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I went to the Lloydapos;s Party on Thursday night. I try to get out once a year, so it was nice to get this yearapos;s out of the way before Christmas. The evening was only slightly spoilt by one ex-employee of ours, now at a rival, who seemed to think that a Lloydapos;s party was an excuse to try to sell advertising. I would say that it was almost embarrassing, but sales people do not understand the concept of the word.

On the way home I was reading my Neal Stephenson, glancing up as one does to see how much progress had been made to oneapos;s destination station, when I suddenly noticed that we had pulled into Lewisham. I scrambled off the crwded train, bashing one poor bloke on the head as I stood up and stepping on another poor womanapos;s toes, leapt on to the platform, folowed the crowd out of the strangely redesigned station, and suddenly found myself in New Cross.

Fuck.

I had forgotten that trains that go straight through to Lewisham during the day often stop at New Cross in the later evening.

So, I went for a little trudge towards Loampit Vale, waited for a bus, and arrived home just 15 minutes or so late, so I guess the whole thing qualifies as an adventure rather than a disaster.

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One of my greatest joys in the past couple of weeks was stacking off a nut-peddler, when favourite. Achieving this (when you are favourite) is on a par with deciphering a recently rediscovered ancient language. Unfortunately it came shortly after I myself had been stacked off with Aces. There was no escape from this because opponent hit his two-outer on the turn.

Anyhoo, I called a not very big raise with 22 in the big blind, and was pleased to see a flop of 227 with a couple of hearts. This is an obvious candidate for a small "bluff" lead out, which elicited a call from opponent (this guy only raised with big pairs, so I havenapos;t discovered anything I didnapos;t already know about his hand). Turn brought an Ace. I put in a half-pot bet and opponent gleefully raised a significant amount, I mini-reraised and he insta-shoved with AA. Oh, bad luck, sir.

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What an...interesting weekend. Someone is sitting in my seat on the train so this isnapos;t my happiest ride. I canapos;t watch the skyline, and I canapos;t exactly take my nap per usual. Oh well. This is going to be suuuuuch a long day. But tomorrow it will be over : )

I had the most awkward moment saturday. Sam and I went to this one party and I met that kid karl sober which was SO weird. Like... I am a pro at akward situations but that one I failed at lol. Ugh nothing like that will evvvver happen again evvver. I guess we live we learn.
The end of the semester is almost here, I have so much to do How does time go by so fast??
I had dinner with my grandma saturday which was quite neccessary, and it helped ease the stress in my life.

I do not want to go to my voice class... I can not stand my teacher...my class unites in not being able to stand her. There is only 8 of us, when I see a low number of students in a class next time I know there is a reason for it...

Happy day
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Faye Kellerman is the wife of the author Jonathan Kellerman, and while they both write detective fiction, their writing styles are typically very different. His books tend to rattle along at a certain rate, while her books are typically more thought provoking. Both styles are valid, but I find her books more enjoyable when theyapos;re written well.

In this book, a plane crashes into an apartment block in Los Angeles. The actual crash is dealt with quickly, because the aftermath is at the heart of the book.

While looking for evidence of the last remaining passenger from the crash (a passenger they never find), they come across a badly burned body. Naturally they assume their work is done. When this assumption turns out to be false, Pete Decker decides he has two murders on his hands, one recent (the passenger), and one over 30 years old.

After some decent detective work, they nail both killers, and that element of the story is told well. The problem is that the book focuses a little too much of the mystery aspect of the story. The best Faye Kellerman stories make me think (or tell me
something about Judaism, if nothing else), and that doesnapos;t happen here, which left me wanting more from the book, and thatapos;s a shame
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