Chung-chung

After a pleasant weekend of playing tour guide to two of the most down-to-earth people on the face of the planet, I found myself Sunday evening suiting up to spend a long sober evening surrounded by the entire cast of every Law & Order ever made. Yes, folks, it was time once again for the Entertainment Weekly Oscar viewing party at Elaine's. (For those of you unaware of this shindig, it's one of the big New York parties during the Oscars.)

Would this year's event produce a sketching Tony Bennett or a ranting and raving Joan Collins? In a word, no.

There were no surprise fireworks this year. Sorry. But the number of celebrities seems to increase exponentially. And Elaine's is going to have to build an extra room just for the Law & Order people if they expect to continue hosting this thing.

So I arrive. I walk up the red carpet. Oddly enough, flashbulbs don't start going off and microphones aren't shoved into my face. Imagine that. If only these people knew my potential. As I reach the table to sign in, the flashes start going off and there is a bit of noise behind me. Mariska Hargitay. Go figure. So it begins. I sign in, make my way into the room and do a walk around.

Interestingly, the first celeb I see inside is Katie Holmes. This throws me off for two reasons. One, she's tall. She always looks tiny on TV and in movies. But she's tall. Second, she's never had a part on Law & Order.

I walk by my table to see who I'll be sitting with. I'd been tipped off by a source deep inside EW that I'd be sharing a table with Donnie Wahlberg, Kurt Loder, and John Norris. If you think about it, John and Kurt represent the glory days of MTV and Donnie (via NKOTB) can be seen as the first sign of the downfall. Or not. At any rate, I wanted to see if there were any surprises at my table. And lo and behold, Carol Alt would be dining with us. There were other folks at the table, but since you people are only interested in celebrities and celebrities only, I won't sully your experience with names that don't usually warrant bold-facing.

At this point, it was 6:30. Dinner was supposed to start at 7, I knew no one there, and the place was starting to fill up. Elaine's is small. It fills up quickly. The tables for this event are jammed on top of one another. There are many, many elbows and serving trays flying about.

And I was sober.

So I went to the bar and grabbed a glass of cranberry juice. I swear that after a weekend of staying sober while staying out past two, I've had so much cranberry juice I'll never have to worry about a urinary tract infection.

After securing my cranberry juice, I walked toward open space near the back of the restaurant and noticed Carol Alt and her friend Melanie Bonvicino already seated. I was bumped again by a passing someone--not even a celebrity, mind you--so decided to sit. And there I was. Melanie, a publicist, was up and down throughout the early going, perhaps working the room. Carol didn't budge much. She was extremely pleasant. Despite my behavior in such venues, I'm still at a point where celebrity still has some sway over me and I expect certain behavior, especially from model/actresses. You know ... bitchiness, snobbery, hitting people in the face with cell phones. That sort of thing. But Carol turns out be a fireman's daughter from Queen's county and about as down to earth as one could expect. She even told me to switch place settings with someone who hadn't arrived yet so we could hear one another better.

At this point, Kurt Loder and John Norris and their people were standing around our table, not quite ready to sit. But that changed as people started pouring in. Liza Minelli. Christopher Meloni. Regis. Diane Neal. Joan Collins. Ice T. Seeing the pattern here? I swear at one point, I saw the ghost of Jerry Orbach ordering a scotch at the bar.

There were pounds and pounds, possibly tons, of celebs in the place, but I can't be bothered to name them all. Oh, for you people who like guys who play creeps, Sam Rockwell was there. For the musically minded, we had Mya. (And I swear Meg White was there, but as evidenced by other posts, I'm not the best person to be asking about musicians who are currently producing music.) And Alan Cumming. And who else? Oh, I can't remember. That's the problem with being sober at an event. Your mind is aware of everything, takes it all in and, eventually gets overloaded and starts to shed things. It's sort of like being drunk, but without the buzz, the false courage, the enhanced wit and the hangover.

At the table immediately behind me, were sitting: Meloni, Richard Belzar, Joey Pants, and Chazz Palmienteri. Across the way was what I'd call the kid's table, including Vanessa Carlton and Anne Hathaway, tall, beautiful and very shy looking. She was with someone I'd imagine to be her boyfriend. I bet he's a jerk.

Throughout the event, my table remained mostly sober and subdued (with one exception). Donnie and his publicist were drinking soda and water (Mr. Wahlberg apparently had to be up at 5 a.m. to shoot a pilot). Kurt and John were across the table and obscured by a flower arrangement (a lovely flower arrangement, if I may say so). The goomba table behind me, though? Those guys were living it up. Almost made me want to drink.

And the exception? A slightly drunk writer for MTV news who let me in on the secret that writing for TV anchors sucks, because you do all the god damn work and they get all the credit.

The woman was obviously in a mood to rant, but I didn't help things at all. Even when I'm sober I can manage to make boneheaded comments. This went down after dinner, after the crowd started thinning. Carol Alt and Melanie had left. As had Donnie and his publicist. And the EW reporter (who shall remain nameless because we journalists protect our own... heh) who had been sitting to my left was off somewhere doing her job. So the MTV writer and I start chatting and she asks me where my friend had run off to. I replied that I actually didn't have a friend with me, as journalists didn't rate a Plus One.

"Well, I'm a journalist," she said. "Really?" I asked. "Who do you work for?" She replied, "MTV." At which point, I found myself saying, "Yeah, but that's MTV," which of course pissed her off. "What's that supposed to mean. You don't think I'm a."

"No, no, no," I countered, saving myself. "I mean, MTV has better street cred. Trade magazines don't rate a Plus One."

"Well, we got Plus Ones," she said, daring me to point out the fact that if this was the case, she was Kurt Loder's Plus One as she didn't have anyone else with her. But I kept my pie-hole shut on that account. Besides, she wanted to vent and talk shop, obviously mistaking me for someone who gets passionate about getting scoops and breaking news and other such journalistic silliness. It was a weird moment, because in her I could see a drunken Ken on one of his rants about his work life. So I didn't judge her harshly. She seemed, underneath it all, nice enough.

As far as the show itself? Chris Rock went over well with the audience. They enjoyed his actor bashing and, especially, his Bush bashing, even if it was based on the fantasy film Farenheit 9/11. They even enjoyed the "man on the street" interviews Rock conducted at the Magic Johnson Theater--you know, the interviews that seem to have confounded all the critics, the old, white, clueless critics. Everyone thought that having an entire category of nominees on stage or giving awards out in the audience was stupid. But unlike some of the critics who think technical guys and little guys should get their due, the crew at Elaine's, being mostly actors, gave the impression that they wouldn't mind seeing those awards go away entirely--because movies are written, funded, directed and edited by magic and it is the actors who make it so.

I think the biggest criticism of the night was for Hillary Swank's overly long speech. I personally wondered why all this trailer park mythology hadn't come up the last time around, but hey, that's just me. I ran into Joey Pants in the men's room shortly after her speech and he commented, "Jesus, who was she going to thank next? Her realtor." Funny guy.

And that was about it. Things simmered down. My friend Sarah, who'd been slaving away for days on this event for EW and had, like the other EW events and PR staff, been on her feet in high heels for hours, managed to sit down for a bit. And after it was over, I headed over to Rathbone's across the street with the EW staff. There, they apparently forgot that a) they had a gossip columnist in their midst and b) he was sober. And because they were cool enough to ignore that, I'm not giving up any details. (In truth, nothing of any interest happened, except drunk people giving me a hard time about being sober.)

I got home shortly after 3 and tore into the gift bag. The gift bag? No comment. All I'm going to say is that people who throw these parties seriously need to hire some straight guys to help fill these damn things. I can be metrosexual up to a point, but girl's jeans and fingernail polish are of no use to me. And what a cruel, cruel joke to put a little bottle of vodka in there.

And that's it. Not nearly as exciting as the first year. A little better than last year. One thing I did learn, though, is that at the current rate, by next year every citizen in the U.S. is going to be a cast member on a Law & Order show.

Waimea Break

by Ken Wheaton

I'm sitting on a wet rock somewhere near Waimea Bay, pouring beer on my feet. For some reason, it makes perfect sense to me. And when it's empty, I'll probably stumble up the broken steps, sneak into the house and bash the bottle over my little brother's head.

He'd been calling me Francis all night. "Hey, Francis, tell 'em about the time you got the DUI." "Hey, Francis, what about the time you wet yourself on the playground." "Francis, what about the time you thought that tranny was a real woman."

Payback, I guess, for all those years of my friends and me smacking him around. And, really, it's harmless, something he does when we're both drunk and he just wants to get my goat.

"Hey, get me another beer Francis."

"It's Frankie ... you ... uhhh. Shut up, jerk." Same thing every time. A name like Jarvis just doesn't lend itself to that kind of game now that we're well beyond an age where "retardus" makes for a snappy comeback.

So, yeah, my goat's been gotten.

Of course this has little to do with the Francis bit and more to do with the rest of the weekend. Mr. Hotshot Navy Pilot and his Beautiful Nurse Girlfriend decided to get married at the last minute and expected family to attend. Most of the time, I can't seem to make a relationship work past three months and these two have been together for six weeks and they're putting all their chips on the table, their initials on the bath towels. Jarvis and Janice? I mean, c'mon. And they expect us to fly out to paradise to watch them cement their bonds with suck-face all weekend?

Still, I like to think of myself as a good brother. So, like a good brother, I unhitched myself from my office desk and left a cold, rainy New York October for Oahu. My mom, who did her best to guilt me into coming, flew out from Louisiana. Worse, so did my dad. Worse still, they've been divorced for 30 years, so upon hearing my dad was coming, my step-dad felt a pressing need to round out the merry band. As if shuffling alongside my old man—slower than Droopy Dog on Valium—through the Dole plantation wasn't bad enough on it's own. But having him stage-whisper to the step-dad, "Hey, John you think they have enough Japanese people in this place?" then having John answer back, pretending that they're just two good old-fashioned American best buds, "No shit, huh? Tell you what, Henry, might be a good time to Pearl Harbor their asses since they're all over here." Well, that's just pineapple icing on the cake.

And to top it all off, Jarvis and Janice decided the best way to celebrate their nuptials, instead of going on a honeymoon like normal people, would be to sequester us all in a big house on the North Shore, where we can watch the happy couple be happy, watch my dad try to convince himself that he is, watch my mom and step-dad pretend they're okay with my dad being there, watch Janice's side of the party try to make sense out of our side. As if.

No surprise that the alcohol is flowing smoothly.

So at the moment, I've got numerous pains in my ass, the rock I'm sitting on among the least of them. And don't think that's not pissing me off, either. All those people in the movies? Sitting on rocks as the ocean crashes around them? Big blissed out smiles on their faces? Bullshit, I say. The salty spray I find annoying. The waves are simply taunting me, making my feet itch and hurt, reminding me that despite a couple of successful attempts at surfing on Long Island, I was in no way ready for the North Shore—that rock shelf in particular. And sand? Forget it. Sure, beaches would be paradise—if you could suction all the sand off of them.

I should have brought a hemorrhoid cushion. But since I've been out here for five beers, my butt is numbing up some. And clouds have started to skid in across the sky. Some people might complain about the clouds, but nothing frightens a New Yorker more than being faced with too many stars at once. It almost doesn't concern me that the tide's coming in and my rock's now surrounded by water. I'll have to wash the beer off my feet anyway. I'll probably get attacked by a shark when I make my way back. No. Too glorious and gruesome. I'll step on a rusty hook and die of lock jaw, forced to go to my pathetic death, silent in the dying of the light.

I hear giggling on the stairs behind me and look over my shoulder. It's the happy couple, going for a happy walk on happy beach on happy island.

"Hey, Francis," Jarvis shouts. "What the hell you doing out on that rock?"

"Getting drunk in peace," I answer.

He pauses a bit. "Well, don't fall in, Frankie," he finally says. Frankie. Hmph. Now he's being sensitive? I know what he thinks. He thinks I'm out here moping about Sadie. As if.

I'll say this much about Hawaii, it's 100% Sadie free. No Sadie sightings. No Sadie voice. No Sadie scent. No Sadie sitting at my favorite bar—MY BAR—as if she owns the place. No blinding rage. No blinding tears. No blinding encounters with the green-eyed monster of true envy.

To be honest, this low-level jealousy I'm feeling toward Jarvis is probably the healthiest emotion I've felt in weeks. And it's an all-around jealousy at that.

I was the one who wanted to be a Navy pilot when I was a kid. And who's the Navy pilot? Jarvis.

But, yes, I admit that I smoked and drank myself so damn stupid in high school my ASVAB scores would have qualified me for nothing more than bed-pan changer-second class in a third-world torture chamber.

After the pilot thing went down in flames, I wanted to be a marine biologist and live in a tropical paradise. And who's living in Hawaii? Jarvis.

Literally, my first thought on seeing the view from the airport was "This is ridiculous." Fly into New York and you're confronted with noise, honking cabs, parking garages, foreign-speaking cab drivers, smog and a view of absolutely squat. Fly into Hawaii and just beyond the parking garage are mountains and tropical forests? What the hell is that about?

But, again, smoke and drink your way out of science and into liberal arts, there's only a few cities big and stupid enough to pay you a decent wage.

"Well, look at it this way Frankie," my mom once said. "Your brother's risking his life in that contraption just to pay his way through college. And you? They don't even have muggings in New York anymore. At least you're safe."

Yeah, that made me feel better. I want to impress people, I have to lie and tell them I live in Bushwick or Bed-Stuy. Even there, the hipsters are spreading like some hairy, white disease.

And then, one day, my office building was destroyed while I lay in bed "sick" because I'd stayed up late drinking through the Giants-Viking games.

And who ends up being one of the first called up to exact the righteous revenge called for after that particular horror? Go on. Guess.

So, shit. Jarvis deserves it. Jarvis deserves Janice and Jarvis deserves Hawaii.

Hell, I think what I'm most jealous of at times is that he got to do something while all I did was switch to an office slightly higher uptown. Biggest hardship I've faced since then, aside from a panic attack or two on the subway, is having to listen to the usual suspects slip right back into the old patterns.

Sadie turned out to be one of those.

Nine great months that had to be too good to be true. I was, for once, telling myself I deserved it. Oh, I deserved it all right. Found that out when September rolled around again. We were walking, hand in hand, by a makeshift memorial in Union Square. Candles flickered beneath the photos of firemen and office workers, folks who'd quite literally been returned to the dust from which they came. And out of her mouth comes: "God, I wish they'd just get over it."

"Excuse me?" I pulled my hand back and hoped, if only for a moment, she was talking about the protestors. But no.

"Blu-blu-blu. All this crying. It happened two years ago. Get on with life. Not like we were innocent anyway."

I tried to tell myself that Sadie moved to New York after it happened. She was younger, not too long out of grad school, her head full of the crap they taught the rest of us. She hadn't lost six of her close friends while sleeping off a hangover in Brooklyn. Maybe I was just being an old crank, I told myself.

But, obviously she'd decided the grace period had ended. She could be her true self, whatever that was.

I was having none of it. And she was having none of me having none of it. Next thing I know, I come back early from work one night and catch her making out on the couch with a guy wearing a Che Guevara t-shirt.

And that's about where my brain, thank God, shuts down. I'm in Hawaii. I'm on a rock. The biggest worry I have right now is getting pinched on the ass by a crab. I'm on beer number six. I've got two more in my pockets. God bless America and God bless cargo pants. The empties, I've been putting in a bag sharing the rock with me. I'm half expecting to fly into a rage at some point and do my bit to contribute to someone else's beach glass collection. But so far, I've been a model of environmentalism.

I stare out at the horizon and I can just make out the chalk lines of waves breaking. I was out there today, getting beaten senseless by nature while my coworkers sat at their desks, twenty-five floors up in a slate-gray sky half a world away, banging on their keyboards like monkeys trying to get a morsel out of an uncooperative fruit.

The clouds open up a bit, showing a few stars and a bit of the moon. Somewhere to my left, Jarvis and his bride are making out in the sand. Behind me, my dad, mom, step-dad and Janice's people are playing dominoes and drinking. They're slapping the dominoes down hard enough for me to hear the clacks over the surf. I'm getting a little drowsy.

"Hey, hot stuff!"

"Holy sh" is about all I get out before I slip off the rock and under the water. It's only waist deep, but it's such a shock that I lose my beer before coming up for air.

"Oh, my god! You okay?" she says, offering me one hand, while she covers her mouth with the other, laughing herself silly. In my panic, I move past her hand and go right for my rock, succeeding only in sending the empties splashing into the water.

"Son of a bitch." I start flailing about, trying to grab the bottles.

She grabs my arm. "It's okay. Chalk it up to beach glass."

Standing up straight and catching my breath, I realize just how drunk I am. I'm drunk and she's standing there smirking at me, Janice's best friend, the maid of honor, Bernie, my supposed automatic hookup. We've said about fifty words to one another since we've been here. I didn't even bother trying.

A shout rings out from the beach house. "Well God Damn! Look at the size of that thing." Followed by laughter. "What IS it?" Screams. "Looks like a roach gone wrong." More laughter and screams. "It's a centipede. Kill it." Furniture being shoved aside. "Somebody get my gun. We gonna eat good tonight."

There's part of the problem. Even my sharpest game with the ladies can't cut through that sort of cheese. But that's only a small part. Bernie no doubt has equally embarrassing family somewhere back home. For all I know, she's grown past considering such behavior humiliating and here I am, at 35, acting like a red-eared 15-year-old because my folks had the gall to get drunk and enjoy themselves.

All that aside, I've just never had luck with Louisiana girls. They just don't seem to get me.

"Uh, hello? Frank? You okay?"

Real slick. I'd zoned out. And zoned out while staring directly at her breasts, held high in skimpy bikini top and glistening under the stars. Thank God her ass is under water at the moment. I don't think I could handle it all at once. I might be self-absorbed, but I'm not dead.

I regain what little composure is left to me. "Yeah. Sorry. I'm a little drunk, I guess." I look at her eyes. Maybe it's paranoia, but she seems to be studying me. "And you scared the hell out of me, too."

She smiles. "Well, if staring at my tits makes you feel better."

"I, uh. Well."

"It's okay. I paid good money for them," she says and clambers up onto the rock, her gym shorts clinging. My head spins a little and I don't know if she's joking or not.

A little voice in my head, my midnight in New York voice, says "Well, it was too dark to see the color of your eyes." What comes out of my mouth is, "No I wasn't."

"Whatever. Climb aboard." She pats the rock next to her.

As I climb up, I start to notice the pain in my back. "Jesus, I must have scraped half the skin off my back when I fell off the rock."

"Sorry, sport," she says. "But with that sunburn you had, it was just going to peel off anyway."

I sit down, out of breath. The sky is completely open now, the stars practically within touching distance.

"All these stars," I say. "I feel like I'm being watched."

"I don't know about the stars, but your mom is probably spying on us right now."

I can feel my ears going red again. "Well, maid of honor, best man, all of that noise. I think we're contractually obligated."

"Yeah, well, I'm not a trained psychiatrist, but," she says.

"Yeah you are," I say. It's about the only thing I've learned about her all weekend.

"Oh, that's right. I am. But from where I'm sitting, it looks like someone who shall remain nameless has some serious gal issues."

Well, there goes all that I guess. At least it removes the pressure to perform. "That obvious, huh?"

"Only a broken-hearted narcissist would think getting drunk on a rock as the tide came up made any kind of sense." She falls silent for a bit, looks over at me and picks a bit of rock off of my back. "Then again, I could be projecting."

"You, too?" That hadn't even occurred to me.

"Hadn't occurred to you, had it? You're the extra-special kind of narcissist. So self-absorbed, you can't even imagine someone else being self-absorbed, much less broken-hearted."

"Well, hell. Guess I should have paid more attention."

"That's okay," she says. "Only reason I noticed you was because you were on my rock."

We both lift our feet out of the water and consider them for a moment.

"Hey, Francis, I hope you two have protection," Jarvis shouts from the beach.

"Awwww, look at them. They're so cute together," Janice adds.

They both find this immensely funny and walk off hand-in-hand, laughing the whole way.

"God, look at them," I say.

"I know. Disgusting."

I sneak a peak at her out of the corner of my eye.

"If there's one consolation, the locals probably hate them," she adds.

"Well, at least they're happy," I hear myself saying.

"For now," she says. "For now."

We both look out at the water in silence for a bit.

"So are those beers in your pocket are you just happy to see me?" she asks.

The voice in my head, the New York voice, says "A little of both" and when she laughs and says "Simmer down, pal" I realize I said it out loud.

"Well, now they're warm. And they'll probably explode when you open them."

"Well, half a warm flat beer is better than none," she says.

So I open them and, sure enough, we end up wearing half the beer. Of course, we drink it anyway. It's not half bad.

"So you were sitting on this rock all alone. What were you thinking about, Francis?" she asks, leaning into me with her shoulder.

"You mean other than myself?"

"Yeah," she says. "If that's possible."

From the beach house, we hear Janice scream, then a life-time's worth of laughter. I don't have to be in there to know that either John or Henry has just thrown the centipede at her.

"As a matter of fact, I was just sitting here thinking what a beautiful place Hawaii is," I say.

"Uh huh," she says.

"What?" I ask.

"Oh, nothing," she says and puts her head on my shoulder. I can feel her hair sticking into the scratches on my back, but who am I to complain?

Poker night with a few close friends

So now that I've paid service to my masters and the column is in print, I feel at liberty to regale you with the tale of how I became the Grand Prize Winner in Lotus and The Borgata Hotel Casino & Spa's First Annual NYC Poker Championship.

This all came about when a coworker was invited to the event by someone at Absolut, one of the sponsors. She figured I might get something there for my column and suggested we go. I said sure, not realizing that she'd actually sign me up to play. As I've said before, I'm not a gambling man. I have enough troubles with my alcoholism, the last thing I need to do is get involved with losing money on cards, horses, ponies or hooker fights.

And I'm particularly bad at Texas Hold 'Em. Prior to the event, I'd played once in real life with Karol, Jessica, Ari, Lisa and others. They trounced me. (But this was immediately after housing Jessica et. al in the chili cookoff so no big deal.) Other than that, the only time I've played Texas Hold 'Em was on my kid's gameboy during the Christmas break.

But I figured, what the hell. I won't be playing with my own money. I'll show up, get some free drinks, free food, get knocked out early and devote my efforts to eavesdropping or celebrity stalking. After all, that gossip column isn't going to fill itself up if I sit in my house downloading porn, now is it?

So we arrived at Lotus, my coworker and I, and I signed in and, drawing a blank on a worthy charity and figuring I was going to lose, I just wrote down American Red Cross. Then we started in on the free drinks. Normally a Jack Daniels man, I felt beholden to the event sponsor and decided to drink Absolut rocks for the duration. Serious poker players, of course, don't play drunk. A serious poker player, I ain't. And to prove this, I made my way to a back room where Borgata dealers were giving lessons in Texas Hold 'Em. This served to boost my confidence, not because they taught me anything the aforementioned girls hadn't already taught me, but because there were people asking questions like "Is a King a good thing?" and "So when's the Go Fish part happen?"

I then positioned myself near the kitchen door so I could grab all the good hors d'ouevres. There, my coworker and I ate meat on sticks and spring rolls, gossiped about other coworkers and came to the realization we had no idea who the folks were who had cameras and autograph seekers around them. (This happened with Irv Gotti, founder of Murder Inc.)

And then came time to play. I was at Table 15, upstairs, in the back. Seating was supposedly random, but I couldn't get over the feeling that I'd been stuck at the amateur table. Then my fellow players started showing up. One chomped on a cigar. Another was wearing leather pants and a poofy pirate shirt. Another sipped club soda from a champagne glass. And it was quite obvious they weren't there to dick around. There were 9 of us at this table. A total of 135 people were playing. Each started with $2,000 in chips. At the beginning of the action, blinds were $25 and $50.

I didn't bet for the first two hands. That's very unlike me, especially when playing with fake money and after I've had a few drinks in me. But they were crappy cards and I felt way out of my league. Then I started betting small. At one point I bet at the wrong time or did something that clearly marked me an amateur, because two of the serious guys smirked and shook their heads. The very next hand, I was dealt a couple of hearts. And the flop came up hearts. And, despite the booze, I became really, really nervous. And started betting. And won the hand, causing one of the serious guys to lean into the other guy and whisper "Can you believe that shit?"

Oh, if only he knew at that point how much shit there would be to be believed by the end of the night.

Then they broke us up. Nine losers had gone out at the downstairs table, so they sent us to the empty spots. I pulled up a c hair at my new table, sorted my chips and ordered another drink. I'll say this much about the drink service that night-it was a hell of a lot better than when you're playing the quarter slots at a reservation casino down in Louisiana. I was two hands in on the new table before I looked around to check out my new enemies. Among them was the actor Philip Seymour Hoffman and while I've found myself at dinner tables with Tony Bennett, Candace Bushnell, Joan Collins and Shannon Doherty, my first thought in these situations is still: "Hey, that's pretty damn cool." And then, "Don't stare." Eventually, though, Hoffman had to leave, as he was sitting in the presence of Pure Poker Talent Amazingly Stupid Luck.

Someone asked me last week the details of my hands, or of my winning hands. But I can't help anyone with that. After the first hour and a half, the night became a blur of colorful chips and clear liquor. At one point, I was shifted to another table.

Then it happened. The guy with the microphone said, "Ladies and gentleman, take a break, we'll be moving down to the last two tables."

There I was, one of the last 18 people. There was a television camera there. And folks started concentrating around those two tables. Usually, I might get nervous in a situation like that, but I had enough Absolut in me to quell any anxiety and, besides, I was in the zone. No, not the poker zone. Rather, the "this is just too fucking retarded" zone. Here I was, after expecting to last fifteen minutes tops, two and a half, three hours later at one of the last two tables. I'm sure I had a dopey grin going from ear to ear, just about to pop from being able to tell Karol and Dawn and Jessica and all those fools how good I'd done in the poker tournament.

And I saw the end was near. The guys at that second to last table cut into my chips pretty fast. As did the $5,000 blinds.

So I found myself with $9,000 in chips, a $5,000 blind and a 3 and a 4. I heard my inner Nick Nolte say, "Ahhhhh, fuck it." I went all in. Before the flop. I could literally hear the heads shaking behind me.

And I pulled a straight.

The guy on the mic, if I remember correctly, announced something to the effect of: "Oh, ladies and gentlemen, he takes the table after going all in on a 3 and 4."

And then, after being handed about seven pounds worth of chips, the last three of us were told to move it on over. To the last table. I was frantically trying to round up my chips. Feeling drunk. Feeling the pressure. Then one of the guys from Borgata came over-that night's equivalent of a pit boss, maybe-and said, "I'll take care of that sir."

For a split second, I squinted my eyes and bared my teeth and thought about saying, "Git yer filthy hands off my chips, boy." But I didn't. As it was, I'd already dropped one on the floor that went rolling off to god knows where and was thinking, "That could come back to bite me in the ass."

So it was to the last table. And there I found two of the card sharks from my very first table. And Chris Gotti. And some other guys. A couple of girls came and stood behind me. "We don't know who you are, but we're going to pull for you." I was flattered, but too drunk to care.

And I pulled another big hand. Then there were three, by which point, I had enough chips to sort of bully them out.

And that was it.

My dumb ass won the tournament. And a big fake check. And a little trophy. And a nine-seat poker table from Borgata, which I left at Lotus and have yet to pick up.

I made only a few drunken phone calls, mostly consisting of "Big Check" and "Can you believe this shit?" and "Holy fucking crap." Oh, yes, I'm nothing if not well-spoken during times of excitement. But really, you'da thought I'd won the Super Bowl or cured cancer or something.

I wish I could give the poker fans a clear picture of what went down, but it was all such a blur, partly because of the excitement, partly because I'm not a poker player and therefore wasn't keeping track of hands, and mostly because I was drunk. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised, if there's a tape of this, to find that I pulled a full house rather than a straight when I went all in on a 3 and a 4. All I know was that at the end of the night, I was staring at a pile of chips probably worth at least twice what I make in a year. I wouldn't know, though, because as the man once said, you never count your money, when you're sitting at the table. (But they didn't give me any time for countin' when the dealing was done.)

But that's the end of that story, well except for the bragging and the Page Six mention and taking up half my column with part of the story. So your humble, non-poker playing narrator bested the crowd.

All I know is that I've been wrangled, through work, into running the New York City Marathon this year and Hendrik Ramaala better watch his back.

Letter from Bob Martin, Board of Overseers

Southampton alumni are organizing in preparation for their meeting on Wed.,July 7@ 7 pm with LIU President David Steinberg and Southampton Provost Daniel Rodas.The message below is sent to you at the request of Southampton alum Bob Martin '68, who is a member of the Southampton College Board of Overseers.

Please respond directly to Bob Martin.

To all Southampton College alumni,
At the request of many classmates and others I am coordinating our preparation for the July 7th meeting.
I have selected three people to pose questions. I will do the introduction. If anyone has a reason why those selected may not be the best candidate please email me separately. This is not the time to hold back.
Everyone should forward targeted questions to the individual responsible.
For all others attending, I encourage you to let the designated speakers represent us. Only jump in if there is a critical point that is missed. Everyone needs to show good judgment and please hold the emotion. We certainly want the press to be on our side. They need to walk away with the feeling that this is a reasonable group with some very good points. As indicated, we will need four speakers to present our view. Each speaker will manage a topic. Each speaker will be responsible for questions in their segment. They should solicit the alumni and others for input.

The questions not only have to be targeted, relevant and to the point, they will need to be sequenced so the flow makes sense. I cannot emphasize strongly enough the need to make this a fact- finding event and not one of emotional outbursts. Below are the four segments I recommend and some thoughts as to what should be said.

1. Opening comments (Bob Martin'68 mrobert168@aol.com ): State objectives, our expectations, acknowledge that follow up will be required. It needs to be clear that we want the exact information, current and historical, that led them to this decision. We need to convey that we fully understand the need to keep LIU afloat is the Board of Trustees of LIU responsibility and that unless we see something that the Board overlooked, we are likely to come to the
same conclusion.
2. Governance (Michael Director'68 directorlaw@aol.com ): Who are the Board Members - explore the kind of conflict of interest that we have seen in the Corporate world. Look for explanation as to why key stakeholders were not informed until after the fact, including Southampton's own Board of Overseers for which he is a member. Was the timing and method of the announcement responsible? It seems to me that a lot of people lost money, if not reputation, in the way this was done. What federal and state funding does the school receive? If it does, what responsibility did it have to the community? Mickey this will be a delegate area and one that will require some balance.
3. Financial Management (Peter Saros'71 petersaros@yahoo.com ): Bottom line is we want to find out: how bad the situation is; how did it get this way; what management decisions were taken to correct this over the years, what executive changes were made to correct his problem? Explain the restructuring programs that were implemented. What are the key performance indicators for the college and how do they compare with others? Why can other long island colleges make money but Southampton cannot? Why wasn't the new program given a chance to work, considering the amount donated and invested over the last 12 months?
4. Problem resolution (Peter Phillip'67; petersells@AOL.COM
): Assuming the numbers supported the decision and
all turnaround efforts have been tried or considered, what other solutions have been explored to maintain the campus? Takeover by another University. Have we sought political support (Tim Bishop) , etc.?

I suggest that we meet at Southampton College at noon on July 7th to rehearse. I will secure a room and let you know where. My home number is 203-656-2867, cell 239-289-1947. email mrobert168@aol.com
Bob Martin '68
Southampton College Board of Overseers

The Latest from Spirit of America

[Text of email from Jim Hake to Spirit of America volunteers]

Greetings,

I'm back from my trip to Iraq. This message provides observations,
conclusions, implications for Spirit of America moving forward, a few
photographs and an interesting story or two.

This is a long message so if you read no further please understand
three things: (1) there is hope for Iraq, (2) the support of the
American people can make a critical difference to the Iraqi people and
their future, and (3) our job at Spirit of America is to help the
American people make that difference.

My goals for the trip were to:
1. Validate - or not - the key assumptions behind our plan to increase
the scope and scale of Spirit of America's activities in Iraq.
2. Define the support most needed by Americans serving in Iraq for
improving the lives of, and relationships with, the Iraqi people.
3. Determine the best approach for having SoA personnel in country to
support our expanded activities.
4. Identify the ideas, people and programs with the greatest potential
to effect an immediate and lasting improvement in the lives of Iraqi
citizens at the grass roots level.

The trip was invaluable. The goals above were largely but not entirely
achieved. On #3and #4 we made good progress but more work is needed.

The situation in Iraq is difficult and dangerous. The bad news we see,
read and hear does happen even though it isn't nearly the whole story.
But my most important conclusion was an encouraging one. There is hope
for a positive, free and peaceful future for Iraq. A key part of the
hope is the American people can engage and help the Iraqi people build
a postive future. That opportunity is based much more on the
involvement of the American private sector and citizens . much more
person to person/people to people than government to government.

With the inevitable ups and downs in Iraq, it will be challenging to
remember that there is hope. It is only hopeless if we give up. I know
that may sound simplistic or naïve but it is true.

Those serving in Iraq - military and civilian - face a very tough
situation. They deserve our full support. So do the Iraqi people,
especially those who are working hard at great risk to build a better
future for their country.


THE TRIP
My trip was from May 28 to June 4. I spent 1-½ days in Baghdad, 4 days
in Ramadi and 1 day in Fallujah. These are three of the most difficult
areas in Iraq today. Ramadi is approx. 60 miles west of Baghdad.
Fallujah is 30 miles west. While in Ramadi and Fallujah I was a guest
of the 1st Marine Division. I stayed and traveled with them. I was in
Baghdad as an "unattached" civilian but took the necessary steps to
move about safely. I was also in Amman, Jordan coming and going.

I was accompanied by LtCol David Couvillon (the first Marine that SoA
supported last summer) and two retired members of U.S. Special Forces.
All have had extensive experience in Iraq. They were along to provide
insight and analysis on our next steps. LtCol Couvillon was a
Battalion Commander during the war last spring and after war served
for 5 months as the Governor of Wassit Province. There are 11
provinces in Iraq and his position was akin to a Governor of one of
our states. Couv has a great connection to and fondness for the Iraqi
people. He also has a great understanding of how to make progress at
the grass roots level.

During the trip I was able to spend time with and talk to Iraqis (from
the Ministerial level to local leaders to "ordinary" people - mainly
men, boys and girls), civilians working in Iraq, CPA personnel and, of
course, the US Marines at all levels (Commanding General to Private
First Class).

With the Marines in Ramadi we visited a neighborhood where the Marines
were helping to build a mosque and a health clinic. We traveled in a
Humvee convoy. There were about 25 Marines, an interpreter and us
(four civilians). The Marines were led by an exceptional young
officer: Capt. Egan. We spent time with the local Imam as well as boys
and girls of all ages. We distributed school supplies, soccer balls
and Frisbees that had been donated by Spirit of America and our
supporters earlier this year.

Here's a photo of us playing Frisbee and me throwing one. Given my
performance in windy conditions I don't think I'll be coaching Frisbee
teams in Ramadi any time soon.



bWith the group of boys below I was talking about soccer (with the help
of our interpreter). Two of the guys were boasting that they are
excellent goalies. I told them my son had scored four goals in his
game the week before. They seemed doubtful until I pointed out I was
sure that goalie wasn't as good as they were. We all had a good laugh.



The adults and children were happy to see us, happy to talk and play.
And, like children anywhere (at least mine!) happy to get gifts. The
women of the community made flatbread for us during the visit. Fresh
and hot it was excellent. Clearly, not every visit to a neighborhood
in Iraq would be like that one but it was one of those nice human
moments. It was also instructive to see how the Marines operate and
relate to local communities. Very impressive.

After we returned to Camp Blue Diamond we videotaped a few of the young
Marines talking about their experiences in Iraq. We'll get these up on
the Web soon. Just before we left a Staff Sergeant Delgado approached
me and said, "Sir, if you could get sandals for the kids around here,
it would be a big help. Lots of kids didn't come out today because
they don't have anything to wear on their feet and the streets are too
hot." THAT is one great example why it's important to spend time in
the field and with the men and women who are in it every day.

We're getting on this and you'll soon be getting a message about SSgt.
Delgado's sandal request.

In Fallujah we spent time at a center where Iraqi civilians meet with
the Marines to work on civil affairs and rebuilding projects. The
center also serves as a training site for the Iraq Civil Defense Corps
(ICDC). There I had a chance to discuss with the son of a local sheikh
ideas for a neighborhood sports program that Spirit of America is
considering supporting. He was positive on the idea and asked that we
come back to meet with other local leaders to explore it further.

Also in Fallujah we visited a village on the outskirts of the city
where the Marines were rebuilding a road. It was a rural village of
about 20 homes. People largely live off the land - crops, goats and
sheep. The Marines came to talk about the road project. We also passed
out Frisbees, toys and school supplies to the local kids. Here are
some children from the village with Spirit of America school supply
kits.




Back at Camp Blue Diamond we met with the two officers (Maj. Chandler
and Maj. Dunham) responsible for providing the TV equipment donated by
Spirit of America to the 7 Iraqi stations in Al Anbar. When we met
about ½ of the equipment had been delivered to the stations and
technical training was being planned. With the new equipment Iraqi
personnel at one of the stations took to the streets with camcorders
to do "man in the street" interviews. When they broadcast the
interviews the received numerous calls with positive feedback. Things
like that associated with a free press that we take for granted are
entirely new inmost of Iraq. We'll be getting a more detailed update
on the TV gear and stations in the next few days and will email you as
soon as we have it.

Also back at Camp Blue Diamond in Ramadi we met with the Director of
Economic Development for Al Anbar Province. He is spearheading the
creation of women's sewing centers in the Ramadi-Fallujah region.
These centers will provide women with a chance to make money, some for
the first time, and improve their lives and their families'.

Marines' Commanding General Jim Mattis is very enthusiastic about the
project- both for its economic impact and because it will provide
women a place to discuss women's issues (day care is provided). He has
asked if we can help by providing the sewing machines. For starters we
are looking for people to buy the first 50 sewing machines costing
$475 each. You can support that request by clicking here: .
http://www.spiritofamerica.net/requests/1086384717.html . If things go
well with those, we'll do our best to provide 950 more, thus helping
1000 women.

The Marines are in frequent-enough danger in the Ramadi and Fallujah
areas such that safety is never taken for granted. Each time we left
base to visit a local village or community we were briefed on recent
threats to Marines convoys (usually from IEDs - Improvised Explosive
Devices). The base at Ramadi (Camp Blue Diamond) was mortared while we
were there. After they were launched it was a nervous 45 seconds
before they landed uneventfully about 400 yards away from our trailer.
Fortunately, no one was hurt. Attacks are not constant but occur often
enough to restrict the military's freedom of movement and action. To
get around requires traveling in armed Humvee convoys or helicopters.
We owe a great debt to the men and women that risk their lives every
day over there.

As odd as this may sound, it is good news that things are not worse. It
is a small, small percentage of the people that are fighting the
coalition, our troops and the new Iraqi government. If that weren't
the case we would hear much more bad news. It is easy to attack, easy
to terrorize. That things are not worse evidences, in my view, that
there is more hope than one might think and that the vast majority of
Iraqis are not aligned with the future the terrorists and coalition
fighters represent.

Conclusions and Implications for SoA
* There is hope for a relatively free, peaceful and prosperous society
in Iraq even though the situation is very difficult and the challenges
are enormous,

* The support and assistance of the American people (as distinct from
the US Government) is essential to the progress of the Iraqi people.
The best hope of Iraq turning out well in large part lies in the
support and commitment of the American people.

* We will continue to support requests from and needs identified by
Americans serving in Iraq. These projects currently support Marines,
Army, Air Force and SeaBees and we're the things providing range from
sandals, soccer balls and school supplies to sewing machines and TV
and radio equipment.

* It is essential that we also support those Iraqis that are champions
of a new Iraq and who are taking the initiative to improve the country
in ways small and large. These people represent the future of the
country and, in many ways, of the Middle East. By standing for freedom
and a better life they are risking their lives

* There is an opportunity to increase the scope and scale of Spirit of
America to positive effect in Iraq with the potential to "be the
difference that makes the difference" in key areas. In the face of
enormous needs and an infinite number of good things to do,
accomplishing this requires a focused strategy.

* There are 3 areas of strategic focus for Spirit of America that
deserve our greatest attention. They are the areas about which both
the US Military and Iraqis are most enthusiastic.
1. Economic development programs - such as job training and
microfinance. Our providing tools and sewing machines fits in this
category. Housing and construction related projects emerged as high
impact because of the jobs and visible signs of progress they create
in addition to needed housing stock.
2. Youth programs, especially sports programs and support for
education.
3. Media and information projects - such as training and equipment for
Iraqi-owned and operated television and radio stations.

* In cases it will be better to conduct some of our projects as the
American people without a direct or apparent link to the military or
US Government. This approach will make it easier to establish the
person-to-person, people-to-people links that we seek. In some cases
it will increase the results we are able to produce - both in the eyes
of the military and the Iraqi people.

* It will be essential to have a Spirit of America in country presence.

* There is no way to operate in Iraq without physical risk; i.e., SoA
in country personnel includinng Iraqis, will be at risk of attack.
Anyone who visibly works for progress in the country is an enemy of
terrorists who seek chaos and a potential target for criminals who see
financial opportunity in murder or kidnapping. We are still assessing
the best way to structure our in country presence. In any scenario
much of our work will be managed and executed by Iraqis (and, we are
developing good contacts in that regard).

Next Steps
In the coming weeks you will hear more from us about:
* Status of projects you've already supported in Iraq and Afghanistan
including the television station equipment and tools for Iraq and the
soccer gear and
* New requests from Americans serving in Iraq and Afghanistan.
* Our plans for increasing the scope of our efforts in Iraq and
Afghanistan and providing focus to the desire of the American people
to help

Lastly, I want to thank the men and women of the Marines who put
themselves in harms way to host us and ensure that we were able to
move about safely. LtCol John Lutkenhouse went to great lengths to
arrange meetings, trips and travel so that our visit achieved its
goals. In fact, our "dance card" was so full that one of our team fell
asleep standing up during one meeting. Fortunately, he caught himself
before hitting the ground. I was doing the same sitting down.

As always, thank you for your support - whether that involves donating
your time or money or simply reading these messages and considering if
there are ways you can help.

All the best,
Jim Hake

Analysis of Democrat Debate

[Ed. note: This is from a friend of mine who asked me to use the name I.M. Obsessive.]

So I watched the Democratic presidential debate on CNN tonight. What a cosmic freak show that was. This thing made Springer look high-brow. About half-way through, I was sincerely hoping one candidate would have the decency to lean into the microphone and start making those farting sounds with his armpit, if only to raise the overall intellectual level of the dialogue. Though a neocon, I actually started to feel sorry for these clowns; they really could be the nine biggest dumbfucks on the face of God's green earth.

At least everyone's defined themselves... and none of these putzmonkeys has a snowball's chance in hell of beating Bush next year. Dubya can mangle every word he utters in public for the next 13 months and he'll still look a thousand times more intelligent than any of these buttheads. I'm serious, even Al "Forrest Gump" Gore was probably watching this thing saying, "Anyways, Ah think these people are stoopid. Anyways, they should all be put in a lockbox." And, for once in his life, Gore wouldn't be overestimating his own "abilities"; he would actually be justified in believing he's more intelligent than the "Nonsensical Nine."

This is what it's come down to.

1) Wesley Clark: "Even though I've praised the magnificent George W. Bush and his stellar, brilliant administration -- repeatedly -- for the splendid, tremendous job they've done, I've never commended this evil, vile dictatorship for anything and I've always opposed their brutal and inept tyranny -- I don't know where these stories about my so-called support for Bush and being inconsistent in my views are coming from. Hillary? Hillary? Are you ready to step in, take over the campaign staff that you and Bill put together for me, and take my place as the candidate? I'm getting tired of this politics stuff and I don't want to be your point man anymore."

2) Howard Dean: Howie's getting upset about people pointing out that the "liberal darling" of the race actually had a semi-conservative record as the governor of Vermont. His new line: "I didn't know I was Newt Gingrich." (Not to be picky, but most conservative and non-partisan PACs and special interest groups agree that, despite his rhetoric on TV, Gingrich actually had the "eighth most liberal" voting record of all 535 legislators in the House and Senate during the 105th Congress.)

3) John Edwards: The multimillionaire trial lawyer looking out for the little guy. Every time he spoke it sounded like one of those post-midnight, public access ads you always see for the local ambulance chaser. You know, the one where he's sitting at a desk next to a plastic plant while he's telling you to call him immediately if you want to sue your doctor for seven figures because -- damn him! -- he forgot to warm up the stethoscope before placing it on your chest and, well, the sudden cold sensation made your nipples harder than Archbishop Law at the local Gap Kids and you were so damn embarrassed that you now need no less than five or six mil just to ease your pain and stop the sudden onset of bedwetting and chronic public masturbation. Whenever Edwards spoke, I was waiting for "Call 1-800-LAW-SUIT Right Now to Sue Your Parents For Every Fuckin' Dime They've Got" to pop up on the bottom of the screen. I love that. A friggin' trial-lawyer-turned-U.S.-Senator worth millions upon millions looking right into the camera and telling me he wants to look out for the little guy. Yeah, no shit. He wants a chunk of the little guy's "award" once that lawsuit against McDonald's gets handed down and the FDA bans fast food because some fat ass doesn't have enough common sense to put down the Big Mac and eat a Goddamn salad once the scale starts to tip to the right of the 500 mark.

4) Dick Gephardt: His entire platform revolves around the fact that he's proud he supported Clinton's half-assed legislation in the U.S. House for eight years, especially the largest tax hike in history back in 1993.

5) John Kerry: Attack, attack, attack. The prick can't open his mouth without taking a shot at someone. I think he even slammed on an old lady in a wheelchair hooked up to an oxygen tank somewhere in the audience. Nothing but tough talk from the Butcher of Buôn Mê Thuôt.

6) Dennis Kucinich: He just wants to hand all U.S. sovereignty over to Kofi Annan and Hans Blix and have the buttplugs at the UN run the world. He's nothing but anti-war and "whatever Ralph Nader said back in 2000, I pretty much agree with." If Nader doesn't run again, I think the Greenies have their guy for '04.

7) Joe Lieberman: Ah, the world would be a better place if only the evil Supreme Court and Satan spawn such as Jeb Bush and Catherine Harris didn't steal the 2000 election from him and Al Gore. To his credit, he didn't use the word "lockbox" and he stuck by his views on letting Israel thump some serious Palestinian ass. Still, I think Joe's best shot would be to run with the "Lieberman is Palpatine/Darth Sidious" stuff being spread around on the 'Net. He should start coming to debates dressed in a black Sith cloak with a hood, and his staff should play the Emperor/Sidious theme from Return of the Jedi, The Phantom Menace, and Attack of the Clones whenever he speaks. Maybe get one or two volunteers to dress up like Imperial Royal Guardsmen and stand on each side of his podium. I really think this strategy is his best -- and only -- bet. Perhaps some endorsements from "apprentices" like Ray Park, Christopher Lee, Hayden Christensen, David Prowse, and James Earl Jones. He's screwed, so he might as well have a little fun before punching out after the Super Tuesday ass-kicking.

8) Carol Moseley-Braun: Carol's entire campaign is now based on the fact that men are brutes who can't lead and have screwed up the whole world and only a woman president can save the day. I shit you not. She actually said that.

9) Al Sharpton: He may be seen by most as the Homer of this particular "Simpsons" episode, but he's starting to sound more and more like Lisa with a slight Harlem accent. Sharpton is the most principled of the lot and he's coming off as -- by far -- the most intelligent. (You have to admit, it does take some degree of intelligence to get loaded running the half-baked racial cons he's been plying in NYC for some two or three decades.) He also cracks the perfect joke at the perfect time and gets the entire crowd to laugh at the eight other jackholes on the stage. If I could vote in the Democratic primary, I'd actually cast my ballot for Sharpton because (a) he really is turning out to be the brightest bulb in a pretty dim pack and (b) Bush would totally annihilate his ass in the general.

But the highlight of the debate had to be at the end. At one point, Carol Moseley-Braun was fielding a question from someone in CNN's DNC-picked crowd (not a white male to be found). The cameraman panned to the left and -- I swear to God -- Al Sharpton was looking right at Moseley-Braun's tits with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, all the while bobbing his head up and down like he was thinking, "Yeah... I'd like to tap me some of that fine, fine ass." I hope the late night talk show guys caught that because it could very well go down as the classic moment of the 2004 presidential campaign. I also think the horn-dog image could work for Sharpton. He should start showing up at the debates dressed up like Snoop Dog. You'd have to admire a guy with the balls to get up on stage and talk about health care while wearing those big-ass, four-meter-wide sunglasses, a fur 10 gallon hat, a velvet overcoat, and 800+ pounds of gold jewelry.

Jesus. The Democratic primary is starting to make the California recall look sane and dignified. After watching this shit, I'm starting to think Gary Coleman and Gallagher aren't exactly the worst candidates I've ever seen. I'd like to think this ugly beast will get a little less freakish once Hillary makes her move and replaces Clark, but I'm starting to think the other eight bozos would be too clueless to drop out, even after the Clinton Machine kicks into high gear.

Oscar Partay

[Written Tuesday, March 25, 2003]
Howdy folks. As some of you may have known, Sunday night I attended the Entertainment Weekly Oscar Party at Elaine's in Manhattan. This, apparently, is a big deal. It's THE New York Oscar party, I was told, invites are hard to come by and the place would be crawling with celebrities.

To be honest, I almost passed on this. The invite was for one person only (so I couldn't use it to impress the lovely lady I've been trying hard to impress these past few weeks) and the thing was scheduled to start at 6. That's pretty damn early, especially when you're mixing me, an open bar, war-time and a notoriously liberal event. My first thought was that if I attended this thing, I'd be kicked out half an hour into the Oscars for screaming at the television or fighting with whoever was sitting at my table.

Ultimately, however, my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to attend. It had nothing at all to do with the prospect of a free filet mignon meal AND all the Jack Daniels I could drink.

So I arrived at Elaine's and the place was already crowded ... crowded with a hundred people I don't know. The publicist chica, Sarah Garvey, who gave me the invite, I'd only spoken to on the phone and emailed AND she was working so she couldn't really talk. She did say that she put me at a table with some pretty impressive celebrities. But I didn't ask and didn't go look at the place cards on my table because I figured I wouldn't be half as impressed as she was.

So I did what I had to do, which was get a drink. Shortly after procuring said drink, I was introduced to the publisher and associate publisher of EW and we chatted for a while. It's sort of funny that this stupid Photo Page in my magazine prompts people to give me props when all I do is go through a stack and try to remember who took me out for a free lunch last.

At any rate, they informed me that Jon Fine, the reporter who covers magazines for my magazine, was in attendance so I latched onto his coattail for a bit. Walking around, I noticed Tony Bennett enter the place. Then Jamie Lynn Sigler (who seems to be following me around this party scene). Next celebrity spotting was Chris Noth, from Law & Order, then Ice-T, who's taller than I'd expected. I didn't talk to any of these people. Just sort of noted that they were there.

After forty minutes or so, Jon and his guest decided to do the ultra cool thing and... leave. Williamsburg people are like that for some reason.

So I made my way over to my table. Table number three. In the process, I bump into (and Drew and Shawn, I know you'll be jealous), literally bump into Mariska Hargitay, from Law & Order. I apologized. She said, "That's ok." So technically, I TALKED TO MARISKA HARGITAY!!!

Seated at Table number two were Star Jones and Joy Behar and some boy toy with Star. Seated at Table four, at this time, was Jamie Lynn Sigler and (I think) Melissa McCarthy, who plays Sookie on Gilmore Girls (I have no idea if it was her or another sitcom celeb that had that look).

At any rate, the only other person at my table at this point was some annoying gossip columnist interviewing Star Jones. And I could see only three of the place cards. Victoria Gotti (yeah, that Gotti family) and a guest. And Tony Bennett. So, I'm like, "Holy, sh-t, I'm gonna be breaking bread with Tony f-ckin Bennett." So I got another drink. I didn't even think to look at the other cards. So Tony and his crew come over and sit down. I introduce myself, Tony says hi and that's about the end of that conversation.

Then a somewhat attractive couple plops themselves down next to me. The guy introduces himself as Charles Askegard, a dancer with the New York Ballet, and he introduces me to the woman I'm with, who doesn't give me her name. So I'm thinking, "Crap, I'm supposed to know who she is." Well, without embarrassing myself I figured it out and, this doesn't come as news to some of you, the woman is Candace Bushnell, creator of Sex and the City. So here, I'm sitting between Tony Bennett and Candace Bushnell and Charles Askegard. At this point in the game, I'm chatting with Charles a good bit. Very friendly fellow. Candace pipes in every once in a while. I make it very clear from the outset that I'm officially a nobody and that I find this all sort of amusing. I also make it very clear than I'm not a gossip columnist and won't be writing anything in any publication. Throughout this, Tony isn't saying much to anyone, not even the people he's with. In fact, he takes out a piece of paper and starts sketching some guy standing over at the bar. Then he stands up and goes over to the guy and gives him the sketch.

Meanwhile, Charles and Candace whip out cigarettes. Merit, they're smoking. MERIT?!?!? And this NYTimes reporter or gossip columnist or some such asks them to not smoke. I wanted to haul off and slap the woman, but hey, whatever. And Charles and Candace were more than happy to oblige.

So we're drinking and waiting on our steaks and Sarah the publicity girl comes over to say high to me and Candace and Charles take a stab at playing matchmaker for a bit. Then when Sarah runs off to do whatever it is publicity people do, Candace asks me if I have a girlfriend and I say no (again, the lass I'm trying so hard to impress is proving impervious to my charms), and then she asks how old I am, "Like, what, you're 24, 25?" and I fess up to being all of 29 and she says "Oh, but darling, I don't even know anyone that young to set you up with."

It's the thought that counts, Candace. It's the thought that counts.

During this time, other celebs have come in. At Table four now is Scott Wolf. This excites me much more than many of you would think. But it's Scott Wolf. Bailey from Party of Five, man. This is a big f-ckin deal to me. Also in attendance now is Julie Bowen (Ed, Joe Somebody, Happy Gilmore). Just as pretty in real life. In fact, I think she has a little scar under her left eye. I guess there are other celebs there by this point, but I couldn't tell you. I was getting pretty loaded and I was talking to Charles, man. Me and Charles were just chatting away.

At some point, there is some confusion about Victoria Gotti, who didn't show up or was late or something, so they bumped her from Table three to put another place card down there. Joan Collins and her man Percy Gibson. And now I'm thinking. OK. This is way too much. Way too much.

But they're late as well. And the food shows up and we all merrily stuff our faces with red meat and watch the Oscars. Steve Martin is funny. Ha.Ha. Another drink please, thank you.

By the time dessert arrives, there's another bit of table juggling and another couple plops down next to me where Joan was supposed to sit. These people, I don't know. They don't look famous or anything. Turns out to be Dana Reeve, wife of Christopher Reeve, and Michael Manganiello, senior VP of some such at the Christopher Reeve Paralysis Foundation. So now I'm sitting with Tony Bennett, Candace Bushnell and Superman's wife. And the Michael guy turns out to be nicest guy in the world. He’s done his fair share of hob nobbing himself. He even personally knows Scott Wolf. But he seems impressed with how well I’m carrying on with the celebs. Oh, Michael, anything’s easy when you’ve got half a gallon of Jack Daniels flowing through you system.

At some point, Chris Noth (the Law & Order guy) comes over to talk to Dana Reeve and she introduces me to him. So, by this point, I'm like best friend with Law & Order, right?

It's getting a little later now and Tony and his crew get up and leave. And the guy, who I've said maybe fifteen words too the entire time, remembers my name. "Nice meeting you, Ken," he says. And I wasn't even wearing a name tag! Probably not a big deal, but I'm bad with names AND by this point the Jack Daniels is really working, so it seems SPECIAL.

Shortly after Tony leaves, Joan Collins and her man Percy show up and sit down at the table and we all say hello, howdy, etc.

We sit back down and Charles and Candace are making motions to leave. Charles, who by the way loves Tony Chachere's creole seasoning and can actually pronounce it correctly, has a very old dog (Black Lab, eleven years old, Betsy is its name) that's sick and they don't like leaving it alone at home. So we talk dogs a while and I, dumb ass that I am, end up on a story about me dog-sitting for a professor in college which, of course, ends with the dog dying. Way to go, Ken. But they don't seem to hold it against me. So off they go into the night.

So now it's me, Michael the Chris Reeve foundation guy, Superman's wife, Joan Collins and her man Percy and the woman from the NYTimes, who, get this doesn't say a damn thing when Joan Collins lights up a smoke. Now Joan's had a little bit to drink and she's having herself a grand time and we're all talking and not paying much attention to the Oscars when Michael Moore takes the stage and starts his temper tantrum.

And before the booing starts, Joan let's go with "What a fucker. Who is that fat bastard? He should just shut up, that fucking traitor!" Which, of course, prompts my drunk ass to pick up my glass and say, "Joan, I absolutely love you." And she toasted me back and then asks, quite honestly, "Really, who the fuck was that guy?" "Just some documentary maker," I say. "Just some documentary maker."

Now, I do want to point out that I didn't boo at all. In fact, I avoided topics like that for most of the evening. Then again, you tell someone that your brother's in the Navy and on the way, that tends to make them think twice before they start in on the topic. I probably would have missed the whole Moore thing if he hadn't raised his voice or if the crowd in L.A. hadn't started booing. In New York, there were a few boos and a few "shut-the-fuck-ups" but no one really cheered or, conversely, threatened to rip the TV off the wall. I will say, though, that aside from the SHOCK AND AWE of Adrien Brody winning, everyone applauded his shout out to his boy in Kuwait. And, hey, not to let facts get in the way of a good time, but just so we're all up on our art history, Frida was an unrepentant Stalinist until the bitter end, so I didn't put too much stock in the fact that she would want peace if she were here.

But I digress. (And you’re right: I just can’t help myself sometimes)

At some point in all of this, after my roommate violated direct orders and called me while I was there hob nobbing, Rose McGowan stopped by with her beau and sat at our table to talk to the NYTimes reporter. I didn't talk to Rose McGowan, who is actually prettier in real life and not so freaky looking, so all the guys on this list don't have to hate on me too hard.

And that's about it. Macy Gray showed up at some point, but she went and sat in the back somewhere. I did go up and introduce myself to Scott Wolf. He's the only celeb I approached the whole night. And Drew, I almost, ALMOST, asked him for an autograph for you, but I just couldn't go through with it. Fittingly, I was too drunk to be coherent while I was talking to Bailey.

So that's about it, folks. I walked out of there drunk as a lord, with a little chocolate Oscar and a goodie bag full of cologne and bath soap and CDs (kid rock, frida soundtrack, some other stuff), a $250 gift certificate to some fur store in Manhattan and other assorted junk.

And Monday afternoon I woke up and, like the regular joe that I am, cleaned my apartment, checked my email and cooked myself some dinner, all without the help of my new friends, the celebrities.