On Wednesday Phil and I were enjoying a cup o' joe in the King Street Cafe over on Beverly, and when I went over to get napkins, who should I find putting cream in his coffee but Logan Mader. The dreadlocks, tattoos, and spikes through his eyebrows make him somewhat easy to spot. I summoned up all my courage and said hello to him, for it is not everyday you meet someone whose poster has graced your bedroom wall. He was very polite and shared a few words with me, but it is obvious his Machine Head days are well behind him. Which is sad. He also said I sounded Dutch.

I saw Alexander, and must admit I enjoyed it. It is certainly not without its flaws, but I suppose one must forgive the episodic narrative when the story is so long. For my money it seemed very faithful to his story, and so long as that was true I don't think there was a great deal they could have done wrong as far as I was concerned. Of course, the foundations of my Alexander knowledge come from Robin Lane Fox's seminal book, and as he was consultant on the movie I guess it was destined to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. Still, I have also read some Plutarch, Arrian and Quintus Curtius Rufus in my time, and Guagamela and the Cleitus episode were both particular satisfying. I do think the story could have withstood a more conventional film-maker than Oliver Stone, but overall I think he did a reasonable job. Oh, and Rosario Dawson is racked out.

It's so frickin' cold here in L.A. right now it is unbelievable. This morning I was doing homework in 3 layers, with a blanket draped around my shoulders. As I pored over my Syriac scripture, it struck me that I must have looked rather rabbinic.

Shalom.