I might try to wax philosophical, find the subtext, the underlying thematic guts of the Bash at the Boathouse. In the meantime, I'll note the decadence.
Playing High Card Out of the Muck with Pauly is about as -EV a game as one is about to encounter. The stakes eventually settled at $20 (theoretically, you know, if we were making actual felonious bets) and The Doctor pulled Aces as often as The Rooster talks to women, which is to say, constantly.
Sometimes, when beer and poker and a less than strict adherence to card integrity come together in a perfect storm, you get Kat and Maudie in a raising war on the river of an O8 hand, with both holding the nuts. High and Low. Yes, we had two aces of spades and two threes of spades in our deck.
Tripjax was Epic on Friday night. I didn't think he was gonna last, his excitement and desire to trade shots with Reverend Al seeming to seal an early fate. Yet, he not only lasted but theoretically cashed in the theoretical poker tournament. An impressive feat. But every action has an equal and opposite reaction. In this case, Trip felt Super Human, as if he could repeat his feat the following night at the Bash. The over/under, set by BG said he was on his back by 11:15. He beat it by nearly two hours.
Bobby told me to keep an eye out for Gavin at the airport, since he was arriving about the same time as me. Oddly enough, I ran into him in Atlanta. We were both on the same flight to Philly. I was connecting there and he'd been in town for the Georgia Tech game ("We slaughtered it," he said). He also said he may or may not have been up all evening. All I know is, by the time I boarded and passed him in his Business Class seat, he was in a coma.
The Bracelet may have weakly surrendered his blind to Gavin throughout the whole tourney, but he did give Gavin a new word to play with. Wanna guess what it was?
Speaking of guessing games, when I push from the button 4-handed on the bubble, who do you think might wake up with Aces in the SB? As sure as the sun rises. So yeah, I bubbled. But before I did, I caught perfect-perfect to bust Lewey (it was a race, with all-in on the flop, but still a riviting moment. He flopped the set, I hit runner-runner straight. Norman Chad woulda soiled himself). I also got Gavin to call two grand on the river when I had a turned full house, a move I perfected by bluffing into him twice in previous encounters. Each of those times, he stared me down and called inside of a millisecond. I think I have a tell. One that goes away when I'm wasted.
You have not lived until you've drunk too much and talked Theology with The Doctor.
I made 11 wardrobe changes. Twelve if you count the shoes.
The locals were extremely helpful. I tried to ask for a Yuengling (when in Rome) and mangled the pronunciation badly and repeatedly until Al took me aside, patted me on the head like a simpleton and said, "Just ask for a 'Lager.'" That I can do. That I did do. For about 36 hours.
At no point in the festivities did I ask humans of the female persuasion to exhibit their mammary glands in my direction for the promised reward of Mardi Gras beads. I did, however, bare my own nipples at least twice to receive said beads.
When it was suggested that we go to a gas station to grab some late night (early morning) grub, I was skeptical. I was even less enthusiastic about the name: WaWa. But I dutifully assumed a seat in the packed shuttle van for the two block trek. And what I encountered on arrival was nothing less than a revelation. Hot sandwiches, made to order, with a plethora of condiments one would not expect to find in such an unassuming environment. Horseradish, roasted peppers and provolone thrown in with the roast beef, all of it ordered via computer, a fabulous benefit for us Internet Celebrities who don't like to talk to actual Humans, let alone gas station service workers. Mine was gone before we left the parking lot, which is surprising because I normally eat very slowly and am loathe to eat on the run lest I stain one of my fine, ironed garments. No higher compliment can be given to WAWA! And yes, having 14 bloggers descending upon the sleepy store like ravenous wolves was pretty funny, too, aside from the fact we also drew three police cars.
My major problem with these events is that I get so giddy that I rarely find time to stop and smell the roses. I feel like there's never enough time to spend with everyone and I'm forever bouncing from group to group and living in that unique moment. I regret not talking more to some of the new people I met, like slb, a long-time supporter of this here blog and a nice guy who I managed to make fun of almost immediately (and I should note here that it's only when I STOP making fun of people that they should worry about my positive feelings about them). Like Karol and Dawn who seriously fucking crack me up. Like brdweb who can certainly teach me a thing or 11 about crushing the online tourneys.
But there's just not enough time. My ADD kicks in after about 4 beers. Between 4 and 10, I'm a Giddiot. After 10, there's no telling. After two days in Malvern, PA, I was beyond sense. Even so, the smile--you know the one, you've seen the pics--is not alcohol-induced. It's the pure enjoyment of the people around me: drizz with his sign requesting that he only be served water from then on out. Brandon filling our beer pong glasses with beer AND gin. Blood stridently lifting me a good four feet off the floor with one arm. Gus and Platkat inspiring a dial-a-shot to April that I could neither hear nor adjudicate, beyond the fact I slammed my beverage. Kat not having enough goddamned tattoos. Carter, Brandon and Gavin belting out The Killers like it was karaoke night in West Hollywood.
It took me 14 hours to get there. Twenty to get home. I'd hop on a plane tomorrow if I had the chance to do it again.