bartley or Howard from PokerStars. I struggled to eat a bland and rubbery my six inch Subway as I sat outside and groggily gazed at the Danube. The last time I ate Subway in Europe, I watched in amazement as a lewd sex act was performed in front of me.

Hungover in Hungary. A stranger in a strange land trying to drink strange drinks with strange women. I knew if I could keep down the sandwich then I could make it. I had to rally for work. I get paid a lot of money to travel the world and cover poker tournaments. The G doesn't care what I do in my spare time but when cards go in the air, I'm on his dime. I glanced back at the grey waters of the river that split the sections of Buda and Pest. I didn't want to become a floater in the Danube. Time to suck it up and rise to the challenge.

I struggled on Day 1A of the PokerStars.com EPT Hungarian Open. I had a new photographer to break in for a second event in a row. He was a local who spoke great English and played some poker which helped immensely. I also had to quickly get to know the Hungarian crew of PokerNews. Peter and Monika gave me the rundown on the local players that I should keep an eye out. 71 Hungarians played in the first ever EPT stop in Hungary and represented 1/8 of the field. I only knew about one or two Hungarian players and got an intense crash course in the history of Hungarian poker.

The free drinks in the media room saved me especially the Hungarian version of ginger ale. For the first time at the EPT, the media room had assigned seating I was in the first row out of five. I noticed that they also grouped us by languages, or maybe it was just a coincidence? The front row had all English speaking media which included folks from Canada (Matt), UK (Dana & Rod), Ireland (Brenden & Rebbecca), Scotland (The SikTilt gang), and of course myself... the lone American in the room full of Europeans. The members of the Italian and Hungarian press were behind me along with Caco from Portugal. The Germans were huddled together, while Benjo sat in the back with his fellow Frenchman nearby along with the Scandis and reps from Poland and Serbia. The air was cluttered with a mixture of poker slang and foreign words. I enjoyed covering tournaments in Europe. It's a totally different vibe than the hackneyed scene overrun by nimrods in America.


Original content written and provided by Pauly from Tao of Poker at www.taopoker.com. All rights reserved. RSS feeds are for non-commercial use only.

London Leftovers

By Pauly
New York City

I'm in one of those phases were I'm constantly on the move. The next three weeks will find me in New York City, Providence, Budapest, Los Angeles, and Las Vegas. It's been two weeks since I left London and a week since I departed Amsterdam. And somewhere along the way, I let this post slip on by. It's really a collection of my notes from the PokerStars.com EPT London assignment which I used to piece together a column for Bluff. I used some of the tidbits and cut the others.

Here's a glimpse of some of the things I took note of during my time in London covering the EPT London at the Vic...

A couple of celebs were in the field on Day 1A including actor Michael Greco who was most famous for his work on East Enders. Although I didn't see famous skier Alberto Tomba in the mix, Max Pescatori told me that he played and busted early.

French Actress Alexia Portal was also playing despite being seven months pregnant. Even with a bun in the oven, she's still hot. She was seated at the same table as Vanessa Rousso.

John 'The Razor' Phan showed up as an alternate. The EPT London was originally capped at 500, so each flight would be 250 max. However, they allowed approximately 40 or so alternates. One of them was the Razor. He stood at the bar and sipped coffee while he wondered when he would take his seat. When his name was called he sat down at Frenchman's Nicolas Levi's table.

Phan might know my real name but he's been calling me "Poker News" for the last two years. When I'd pass him in the hallway at the Rio he'd nod and say, "What up, Poker News?"

As I wandered by his table at the Vic, Phan called me over. He stood up and handed me his iPod mini. "Hey Poker News, I'm out of juice." When I returned to the media room, I powered up his iPod on my laptop. I checked out some of his music library. Tons of Vietnamese pop, but not one track from Thao and The Get Down.

Patrik Antonius was seated at the same table as Erica Schoenberg. Her guy, David Benyamine, was seated nearby and would wander over to check on her progress. At one point, Benyamine walked up to Patrik Antonius and kissed him on top of his recently shaved bald head, which was immediately followed up by a huge smile from both players. Those two guys, like most Europeans pros, rarely show emotion at the table. Yet those two were all shits and giggles. A rarity indeed on the tournament trail.

Katja Thater was milling around Day 1A despite the fact she was playing on Day 1B. She told me that her horses back in Germany were not doing well. A few were sick and one needed an operation. "I need to make some money in London to help pay for my animals' medical bills," she said. "If anyone tries to steal my blinds I will tell them that is cruelty to animals."

The staff at the Vic fed the players during action. They brought over bowls of curry or salmon. A waitress also wandered through the cramped aisles with bottles of wine. Red in the left hand and white in the right hand. One local member of the media joked that the wine was a special touch added by management to loosen up the action.

"Get a couple of more bottles of wine flowing and we can go home early," he said.

It didn't matter. The action was super fast with one hour levels and the field flooded with 'Eurodonks' which was a term dubbed by many of my colleagues to describe the play of newbie poker players scattered all over Europe with more money than they knew what to do with.

A gaggle of Eurodonks were seated at former EPT London champion Vicky Coren's starting table. She had a great read on them and was slowly adding to her stack when a floor person came over with bad news. Her table was next on the list to break. She vehemently protested. She wanted to stay with her batch of Eurodonks. She was eventually moved to Beth Shak's table.

If you have not been to the Vic, well there's a dining room adjacent to the poker room. The staff added several tournament tables to the dinning room to accommodate the overflow. I didn't focus on those tables for the first couple of hours of Day 1a. I finally wandered over and sweated a table that included Chad Brown and Sorel Mizzi. Former world champion Joe Hachem (scheduled to play in Day 1b) stopped by the table to chat with Chad Brown, a fellow member of Team PokerStars. Several photographers from various European outlets cluttered the sparse space in between tables to snap photos. The dining area immediately became illuminated with flashes as they rushed to shoot Joe and Chad shooting the breeze.

While the media seized an opportunity for a quick photo op, there was an ongoing hand. I caught the action a little late. An unknown player raised from the button. Sorel Mizzi reraised from the small blind for 6,000 more. His opponent went into the tank for several minutes while photographers continued to snap photos of Hachem and Brown. Eventually the player from the button called.

The flop was 6h-5s-3c. Mizzi fired out 3,500. His opponent moved all in and Mizzi called for the remainder of his chips, or 7,450 in total.

Mizzi: 9h-9d
Opponent: 10d-10s

The turn was the 7d and Mizzi picked up a gutshot draw. The river was the 8c. Mizzi spiked his straight and avoided elimination. He doubled up and increased his stack to over 33,000.

"I love this game," declared Hachem as the dealer pushed the pot towards Mizzi.

The Vic is so classy that they have a small plate of mints at the end of the Roulette tables. That shit would never fly at the Bellagio.

On Day 1b, a confused Ylon Schwartz wandered around the crowded poker room at the Vic unable to find his seat. He stopped and asked me, "Do you know where I'm supposed to be?" I pointed him to the list that was projected on a big screen on the wall of the poker room. He thanked me and looked up his assignment. A couple of other November Nine players were in the mix including Chino, but it was fellow Nov Niner Ivan Demidov who was making waves across town as he advanced to the final table of the WSOPE.

Boris Becker and Joe Hachem were seated at the same table. Lots of ginger jokes in the media room about Boris. The former German tennis pro loves to compete.

My colleague Snoopy ate some of the bowls of fish that were going around the poker room. He had a knack for knowing the exact moment of food service particularly dessert time when the Vic served ice cream. Snoopy also wore purple socks one day.

Benjo looks a little bit like Antonio Esfiandari. He's been mistaken for the pro on a few occasions, especially at the Bellagio where a bunch of frantic poker fans once stopped Benjo and asked, "Can we have an autograph, Antonio?"

"Benjo has an alluring French accent. Antonio can't compare with that," added Homer.

One local photographer was crouched low trying to get a good shot of a semi-famous player. A waitress did not see him as she scooted by the very narrow areas in between the tables. He stood up as she tried to pass with a tray of drinks. The result? He accidentally hip-checked her and the tray of beverages fell onto a cash game table.... PLO to be exact.

I also watched Devilfish felt a guy at that same table shortly before the accident. Devilfish flopped a set of Queens without any redraws. It held up against his opponent who managed to miss a ton of outs.

Conrad suggested a good book for me to read about cricket by E.T. Smith. Sadly, he did not give me any tips on fixed cricket matches to bet on. I have been curtailing my sports betting these days and only bet on games/matches/fights when I hear that the fix is in. I did hang out out at a couple of the betting shops. Billy Hill and Ladbrokes are all over the place. I put in a couple of small bets on NFL parlays or what the Brits call accumalaters.

As I walked into the Vic one day and made my way upstairs to the tournament area, a sizzling hot blonde walked by. I mentioned something to Benjo and he said, "Ah, so you met Devilfish's jailbait girlfriend?" A couple of the young Scandis had their hottie girlfriends hanging around on the rail. That's what I lovea bout the EPT... an influx of hot Swedish ass.

On the start of Day 3, Rich from Full Tilt, Dan Shak and I stood on the rail together. Dan was sweating his wife Beth and I was trying to get descriptions down of the few players that I did not know left in the field. One superpokerfan held out a copy of UK Poker News magazine and asked Scotty Nguyen for an autograph. Scotty flashed his big smile and accommodated the fan's request. The fan turned to Dan Shak and asked him for his autograph. Rich joked, "Why do you want Dan's autograph? Pauly is more famous than him!" Shak let out a hearty chuckle and the fan handed me the magazine and asked me to sign it. Just below Scotty's signature, I scribbled down "Avoid the clap!" and then added my John Hancock.

The final table coincided with Day 1 of the High Rollers event which was a who's who of not just British poker (Neil Channing and Devilfish) but the field included the big dogs like Phil Ivey, Jesus, and Gus Hansen. WPT Borgata winner Vivek Rajkumar decided to throw down with the big boys.

Philippe D'Auteuil from Canada is a prankster. He made the final table of the EPT London and he's buddies with American Eric Lui. They supposedly play big cash games online together. D'Auteuil's bustout interview was super short after he got cut off by the production crew. He was trying to be funny, but the folks in charge didn't know and took his offcolor remarks at face value.

Moments after his departure in 5th place, hostess Kara Scott asked D'Auteuil about the EPT London which appeared on the live internet feed. He said, "This tournament structure sucks." She quickly followed up with a slightly different topic and asked him who he thought was going to win.

"The Chinaman, you know that Japanese guy," D'Auteuil joked alluding to his buddy Eric Liu.

The producers gave him the quick hook and ended the interview. Were were sort of baffled in the media room and hoped that the kid was just trying to be a funny guy. British poker writer Homer turned to the Canadian writers (Owen and Martin from Poker Listings) and remarked, "You see? This is why we don't let Canadians speak on the telly..."

I love British sarcasm. They are truly the kings and queens of the backhanded compliment.

* * * * *
And here's some orphaned quotes that I scribbled down in my notebook but never got to use...

"Look at the hot German girl smoking a cigar," said Benjo as we stood in the smoker's lounge.

"Don't shove stuff up your nose in the bathroom of speakeasy in Soho that you just scored from a dodgey looking guy," said one wise anonymous media rep.

That same night another anonymous member of the media whiffed on a chance to hook up with a certain promiscuous female who frequents the tournament circuit. We gave him a ton of shit for actually using the line, "Can I go up to your room to use your internet?"

* * * * *
Saving the best for last. This risque bit appeared on Tao of Pauly but it was cut from the final draft of the version of my column that I sent to Bluff.

I had a couple of drinks one night after work at the bar with some of my fellow writers from Canada, Sweden, and the UK. Pinky and Mrs. Pinky joined me for a couple of shitty French beers and we chatted a lot about different London neighborhoods, the media, and British TV shows. I had a nice buzz when I left the casino. I missed the last tube and took a night bus back to my flat in Soho that I shared with Gloria and Change100.

The night bus let me off in front of McDonalds. It was Friday night in London. The binge drinkers were out in full force. The lines at McDs were out onto Oxford Street. There was a 24-hour Subway next door. I had the munchies and ordered a six inch meatball sub for £3.50 or almost $7.

I ate the sub as I sprinted past Charing Cross Road towards my flat. There's a club in the ground floor of our apartment complex. The music pumped out into the street as party people stood outside smoking cigarettes. Two old immigrant women attempted to sell everyone roses and other assorted flowers. One stopped me as I passed by eating my meatball sub.

"£3 for one," she said.

I counter offered £1. She refused to budge. I walked away and she grabbed my arm.

"£2. I have five children to feed."

I repeated my counter offer. She refused to let me go. I took another bite of the meatball sub and asked her where she was from.

"Romania," she said.

"Ah, Romania.... Chauchescu?"

"Chauchescu is dead!" she screamed and then angrily spit on the ground.

I tried to walk away and she finally caved in. She handed me a rose (which I would give to Change100) and I gave the old woman one quid.

I walked about forty feet when I saw two people. One guy leaned up against the wall while another figure pulled down the guy's pants. It was another guy and he began blowing him in full view of the smokers and the Romanian flower women. They were engaging in a lewd sex act only few steps from the entrance to my flat. I had a couple of bites left in my meatball sandwich and finished it off as I stood in amazement as I watched one guy blow another guy. Ah, just another glimpse into the streets of Soho at 3am on a Friday night.


Original content written and provided by Pauly from Tao of Poker at www.taopoker.com. All rights reserved. RSS feeds are for non-commercial use only.

In Paths Untrodden

By Pauly
New York City

Last Friday, I experienced one of those rock star moments as I arrived in Copenhagen. It was the fifth city inside of ten day excursion.

Las Vegas. Los Angeles. New York. Amsterdam. Copenhagen.

Inside of a 27 day stretch... I visited five different countries. 11 different airports. Dozens of casinos. Five different currencies. And so many different hotels that I lost count.

Then on Monday, I had one of the magical days that I never thought was possible. Breakfast in Copenhagen with Change100. Lunch in Amsterdam. Dinner in NYC. Three countries. Three meals. One day. Lots of flying in between.

Sometimes, I think this is all a dream... until I see my credit card statement.

During the last two weeks, I spent a lot of time walking around outdoors and aimlessly wandering the streets of five cities. Walking is great exercise for both the mind and body. Most of the time, I'm thinking about life or writing. I try not to dwell too much on the past and try to avoid thinking too much about the future. The primary goal is to be in the moment, in the now, and letting go of all those anxieties and worries and unpleasant thoughts.

Self-knowledge is the path to enlightenment, or what Bruce Lee refers to as "spiritual realization." Over the last couple of years, I have been too busy with work and ordinary life stuff to ponder... myself. I'm fortunate that I finally have the time to wander the streets of cities while wandering through the hallways of my mind attempting to get in touch with the real me. I've also been trying to convince myself that my own way is better for me than the path laid out ahead of me by strangers.

As Bruce Lee said it best, "Formulas can only inhibit freedom, externally dictated prescriptions only squelch creativity and assure mediocrity. Bear in mind that freedom that accrues from self-knowledge cannot be acquired through strict adherence to a formula; we do not suddenly 'become' free. We simply 'are' free."

I know, that sounds like some gibberish that the Oracle from The Matrix would tell Neo. But to me, it makes sense. I have been examining my experiences and I have been trying to absorb the useful ones and reject the negative ones. At the same time, I have been adding what is uniquely my own.

One early morning in Las Vegas, I made my way down the Strip, lost in thought as the sun slowly crept over the mountains and into the Las Vegas valley. I have had such a love-hate relationship with that city. I could have never gotten to where I am today without Las Vegas, but I also strongly feel that a lot of my personal problems and addictions are magnified by the alluring darkness of Sin City.

From one ring of fire to another, I walked around the plastic streets of Hollyweird like a freak since I was the only non-homeless person not inside a car. The random people I saw walking on the street - were simply walking to their parked cars. Hollyweird is the location of the "Big Game" for writers. And I constantly struggle with the reasons that I want to work in that town. My ego is being pulled in all sorts of directions. I know that I'm talented enough to take a shot there, it's more of a question of... will I be ready to produce once I get that long-awaited call?

Two weekends ago, I attempted to organized previously disjointed thoughts on a long run through the rambling hills of Riverdale. I knew that I needed to get back in touch with myself as a person before I could fully immerse myself into any more writing projects.

In Amsterdam, I was overwhelmed by a thick haze of "being in the moment" and instead of working on editing my script, I decided that having fun was more important and I went on a vicious three-day bender. I spent most of my time talking to strangers in coffeeshops about almost every topic imaginable. I spent the rest of my time riding the trams all over Amsterdam and watching people go about their daily business. It was moments like that when I suddenly feel connected to everything on the planet. You know, when you visit a place for the first time, you see things that always existed, but you had no first hand knowledge that it existed. And when you leave that city, any city, life continues on without you.

Realizations like that make me feel so insignificant. Small. Almost nothingness. Humility.

The last couple of weeks (and really, over the last month), I have been blessed with a semblance of happiness. I worked extremely hard the last couple of years and made a ton of sacrifices along the way in order to get to the place I am right now... sitting on a pool of freedom to dictate almost 95% of my schedule. Sure, I had times in my three plus decades of living where I had complete control to do what I wished, but those times were hampered with financial difficulties (i.e. I was dead broke), so although I had the time to do anything, my freedom was restricted financially. Lucky for me, I have arrived at a time and place in my life where there are almost no restrictions.

The only obstacle in my way is the most hindering statement of all time...

What am I really doing with myself? And in the end, does it really matter?

I have no more excuses. I eliminated all of those and issued a challenge to myself. I don't have too much time to make my mark, or as we used to say on Wall Street, "We're burning daylight."

* * * * *
I was on my own path, and that path led me to Copenhagen for a holiday at a most unusual time filled with political cartoons, assassination plots, riots, religious fanaticism, and the inklings of freedom of speech. All of a sudden a poker tournament seemed utterly meaningless to the insanity that had spilled over into the streets of Copenhagen. And it all started with a simple cartoon.

If you're not familiar with Kurt Westergaard, then I'm gonna tell you. He's a political cartoonist that created a caricature of Mohamed. It was originally published in Jyllands-Posten (a Danish newspaper) in September of 2005. The image was a lit bomb growing out of Mohammed's turban.

Westerfaard and his newspaper quickly came under attack by Muslims. They thought it was blasphemous to print such an image. Many of them were provoked into participating in anti-Danish protests that erupted in different Muslim countries all over the world. The result? Extensive property damage and dozens of people were killed in the riots.

All from one cartoon.

I wasn't the brightest idea in the world to provoke religious fanatics. However, that's not as important as the notion of freedom of speech. Many of the older Danes recalled what it was like living under Nazi occupation during WWII and have their freedoms suppressed, particularly freedom of speech.

Almost two years after the original cartoon was published, three men were arrested of plotting the murder of Kurt Westergaard on February 12. PET, the Danish domestic intelligence service, arrested three men, two of whom were Tunisian nationals. They were deported on suspicion of endangering Danish national security.

In a gesture of solidarity, on February 13th, 17 daily Danish newspapers reprinted the controversial Mohamed cartoon when they discovered the news of the assassination plot against Westergaard. The editors felt it was their right to reassert freedom of speech.

The appearance of the cartoon sparked riots once again. The riots lasted over a week and spilled over into several Danish cities.

There had been an original incident in the Norrebro district in Copenhagen. More riots broke out in different immigrant neighborhoods in Copenhagen and in several Danish cities such as Arhus, Brabrand, Gellerup, Bellerup, and Bagsvaerd. Most of the rioting was done by youths aged 13-19. They burned cars, dumpsters, and school buildings.

Some of the youths said that the riots were less about Mohamed and more about police harassment. Danish police recently introduced a stop-and-search policy, where police are allowed to randomly search people for weapons. However, the mainstream media were quick to say that a large amount of rioters lashed out over the cartoons.

Muslim community leaders were quick to admonish the behavior of their youngest members. Their message was clear, "Mohamed did not teach you to burn schools, cars and public buildings. He taught you to behave in a civilised manner."

The Muslim leaders were also critical about the recent reprinting of the Mohamed cartoon. They felt that the move did more harm than good, since it provoked the recent binges of riots.

By the time I arrived in Copenhagen, the fires were out and most of the rioting had dulled down. Over 50 youths were arrested and the police appeared to have regained control.

As I dug deeper into the story, I tried to figure out the cause of the riots. Were they sparked by the cartoons like the majority of the media said? Or where they part of a protest of police harassment and racism against immigrants in Denmark? Or was it a lot of bored youths joining an angry mob as they set Copenhagen and other cities in Denmark ablaze every night for a week?

I was unable to get any answers during my short time in Copenhagen. Getting to the heart would take me months, maybe even a year. Maybe it's a worthy pursuit?

I originally flew to Copenhagen to hang out with friends, take advantage of my girlfriend's free hotel room, and dig up a story for my On the Road column in Bluff. In the end, I stumbled upon a different and more significant story, as poker became suddenly meaningless for me.

It's one thing if I lived in Pakistan or Saudi Arabia and I wrote so nice things about the government or local religious leaders. I expected to have a fahtwah issued from a mullah that allows me to be killed under Islamic law. But Denmark, one of the more dour places in the bleakness of Scandinavia, the streets of Copenhagen were the last place I expected to be the flash point of a Holy War.

Deep down, I know that what happened in Copenhagen was just the beginning of a series of drastic events that will plunge all of us under a veil of darkness.


Original content written and provided by Pauly from Tao of Poker at www.taopoker.com. All rights reserved. RSS feeds are for non-commercial use only.

Art and Masturbation

By Pauly
Melbourne, Australia

Much like 2007, I begin the new year hung over down under while on assignment covering the Aussie Millions for Poker News. If you were to ask me about my game plan for 2007... exactly one year ago... what I wanted to achieve and accomplish didn't exactly match up to what really happened. Life is funny like that. You can make plans and goals and commence on a journey with an intended destination, yet you always seem to get blown off course. Like John Lennon said, "Life is what happens when you are busy making plans."

Sweden is the perfect example. A year ago, if you said that I'd go to Sweden in August and end up working for a Swedish client (and getting paid in the almighty Euro after the US Dollar sunk to the equivalent of a third world currency and got smoked like a bag of cheap ditch weed), I would have told you that you were fuckin' nuts. That was not in my plans for 2007. It wasn't even on the radar, yet that's exactly happened.

So if you told me right now, that by the end of the summer Tony G and I will open up three fast food chicken franchises in Moscow, I might believe you since that's the last thing I have on my list of things to do in 2008.

The last decade or so of my life has been filled with a lot of reactionary living. I have been reacting to the atmosphere around me and making decisions on the fly and adjusting accordingly. Five years ago in a galaxy far far away, I wore a dark Brooks Brothers suit with freshly shined shoes as I reluctantly rode the downtown subway to Wall Street six days a week. I was a miserable 30-year old barely holding onto the last threads of humanity. When I prayed, I used to pray to God to send a deranged homeless man to shove me onto the train tracks, so I would die because I was so fuckin' depressed and caught up in a rueful rut, yet too chicken-shit to kill myself because suicide is a very un-Catholic thing to do. Like the majority of the herd, I was too confused and scared to make the necessary changes in my life which would put me onto a path of self-fulfillment and happiness. However, when I left Wall Street behind in the Spring of 2003 (for the second time in less than a decade), I had no idea what would happen to me but deep inside I felt alive for the first time since before 9.11. I embraced the unknown, because I was content on choosing an artistic life of constant struggle than a safer and more comfortable path.

Some days, I reflect upon a decade ago when I was in my mid-20s and living on the fringe of society in Seattle. I was flat broke and worked four jobs just to pay rent and have enough herb for my pipe and enough beer for my belly. I achieved a semblance of happiness then even though I wasn't living what my family considered a productive and fruitful life. Alas, my thoughts often drift to those foggy days. I'm confident that they were 100% necessary because I never would have gotten to where I am today, if I didn't migrate to the West Coast and live among the hippies and embark upon the necessary steps to find my voice as a writer. In Seattle, I was exposed to alternative artistic pursuits and immersed myself in books, films, music, and philosophy that I never would have pursued if I continued to live with the hipsters in Brooklyn.

It's weird how I'm constantly looking back at my life around a decade ago. I can't explain it, but for some reason I have been writing a lot about my time living in Seattle or being on the road at the end of the 1990s following Phish all over North America. I guess that something clicked in my head and there's a flashlight scouring the darkest corners of my mind where those memories have been tucked away. I can finally understand what was going on with me then... which at the time which I couldn't comprehend. It's a perfect example of what Kierkegaard said that... "Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards."

In short, it's easier for me to write about stuff that happened ten years ago than it is for me to write about stuff ten days ago. I guess that's why I think I won't write a great book about the poker scene or Las Vegas until 2015... if I make it that far. By then I'll have a decade of life in between me and my first leap into the poker world. I'll be a little older and wiser then, and a more concise writer. Someday, I'll write that book although I dunno if I or anyone else can wait seven years for that to happen. Who knows if poker will fade away or be more popular than ever? I can't even tell you what poker will be like in America six months from now, let alone six years.

Like I stated earlier, I have ideas and goals for 2008, but I also know at this point that my hopes and expectations often dissolve into thin air. Fate often throws you a curveball when you least expect it. You actually have no control over how things transpire, and the illusion of control is one of the most dangerous things I have encountered in my short life.

It's important to have an intended destination in life and it's even more important to have the flexibility and patience in getting there. But the most vital aspect to living, is to allow yourself to leap into the unknown, because that's where the biggest mysteries of life are hidden.

There were days, weeks, and months in 2007 when I had almost every minute of my life mapped out, and then there were weeks where I refused to commit to anything and I lived life without any direction and boundaries. I seemed to have the most fun during my blocks of unstructured and unfettered time because my writing flourishes while the creative juices intoxicate and inspire me. What I'm really trying to say is that I thrive on chaos, while structure makes me despondent.

2007 was a banner year despite the ups and downs. My closest friends knew about the private struggles with accepting the mood swings that accompany a grumpy artist, or battling with addiction (pick any four), or overcoming multiple health issues which may or may have not been triggered by my addictions or the intense travel and unhealthy work schedule (like getting 15 hours of sleep per week during the WSOP). I would often say things to my friends like, "I'm burnt out and I'm so sick of poker."

Like the Kurgan mentioned in the Highlander movie, "It's better burn out, than to fade away!"

After a long and intense three years covering the poker scene, I am more than burnt out. The novelty of spanning the globe has worn out and I waste weeks of my life standing in airport security lines or waiting for another delayed flight or finding myself getting issued another bad beat by JetBlue when I get seated next to another crying baby on my flight from JFK to Burbank. I have been living the majority of the last 1,000 days of my life in hotels and hate having to worry if a horde of illegal immigrant maids with sticky fingers will steal my iPod or a wad of $100 bills that I have hidden somewhere in the room. Or worse, a maid will burst into my hotel room at 8am (even though I have the "Do Not Disturb" sign in full view) just so she can refold my toilet paper into that nifty little triangle.

My worst fears have become a reality. My immersion into poker is no longer cool and exciting. It has become a job instead of a lifestyle choice, and by definition, all jobs suck.

I knew it was a problem when I found myself being evasive when strangers ask, "What do you write about?"

I hate saying "poker" because it gets such an unusual reaction and then people (not in the industry) start asking me a million and one questions, or want to discuss poker strategy, or worse... they tell me a bad beat story. Poker is my job. It's not something I actively seek to discuss while bumping into old friends on cold street corners in New York City. That's why I respond, "I write freelance for a bunch of magazines and websites. Boring stuff. So how are your kids?"

It's time for a break. That's why I'm taking off several months in between the Aussie Millions and the 2008 WSOP. I had taken off the final two months of 2007 to write and relax, so in essence, I'm on the cusp of a hiatus where I would have only worked a 15 day assignment over a stretch of seven months. I figured that by the time I arrive at the 2008 WSOP, I will be refreshed and rejuvenated and ready to cover my fourth WSOP in a row. That time off will allow me to be in much better head space and I'll finally have that time to improve as a writer and hone my craft and then if I decide to choose to return to covering poker tournaments, I can easily do another year or so. I want to be prepared to be able to handle a couple of more years on the road... and I can't do that without taking some time off right now.

Of course, I have no idea what will happen in 2008. Opening up that chicken shack in Moscow with Tony G sounds pretty enticing the more that I think about it. But if I had any advice to give you... it's this... enjoy the Tao of Poker while you can. It might not be here in 2009.

Maybe I should walk away from poker right now? Cash out. Sell the Tao. I have a big stack in life thanks to my tremendous good luck in poker. I should quit while I'm ahead and use the money I earned to fund my personal projects. I have seen poker's ugly side and many of my friends have gotten their collective asses kicked by poker. They have left empty-handed.

Maybe I should just quit after the 2008 WSOP?

At the end of the 2008 WSOP, I'll make that tough decision. If I choose to walk away from poker entirely, well then that's what's going to happen.

I'm at a crossroads. I have grown bored with poker when there's so much other interesting and compelling stuff going on in the world right now. I could take an assignment to cover the Olympics in Beijing, or hit the campaign trail and follow the leading candidates on their run for the White House, or I could venture into one of the world's hot zones and become a combat correspondent, or most likely, I'll head for the plastic hills of Hollyweird and churn out mindless static for the motion picture industry (once the writer's strike is over).

As much as poker has given me more financial freedom (i.e. I'm out of debt), I have also found it suffocating me artistically. I have all these gestating ideas and my inability to follow through on them due to time or work constraints has been extremely frustrating to endure.

I have a personal writing project that I started in November. I'd like to finish that in the months leading up to the WSOP. That would require me to spend a lot more time in Hollyweird working out logistics and research. It also means more time in NYC because I seem to write my best stuff there. If I gave myself four months to write and create and have huge chunk of unstructured time, I know that I'll achieve a semblance of happiness that had been missing from my life in 2007. Sure, I made more money than I could have ever dreamed of in 2007, but money is not important to me. If it was, I'd still be the monkey with the grinder getting irrelevant chip counts on another young internet multi-accounting hot shot that will be broke in six months time.

As much as it's important for me to write, I also want to devote more time to the amazing people in my life. I have neglected a lot of older friendships and it is important to me to reconnect with a lot of people in my life that I respect and admire.

I also have a slew of other side projects like LasVegasVegas and Fantasy Sports Live. I'd like to get more involved in those sites and continue on with my other blogs like Tao of Pauly, Truckin', and my music blog. And you should keep your eye out on those sites over the next twelve months.

By eliminating the grueling travel schedule and scaling back on my freelance work (aside from my columns in Bluff and Poker Player Newspaper, but I can handle a mere three deadlines a month) and focusing more on living than working, I will have more time for my personal projects. I can finally rest up and get healthy and find more time to write on my blogs and sites, which means more stuff for you to read to distract and entertain you.

I guess to sum up...

I'm taking time off (around four months) after the Aussie Millions to regain control of my life. I'm back to my old self where I'm living life on my terms and ignoring what the brainwashed masses think. I have no idea if I can pull it off, but I'm gonna do my best to write a screenplay, travel for myself (like a trip to New Zealand with Change100 at the end of the month), listen to more live music, spend time with new friends and reconnect with old friends. I also have a pile a books that I want to read and I'll be constantly thinking about Johnny Hughes' advice about having just one girl, one drug, and one gambling vice.

In Stardust Memories, a 1980 film by Woody Allen, there's a quote from a character named Sandy Bates played by Allen. It goes something like, "You can't control life. It doesn't wind up perfectly. Only art you can control. Art and masturbation. Two areas in which I am an absolute expert."


Original content written and provided by Pauly from Tao of Poker at www.taopoker.com. All rights reserved. RSS feeds are for non-commercial use only.