The Fifteenth Minute and Why Shirley Rosario Kicks Ass

By Pauly
Los Angeles, CA

"We've been demoted," joked Dan Michalski.

"Hollywood is a brutal fucking town," I reminded him. "Looks like we've reached the 14 minute and 20 second mark on our '15 Minutes' of fame."

Last year we were both invited to play in the WPT's Celebrity Invitational at Commerce Casino, one of the most popular events in the L.A. Poker Classic tournament series. It's a freeroll with only the final table getting paid out prize money. For many poker pros, the Celebrity Invitational was their favorite event of the year because they could actually have fun playing poker by getting schwasted and flinging around chips around with television and motion picture stars.

Alas, this year Michalski and I didn't get the nod. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining because we never should have been playing in the first place! If anything, we were invited as a nice gesture from tournament director extraordinaire Matt Savage.

In the bigger scheme of things (i.e. Hollywood's fickle ranking system), we are a bunch of nobodies. Zeros. Heck, I'm less than zero -- one of thousands of wanna-be screenwriters huddled at the bottom of the hills of Hollywood writing our asses off in hopes that some day we'd reach the misty mountain top. But somehow, while trying to win the lottery (selling a screenplay) or doing something meaningful with my life (penning the Great American Novel), my life took an unexpected detour and I ended up as a shill for the poker industry.

I took my shot and missed, but even though I fell short, I still landed head first in a desert oasis. If anything, I'm eternally grateful the the tribal nation of poker overlooked all of my idiosyncrasies and accepted a known-drug fiend with peculiar sense of humor and tempestuous mood swings.

Ah, so last year at this time, I got an invitation to the Big Ball and felt like Cinderella on Oxycontin. My girlfriend made me change outfits three times before we even left our apartment in the Slums of Beverly Hills.

The highlights from the 2010 Invitational included meeting William Hung and getting busted by Joe Toye from Band of Brothers. I wrote about playing in last year's event in a two part series...

The WPT Celebrity Invitational, Part 1: Welcome to Hollyweird
The WPT Celebrity Invitational, Part 2: I Could Use Some Brass Knuckles

Ah that was 2010. Now, it's 2011 and my fifteen minutes of fame are coming to a screeching halt. But... I still had a chance to play in this year's WPT Celebrity Invitational if I was one of three lucky souls who won a seat in the LAPC Media Tournament. Although I've been bogged down editing/re-writing a novel, I decided to escape my office for a few hours to play some cards.

My girlfriend is currently in Brazil covering the Latin America Poker Tour for PokerStars, so I had to drive to Commerce Casino by myself on a rare rainy afternoon (which also meant that I couldn't get blitzed and play poker because I'm a responsible citizen when it comes to driving, especially on a freeway in Los Angeles once the spraying has been done). It took me 1:50 to drive from the Slums of BH to Commerce during the heart of rush hour (twice as long as it should have). When I woke up on Friday afternoon, I really didn't care if I won a seat or not, however, all that changed after wasting almost two hours of my life stuck in dreary traffic on I-10 and I-5. I wanted to win a seat if only to justify why I was foolish enough to navigate a pair congested Los Angeles freeways in the rain.

I wandered into Commerce Casino and was greeted by a flood of memories and a wave of nostalgia. I covered my first-ever LAPC in 2006, right around the time I starting "dating" Change100. I was living in Las Vegas at the time (as Grubby's roommate) and never imagined what my life would be in the future, five years down the road in 2011 -- celebrating my 5th anniversary with Change100, living together one block south of the Beverly Hills border in a cool apartment where I finally finished my own personal while whale Lost Vegas.

Friday nights at Commerce are always a zoo, especially during the LAPC. I wandered upstairs to the ballroom and checked into the media event. I found Matt Savage and shook his hand. I wasn't the only one as others stopped by to pay their respects, sorta like that scene in the Godfather II when Don Fanucci walked down the street and someone kissed the ring on his hand.

I ran into WhoJedi, who asked how to buy a copy of Lost Vegas. I told him it's available on Amazon.com. But he was in luck because I had a copy on me (as a bounty prize). WhoJedi is one of the few good guys in poker, so I gave it to him instead.

The media tournament was comprised of 55 or so runners including Foiled Coup and Joe Giron. I didn't know anyone at my table, but later discovered that John from Pokulator's girlfriend/wife sat to my immediate right. She went on a heater and ran over the table!

I sat in the 10 seat and one of the dealers said something rather funny.

"You're all nice to deal to," she said. "Why is that?"

"We're VIPs." I snarked.

"Really?"

"Not really. Most of us are writers, reports, and photographers."

"Ah, that's why you're all nice. You have a real job. Not like those bums," said said pointing at peanut gallery screaming at each other in the satellite section.

At one point, Wendeen Eolis joined my table. Wendeen is a veteran in the poker industry and we worked together at Poker Player Newspaper. If you didn't know, she's the first woman to ever cash in the WSOP Main Event -- and told everyone at my table in case they didn't know.

The highlight of the tournament occurred when Alexis Gilbard got moved to my table. We're practically neighbors and she joked that she always waves at our apartment building when she's taking a morning jog. With the exception of a little chit chat with Alexis, I was a morbidly bored because I forgot about how frigging slow that live poker can be at times. I hadn't played much poker in the last few months, instead, I got my gambling fix wagering on commodity futures (silver is trading at a new high) and on sportsbetting. I tiled a bit because the ballroom had a dozen TVs, yet not one of them had on the only game that I had bet on (Louisville-UCONN). I had to sweat the game on my CrackBerry and spent most of the time refreshing the score.

AlCantHang popped by to say hello. I wished that he stayed around because I always play well when ACH is one of my railbirds. I actually saw him drinking an Amstel Light. I did a double-take. Even the bartender was surprised when he ordered the beer and said, "What? No double SoCo?"

Media tournaments have horrible structures and you gotta play fast. I lost most of my stack after flipping with A-J against 8-8. On my bustout hand, I had 3BBs and shoved with 10-5 sooted. The guy who called me held 7-5 sooted. I stood up because I sensed it coming. A seven on the turn nuked my goose. I busted in 25th place or so. At least I lasted 2.5 hours -- longer than it took me to drive to Commerce.

Shirley Rosario and Max Shapiro won two of the three seats. I dunno who won the third one. Anyway, I had a fun time playing and it was cool to see familiar faces and even shoot the breeze with KevMath.

* * * * *
By the way, Shirley Rosario is en feugo. She won the LAPC $1K HORSE event the other night. Her run good continued last night when she won a seat into the Celebrity Invitational.

Here's Shirley's winners interview with Matt Savage moments after her HORSE victory in the LAPC Event #38...


The majority of people I admire and/or inspire me are non-poker people (artists, musicians, writers, philosophers, and my favorite politician Thomas Jefferson). However, Shirley is one of the rare exceptions from poker. I'm fortunate that we're friends. Not only is she one of the sweetest people that I've met in this nebulous poker world, but also her story is simply amazing -- a single mom who beat cancer and supported her family through poker. Along the way, she also built up Poker Babes, one of the most successful poker-themed sites on the web during the height of the poker boom. Her diligent work ethic has always inspired me.

Shirley has more than paid her dues grinding it out in SoCal casinos over the last decade, so I was super stoked when she won the HORSE event. And now, I'm sending out more good vibes to her today in the WPT Invitational. TID!

The WPT Celebrity Invitational, Part 2: I Could Use Some Brass Knuckles

By Pauly
Los Angeles, CA

I made my way through the tables inside the black-draped tournament room at Commerce Casino. Record-setting field of Johnny Dramas and Troy McClures. 567 players in all, but not a single PokerStars pro in the room (all in Vegas playing at the NAPT Venetian or on the EPT/LAPT) with a sprinkling of Full Tilt Pros all around. Big dogs like Seidel, Jesus, Lederer, Matusow, and Bloch. I passed Mike Sexton and Linda Johnson along with a couple of the Van Patten clan. I spotted a few more pros. Sebok. DeVo. YellowSub. Chainsaw. Todd Brunson. Unabomber. Liz Lieu. Kristy Gazes. Scott Clements. JC Tran and Chino wandered around as alternates checking out the hot tail inside the ropes. They were not used to seeing so many glamorous people at a poker table.

The entities known as Wicked Chops Poker wandered into place. I had hoped that Snake and I would be seated together. He was anticipating an early evening since he planned to run the Pasadena Marathon on Sunday morning. If he was gonna play loose and dump chips... I wanted to be one of the recipients.

I took my seat around 8:03, three minutes after the scheduled start time and found myself the only one at my table. The adjacent table featured Jesus and Jerry Buss, which meant that one of the many Asian girls in his harem would be sweating their sugar daddy. In case you're wondering... Buss wears white Nike socks. But does Buss gets Nike socks for free, or if one of his bitches fetches a new package for him every week?

Trishelle from the Real World Las Vegas took a seat at the table behind mine. She established herself as one of the original reality show trollops after a steamy threesome in the hot tub. Trishelle is a Swahili word for "mountainous regions", which was apparent after I got a close up of her twin donuts. Wow. Lemme tell ya... them some tig ol' bitties. No fancy lighting or camerawork there. I salute her plastic surgeon.

After a couple of minutes of me chatting up the dealer, one player finally sat down -- a French-Canadian pro named Rene who wore a turtleneck. A gold necklace dangled around his neck and he looked like one of John Gotti's crew. I noticed that Rene sported his WSOP bracelet around his wrist. Normally that's sort of gauche, but this was one of the acceptable instances when bling matters.

By 8:15, my table began to fill up. I sorta recognized the guy next to me but like so many actors and actresses in the room, they looked vaguely familiar.

My Starting Table:
Seat 1: Local pro who wore sunglasses
Seat 2: Guy with tattoos (then later... Kirk Acevedo aka Joy Toye from Band of Brothers)
Seat 3: Rene the French-Canadian pro
Seat 4: Loud Fat Guy who does voices for cartoons
Seat 5: Unknown actor
Seat 6: Erik Palladino (from ER)
Seat 7: Unknown Woman (not an actress but someone in the industry)
Seat 8: Mark Thompson (local L.A. weatherman)
Seat 9: Nick Gonzalez (2009 runner-up)
Seat 10: Your Hero

I quickly found out that Nick Gonzalez lost to Freddy Deeb heads-up in last year's WPT Invitational. He held the distinction of being the last celebrity standing. That juice goes a long way in celebrity poker playing circles, and anyone in this town will tell you that any type of buzz is good buzz, especially since he was running around for auditions sweating it out during pilot season.

Change100 went downstairs to play cash games and I sent her a text inquiring about the actors at my table. I figured that I'd consult the former Hollywood exec about the background of my thespian tablemates.

"Palladino got fired from ER after two seasons for mouthing off to the show's producers," she texted me. "And Nick is a hipster actor who was in The OC and the new Melrose Place."

Ah, that's where I remembered Nick, from his role as D.J. the yard guy who was schtupping Mischa Barton's character in The O.C.. Like most of the actors that I meet in Hollywood, I was much taller than him in person. Since Nick Gonzalez was the celeb who went the deepest the previous year, he garnered a significant amount of attention from the cameras. For the first couple of levels, the WPT film crew hovered around our table. A constant flow of photographers snapped photos and I accepted the fact that my ugly mug would be the "most cropped" photo at the WPT Invitational.

Nick said hello to me when he sat down and everyone else pretty much ignored me. A couple of friends in the media stopped by like BJ, Foiled Coup, and Matt Waldron, along with a few random pros who said hello as they wandered past my table. At that point, the folks at my end of the table realized that I might be someone important.

"You look familiar. How do I know you? You a pro?" asked Nick Gonzalez.

"No. I'm a writer. Do you read Bluff Magazine?"

Nick Gonzalez mentioned that he had just met my editor at Bluff, Lance Bradley, when he played in the PokerStars NAPT Celebrity Charity tournament less than 24 hours earlier in Las Vegas. The drunk guy from ER sitting across from me was super drunk and he kept apologizing for his high state of inebriation. He wanted to know where else I wrote. I told him that I'm also the author of Lost Vegas.

"Lost Vegas? Oh, I read that. Good stuff," barked the drunk guy from ER as he took a swig of his vodka cocktail.

I didn't have the heart to call his bullshit. I picked up an obvious tell... Lost Vegas hasn't even been published yet, but that's the sort of shady shtick that the denizens of Hollywood sling back and forth. Even if you have no idea who someone is, you always tell them that you admire their work. It's such a terrible Hollyweird cliche, but deep down actors really want to know that they are relevant... even if you have to lie to them to massage their egos.

"Thanks," I said. "You're no slouch yourself. You practically carried ER during your time on the show."

That was a low blow on my part, but sometimes writers have to put actors in their place.

The continual cameras were my least favorite part of sitting next to Nick, although that's just a relatively minor gripe because I certainly understood the purpose. And hey, who knows if I get on TV so my mom can see me. Regardless, the positives of sitting next to Nick far outweighed the negatives. For example, Nick is a handsome actor who knew an impressive number of actresses in the room. A steady stream of starlets stopped by our table to flirt, schmooze, and sneak in a few seconds of camera time. I didn't mind the starlet parade one bit.

Trishelle sat only a few feet away and spent a lot of time leaning over to talk to Nick, but of course, always within camera shot. I can't tell you how many times I turned my head to be greeted by Trishelle's misty mountain tops. I snuck a few peeks down her dress like a leering deviant out of a Bukowski poem. Judge me all you want. You would have done the same fuckin' thing. Magnificent. The melons are currently in season.

One starlet, who played one of the cheerleaders from Friday Night Lights, became a frequent visitor to our table often bouncing by with the grace of a ballerina. She had recently gotten engaged and happily showed off her ring.

"How many carats?" asked drunk ER guy.

"3.4," she proudly announced.

Jaws dropped. Silence. Even drunk ER guy was at a loss for words. The rock on her finger was the size of a bull's testicle. If she sported that on the NYC subway, she'd get her hand lopped off in seconds. God knows how many miners from Botswana shed blood for that warped symbol of eternal love.

The table banter was fun, friendly, and at times kinda loud with most of the chatter was down on my end between ER guy, the weatherman, and Nick. The obnoxious fat guy who did voiceovers asked everyone if they were going to rebuy. The Invitational was a freeroll (only the final table getting paid out with $100,000 to first place), but you had a chance to rebuy until the first few levels with $200 going to Chrysalis, a local organization that helps homeless people find jobs. Mostly everyone at the table acknowledged that they would rebuy.

"I don't make money," he barked. "I'm a former child actor. My parents stole all my money. That's why I'm doing cartoon voices for Nickelodeon. Being fat is funny when you're a kid. Not anymore. Only the pretty people in Hollywood make money."

The looseness of the tournament equated into less hands per hour. The action was slow. S....s.....l....l...l....l.....o....o....o....o...o...o...o...w. Seemed like everyone was Hollywooding it up on every hand for the cameras. Gah. Fuckin' actors. The excruciating pace might have driven me nuts if I didn't have Twitter to keep me occupied during the downtime or the fragrant-smelling starlets buzzing by Nick to keep us distracted.

ER guy showed up a little late to the table because he was drinking at the bar. We got involved in a hand together on the first hand we played. I had As-Qs in the big blind. He had K-K. The flop was Queen-high and I'm lucky that I didn't lose any more chips than I did. I lost another hand shortly after with Q-Q and within the first forty minutes, I said goodbye to 40% of my 10K starting stack. To complicate matters, I went card dead for a couple of levels and rarely played a hand.

Due to the lack of cocktail servers, the drunk ER guy took matters into his own hands and fetched beers at the cash bar. He took a huge chiplead when he busted two players on the same hand. Woman in seat 7 shoved on the flop of a rainbow Jack-high board. The fat guy who did the cartoon voices also shoved. ER guy had them both covered. He tanked as he and the fat guy jawed back and forth for several minutes. ER guy took a couple of long pulls off of a bottle of Michelob Ultra and finally called all-in with K-J. Both of his opponents tabled A-J. He was fucked until a King spiked on the river. ER guy jumped out of his chair. Cameras swooped in. Beers got spilled. One of the girls from Jerry Buss' harem curiously wandered over. The two players he busted were stunned by the sick beat. The fat guy lost his shit because wasn't going to rebuy. He was dunzo as the drunk ER guy raked in a pot worth over 55K.

My stack continued to shrink until I doubled up before the break. David Plastik had just busted from a different table and wandered over to talk to Nick. I had the small blind. Drunk ER guy limped. New guy to his left raised 1K. Nick popped him to 3K from the button. I woke up to A-A and shoved for 6K. Drunk ER guy slurred an eloquent speech before he folded. New guy asked the dealer which one of us was the button. With all the chips on our end of the table, the button was buried underneath. The dealer dug it out and he folded. Nick tanked. Without fail, the one time I have Aces and I'm in a hand with Nick, the camera crew took a break. He reluctantly called. I asked him if he had Jacks as I flipped over my Aces. He shook his head and tabled Kd-Jd. The flop was 10-7-8 rainbow. Fuck me.

"How about a nine," said Plastik as I flashed him my best version of the evil NYC stinkeye.

"Keep it low dealer," I said under my breath.

The turn was a blank. The river was a ten. The new guy smashed his hand on the table. He obviously folded A-10. Nick went silent as he pushed over some chips. I won a small hand before the break and found myself around 16K.

I opted not to rebuy. I made a couple of donations to Haiti earthquake relief, even though I technically had not worked since November. I skipped the rebuy and went downstairs for the duration of the break. My buddy Chicago Bob stopped by to sweat the event and I met up with Change100 who took a break from her cash game session. Michalski and I recorded an episode of Tao of Pokerati where I described the tournament area as a "room full of cliches." I used the rest of the break to jot down notes.

On one of the first hand back, we had major fireworks. A couple of players limped. The new guy raised on the button. The weatherman in the small blind agonized over a decision. He eventually shoved. Nick re-shoved from the big blind. The new guy insta-called.

New Guy: A-A
Weatherman: 10-10
Nick: K-K

The Aces held up (he actually made a four-flush). Last year's runner up was out, along with the weatherman. Both busto on the same hand. The new guy was over 60K in chips at that point while the drunk ER guy bitched, "Way to go. You just knocked out the pussy magnet."

That was the wisest thing he said all night. The starlets and busty Trishelle weren't stopping by to see us... they were there for Nick... well more for the cameras surrounding Nick.

Nothing happened for a level while the drunk ER guy continued to drink and the new guy bullied everyone around the table. Rene started making moves and chipped up. I increased my stack to 16K after I won a hand with 9-9. I opened in middle position with a raise. Five callers including drunk ER guy. Flop was 5-4-2. I shoved. Everyone bailed while drunk ER guy tanked and tanked. He begged me to show if he folded. I shrugged my shoulders and he folded anyway.

"Show! Show!"

Nope.

"You're now my enemy."

Awesome. Now, I knew that I could trap him with a big hand and I waited for a spot to re-steal against the new guy who kept 3-betting everyone preflop. Two players limped. New guy raised from the button for 2.2K. I re-raised for 7K without even looking at my hand. I had about 14K behind. He tanked and tanked and kept shaking his head. He looked like he wanted to re-raise and pulled out a couple of orange 5K chips, but he pulled those back and called my raise. As the dealer fanned out the flop, I peaked at my cards for the first time... Jd-9c. The flop was A-A-4 with two diamonds. I shoved. He asked for time and replayed the hand aloud. He counted up his chips and wondered how much he'd have if he lost. That told me he had diamonds. Now I definitely didn't want him to gamble, but perhaps he held 10d-9d and then my Jack-high would be good. He finally folded and said that he couldn't chase the draw. Who knows.

On the next hand, I woke up to Kings on the button. Guy in early position raised. New guy 3-bet him. I 4-bet him with my cowboys. He smooth called. The flop was K-x-x with two spades. He checked. I bet out and he folded Q-Q face up. He said that he almost 5-bet-shoved preflop. I wish he did.

On the very next hand, I found As-Js. Action folded to me. I raised. Rene defended his big blind. Flop was A-high with all hearts. Rene checked. I bet small and he folded. I was over 40K at that point after winning three consecutive hands.

Kirk Acevedo (you might remember him from such roles as Joe Toye in Band of Brothers) joined our table...


Joe Toye was with us for less than an orbit before we got into a hand together as the time approached Midnight with less than 400 players still remaining. Woman next to me opened for 2.5K. I called with Ah-Kh. Joe Toye called on the button and the blinds folded. The flop was 9h-5x-2h. Original raiser c-bet. I shoved and Joe Toye couldn't have said "I'm all in" fast enough.

Joe Toye flopped a friggin' set. Why else would he shove? Shiiiiiiiiiiit, I totally forgot about him in the hand. Joe Toye had me covered by a few thousand. The woman next to me folded Ace-rag (sans hearts). I flipped over Ah-Kh. If my big draw hit, then I'd pass the 100K mark. And if I whiffed? Then I was heading to the sports bar with Fun Warren.

Joe Toye tabled 9-9 as expected and begged the dealer for no hearts. The turn was a baby heart to Toye's dismay, and I took the lead... temporarily. Toye still had outs if the board paired. The river? 5h. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck me. Out in 390th place or so.

"At least I got busted by Joe Toye," I said as I shook his hand.

Toye smirked and said thanks. He put my chips to good use and ended Day 1 fifth overall with 163K. Some dude named Otis held the lead with over 242K. Sportscenter alum Rich Eisen also finished in the Top 5 in chips. And Snake from Wicked Chops Poker? He remarkable finished in the Top 10 only hours before he was supposed to run a marathon in Pasadena. He was among the media colleagues who survived the cut including WhoJedi and Matt Waldron. Riki Lake, Trishelle, the dude from Mallrats, and Drunk ER guy were the celebs who advanced to Day 2.

The apocalypse is rapidly approaching. Trishelle advanced to the final table of the WPT Celebrity Invitational. Cue the raining frogs.

Many thanks to Matt Savage for the invite. I hope that I can sneak in again next year.


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.

The WPT Celebrity Invitational, Part 1: Welcome to Hollyweird

By Pauly
Los Angeles, CA

What a long strange trip it's been.

Robert Hunter penned that lyric in a well-known Grateful Dead song. I often find myself uttering those words when I find myself in unbelievable and ephemeral situations... like Saturday night as I walked into Commerce Casino to play in the WPT Celebrity Invitational.

"Look," cried Michalski. "William Hung is here."

All I saw was the back of an Asian man with an orange shirt.

"Dude, it's Commerce," I explained to my gawking colleague. "There's probably at least a dozen guys in here who look like William Hung. Stop being one of those racist Texans."

Just as I finished my sentence, the Asian man in the orange shirt turned around. Shit. It was William Hung. I quickly apologized to Michalski.

"He's the most famous person I've seen here," Michalski said as Bobby Bellande scribbled down an autograph from an elderly fan wearing a white hat with a Lexus logo.

I caught Jerry Yang out of the corner of my eye. I quickly tweet'd that I spotted Hung and Yang. I'm sure somewhere out there in the annals of the adult entertainment industry that Hung and Yang has to be the title of a really really bad low-frills tit flick.

Change100 overheard a bit of Jerry Yang's conversation with his guest, "Oh man. I should have probably worn my bracelet."

Probably so. That's the kind of petty shit that matters in Hollywood... what kind of car do you drive... what brand of watch do you have on your wrist... who are you fucking.... where do you work out... who is your agent... where do you get your cocaine... all of those seemingly annoying questions cause many micro-celebrities to hyperventilate at the thought of not having a cool and hip answer to that question.

I fuckin' love Hollywood for the absurdity and plasticity. Stephen Elliot, author of The Adderall Diaries, wrote that L.A. is the perfect place to be discovered and hide out simultaneously. I'm paraphrasing here... but since everyone in the City of Angels is desperately seeking attention, all you have to do is stand still and you'll disappear. That's one of the most accurate description of L.A. and Hollywood that I've come across. Elliot simply summed up one the main reasons why I migrated to the left coast and settled down in La-La Land -- it really is easy to disappear within the city limits and become invisible. Lost in the shuffle.

All I had to do was stand still at Commerce to harness my powers of invisibility... which is something I actually prefer to do most of the time. As a writer, I obtain better material when I can be the fly on the wall and record what I see anonymously. On Saturday night, I was surrounded by poker's aristocracy and a bevy of familiar faces in the entertainment industry. Some of the Hollywooders were genuine poker enthusiasts, while a bunch of them just loved the distinction of being a "celebrity" which entails walking the red carpet and having their photos snapped by paparazzi. For those seeking the warmth and adulation of being famous, it doesn't matter if it's Paris Hilton's dog's birthday party or a poker tournament, because they'll show up to anything if they think it will make them look cool.

The fabrication of cool. I can write a book about that. Hey, I'm not trying to put down Hollywood or poker. I'm just calling it like it is. I've carved out a good life for myself because of my ability to fabricate "cool" within the poker industry. Some of your favorite poker pros that you see on TV are among the most immoral twats in the universe, but I'm very good at hiding their secrets and whitewashing their sordid past, sort of like how the White House press corp maintained a wall of silence during JFK's short reign. Bill Clinton got nailed for getting his cock sucked by one chubby intern. God knows the field day that today's voracious gossip hounds would have while lapping up fodder about Jack Kennedy's nightly beaver hunting trips.

While the pretty people of Hollywood and the titans of the poker industry rubbed shoulders upstairs in the tournament room, the unwashed masses on the gaming floor barely noticed the Gatsby-esque scenes raging above them. The Commerce Casino, like many regional casinos, generate their income on the degeneracy of locals. If you have never set foot inside Commerce, let me tell you, the facility is massive with dozens of rooms connected to each other with hordes of crazy Asian gamblers. The casino floor reeks of desperation, body odor, and Korean BBQ. At least Vegas has a semblance of normalcy (CUT TO... a young family on vacation pushing a stroller through the Bellagio flower observatory) and a sense of revelry (CUT TO... a rabid pack of frat boys chugging Jager Bombs at a black jack table). But sometimes, taking a stroll through Commerce at 2am is sort of like making the rounds at an insane asylum.

I never thought that I'd ever get a chance to play in a WPT event, yet somehow that's what happened. I'm used to being on the media side of major events, so this rare experience was sort of like the help getting invited to the feast.

Flashback to 2006. I made the final table of the L.A. Poker Classic media event and the winner's trophy sat on the far end of the table. Fredrick Remington, aka the cowboy sculptor, designed the trophy. I didn't care about the trophy as much as winning the media tournament. First place earned a seat into the WPT Celebrity Invitational and I wanted a shot. The WPT was the shit back in 2006 and the Invitational was one of the most popular events on the tour. Man, I was so close to getting a seat because with three players to go, I held the chiplead. The other two players were a local newspaper columnist and pro Barbara Enright. I suffered a couple of bad beats and busted in third place courtesy of Babs, who by the way, was a ringer! Oh well, it's not every day you get eliminated by the only female to make a final table of the WSOP Main Event. I was pissed off but honored. Anyway, that was my one shot at the WPT Invitational and I missed.

Flash forward to 2010. Matt Savage, tournament director extraordinaire, is running the show at Commerce including their highly popular L.A. Poker Classic tournament series. The LAPC also included two events in conjunction with the WPT... the $10,000 championship event and the Celebrity Invitational. Savage extended a couple of seats to a few of us in the media. It was an awesome gesture and demonstrates why Savage is one of the most popular figures in poker.

It wasn't officially official until I checked in at the desk. I always have a moment of panic when the person with the list flips through pages in search of my name. Yep. I was indeed invited and they handed me two wristbands; a black band with my table and seat assignment written in a silver Sharpie, and a grey band for my +1 guest. I gave Change100 her +1 wristband and headed upstairs to the free bar and swanky buffet spread. The first person I spotted was Thor Hansen, the Godfather of Scandi poker. Did he want any side action on the rest of the Olympics? I'll bet against any Scandis in any event except the biathlon.

I arrived at the heart of cocktail hour. The key to surviving these in Hollywood is to drink heavily and surround yourself with a couple of your friends so you can stand in a circle and make other adjacent circles highly uncomfortable by laughing uncontrollably. Nothing freaks out Hollywood hipsters than someone having a better than than themselves. I circled the wagons with Parvis, Change100, Laney, and Michalski as a sullen Eskimo Clark walked by us in slow motion. He clutched an unlit cigar that I saw him bum off of someone in the hallway before he wandered towards the buffet. Eskimo did not have a players' wristband, rather a grey spectators' band wrapped around his hairy wrist as he piled his plate with chicken satay before he disappeared into a crowd, ignoring the wine-induced conversation around him.

I devoured a couple of tepid yet tasty Kobe meatballs... passed on the prawns because as a rule of culinary thumb, I avoid shellfish inside casinos... watched Karina Jett bust Michalski's balls for posting erroneous info on Pokerati... wondered if Joe Stapleton's +1 was a Craigslist hooker or a Russian mail order bride... and then I hopelessly attempted to make eye contact with Tia Carrere, the object of Wayne's obsession in Wayne's World, a flick popular among Gen-X stoners such as myself.

Instead of linking up with Tia, I stood face-to-face with... William Hung.

I don't pester people for photos, but this was a rare opportunity to make a few friends of mine in the music industry chuckle. William Hung politely agreed to be photographed. I think he was happy that someone noticed him as he wandered around the buffet area in a slight daze with not a soul paying attention to him. Nothing against Hung, but he's the byproduct of one of the worst facets of the sensationalistic media after the producers on American Idol aired his horrendous audition when he butchered Ricky Martin's smash hit She Bangs.


Hung went on to record an album because of his astronomically high Q-rating buoyed by the trainwreck value of his atrocious singing. The freak is far more entertaining than the melodious voices of the best amateurs because the current American past time is reveling in the dismay of others. Fifty years ago, you usually had to do something good or accomplish a noteworthy achievement to draw attention in the press. These days? Just do something stupid, moronic, or retarded and you'll achieve immortality on YouTube.

A bunch of people in the tournament room fell into that category, while the majority of the other celebrity players were hard-working actors constantly worrying about their next job. I couldn't tell you the names of dozens of somewhat familiar faces that I came across. In my notebook, I scribbled down things like "the dude from Freaks & Geeks" or "Wil Smith's brother in the Fresh Prince" or "Joe Toye from Band of Brothers."

I discovered a pecking order among actors. Many of them loathe reality TV stars. I overheard a couple of snarky comments at my table about fame and reality TV. But these days, the lines in Hollywood have been blurred. Sometimes it's hard to distinguish between the two. With that said, the meatheads and the spray-tanned orange chick from The Jersey Shore were not in attendance, which meant that I'd have to find some other celebs du jour to mooch drugs from.

To be continued...