Funny … I’m sitting on the little porch off my bedroom in Slight Southwest Vegas, facing the Rio actually … Luxor beam at about 1 o’clock. It’s a beautiful night — cool ’70s and still. I know it’s only Day 1, and guys like Pauly and Cali Jen’s roommate Aaron are still there, catching the end of opening day to see who’ll be fighting for the money tomorrow in the $10k Pot-Limit Hold’em World Championship of the Planet in the Empire. I’ll bet there are some names we recognize and some we don’t.

Anyhow — it’s so nice outside, and instead of chips clicking I hear crickets chirping, so I figured I’d catch up on emails (mine was down all day), comment on some blogs, etc. … and the guy two houses down just pulled into his driveway aggressively, and got out of the car talking on the phone. Apparently he’s a poker player, and just got back from some tournament: “I finished 2nd,” he’s saying, “yeah, I pushed with pocket 10s. He thought about it for a long time and at that point I was ready to race, but he called and had pocket jacks.”

He’s still outside talking … “No, I’m not trying to be gay but your feet are so cute in those … It’s so funny because … uh-huh … I enjoy it … I absolutely love that, and you wouldn’t have to worry … no … uh-huh … yeah, it’s so funny because I wasn’t even looking for it … Right, everybody’s different, and I got so fucking excited … I do everything I can for you … right, pocket jacks.”

UPDATE: “You’re so fucking hot. You’re an absolute knockout … no, totally sober … and you’re short, which I love.”