Grandma has lung cancer. Apparently you can't smoke a pack a day for many decades without some ramifications. So she is having her left lung removed on Monday. According to the doctors, if the cancer is in fact localized to the left lung, her prognosis is pretty good, but my mom isn't optimistic, nor am I. They say she has about a 3-5% chance of dying during the surgery, but it seems to me that any 84-year-old undergoing any surgery has worse odds than that. In any event, I hope for the best, or baring that a quiet ending. My mom's side of the family has a history of lingering on for much longer than they should, so hopefully Grandma will buck that trend. I should be somewhat more positive, and wish that she is able to quickly return home to assisted living, mystery rides and bingo, but optimism and cancer are not complementary concepts in my mind these days.

Been a someone eventful week, I should have been more vigilant in writing here, but I will try to touch on the most memorable moments. I saw Chubby Checker in concert yesterday. Chad had free tickets. His voice sounded very much like his recordings, and he looked pretty good for his age. Overall, it was a fun show. There was a very odd, very sad moment, however. During one particularly rousing number (I forget the song), a roadie ran up and began setting up what looked like two microphone stands. But as it took form, it actually looked like a nordic track, or some such piece of exercise equipment. Then Mr. Checker stepped up on it, grasped onto the twin poles, and begin to slide his feet around on the platform of the device, leading his hips to sweave in a twisting manner. The crowd seemed to enjoy the display, but I was just confused. It sure looked like Chubby was unable to dance without the aid of a mechanical device, which is not exactly an occasion to cheer. He'd been dancing before the contraption was brought out; if certain moves were beyond his ability to dance unassisted, he should rotate them out of his routine. But the crowd didn't seem to mind, so why should I? I was confused, but overall it just made me feel sad. I felt like the innocent child beholding the emperor in his new clothes; perhaps I had to be the one to stand up and shout: "He's using a contraption! Can't you see he's not dancing on his own, he's using a contraption!" And then they would all see the contraption. The whole thing put a dark cloud over an otherwise delightful evening.

I went to Viejas Thursday, to play poker. I got a letter from them because I hadn't been in a long time, encouraging me to return by offering me $50 in food credits (in addition to the normal comps earned for my play) if I played ten hours in their poker room this month. I hadn't been in almost a year, and the poker room has gone downhill. 7 card stud/8 or better is my preferred game, but they only had one game going, at 1-3 limits (I play 3-6). They had very few games going (though I know they always have had slow nights and busy nights, so maybe I just chose an off day to return). So I played 3-6 Omaha/8. The automatic shufflers were not there the last time I played, but I thought they were a nice addition. I was up almost $100 after just ten mintues or so, but slowly gave almost all of it back, when I had a very upsetting experience. It was a kill pot, and there was a fair amount of betting, so it was a substantial pot. I had the second-best low, and was pretty certain the main bettor had the nut low. I was hoping for a deuce to come, giving me the best low, but it never came. Instead, a three on the river paired the board. I called, since it was a big pot, and saw that the bettor did indeed have the nut low. I show my pocket queens, figuring it wasn't good enough. A player shows that he has sevens and fours, so I dismiss my hand with a wave of the hand, and the dealer promptly mucks it. Not for a minute or so later, as the dealer is still divying up the substantial pot ($150, I'd guess), do I remember the river card paired the board. I had queens and threes, the best hand. And I killed my hand. So I flushed $75 down the toilet. I was somewhat pissed off at the dealer, but it was actually a floorman pitching in because of a shortage of dealers due to a tournament going long, and is not in the habit of dealing, no doubt. If I show my cards, he's supposed to verify that I did in fact lose before mucking the hand, but ultimately the player is responsible for protecting his or her hand. So I didn't say anything; maybe the guy who got the high half of the pot realized he hadn't in fact won, maybe not, and I don't care; I've been on the other side, getting a pot I didn't deserve due to dealer error, and I don't feel the need to point it out. But it soured me a bit on live poker in a casino; playing on-line, that situation could not occur. Anyway, I knew I should leave immediately, since that was going to rattle me, but I didn't, and sure enough, lost all the money I brought with me. I won half of it back the next night, after the Chubby Checker concert. But it did teach me to be much more vigilant about protecting and reading my hand in a showdown, especially at Omaha, where it can be genuinely confusing, and it is easy for even an experienced dealer to make a mistake now and then.

School so far has been okay. Judging from the first week, it won't be a memorable quarter, but it should be an opportunity to actually be academically sucessful for once. I don't anticipate my classes being a huge challenge this time around. But only time will tell. One consequence of my academic career that will impact this site is that I now own Adobe Photoshop Elements. Got it for $49.99, with a student licence. Retails for a hundred, not a bad deal at all. Also, I figured it out the other day, and I own something like .000000008% of Adobe, Inc., so its like I actually got an additional fraction of a fraction of a cent back as well. So hopefully I'll get around to installing that and learning to use it, and uploading some photographs here soon. But first I'll just work on actually writing in the blog on a regular basis.