I'm rhymin' on the top of a cop car.
I'm a rebel and .44 pops far
It's almost over now, it's almost over now.

NERD, "Rock Star"
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Heather visited for the weekend, managing to make it to the company party despite Thousand Oaks Cab Company's best efforts. You know me, I hate waiting, especially for some pissant cab driver whose job it is to know directions. I don't live in BFE, I live in the heart of suburbia, so there should be no reason why this fucktard couldn't find the house. So because I had to do my own driving, I limited the amount of drinks at the party (and still managed to go through five drinks in the first ten minutes. Know your tolerance, kids!) Lots of martinis, lots of scotch, some champagne, lots of food, including a chocolate fountain that looked like an edible Stanley Cup. Heather and I showed up in matching reindeer antlers, but the accessory of the evening goes to Alon and his Spondgebob Squarepants shoes.

"Requiem for a Dream" should be required viewing for anyone who ever thought about trying heroin. Movies like that ("Trainspotting" is on that list, too) scare the piss out of me because instead of some fantasy horror movie, the depictions of drug abuse and the fallout thereof is very very plausible to me. Pretty messed up. And a cool soundtrack, too.

Heather and I saw the Frank Gehry exhibit at the MOCA in Downtown, also visiting the new Disney building. Undulating metal is pretty cool, especially the vineyard he designed (Le Clos Jordan in Canada), but I have to say that the best modern art museum I've seen is the Tate in London. While we were driving back from Downtown (by way of Pasadena so that I could demo a new universal remote), we discover that Betty has a bitchy second personality when you enable the navigation system to speak in French. I'm calling her Alyssa, and I hate getting directions from her.

I have my Christmas shopping almost all done.