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Jew-Punk Anschluss

2009-07-10T12:12:00.003-04:00

From the Ministry of Propaganda:

The Jew-Punk armies are continuing their march over greater Germania.

This weekend, Doris Akrap--translator of "The Heebie-Jeebies at CBGB's"--will be reading from "Die Heebie Jeebies im CBGB's" at the Left Book Festival in Berlin.

And, last March, Frau Akrap did the same at the Underground Library in Vienna.

Clearly, the hills are alive with the sound of Jew-Punk. And tomorrow belongs to us!

America Looks Up, Goes "Ahhhh"

2009-07-05T13:12:00.002-04:00

That's right, the Fourth of July brought us the usual fiery display, all spiderwebbery skeins of sparkle glory.

Being the proud American that I am, I found a seat on Mass Ave, propped a Jamison's on my knee and proceeded to make yummy noises along with the assembled crowd.

"Ewwww," I went, as the kids behind me sang Neil Diamond (ironically, of course.)

"Ahhhhh," I continued, as the five-year-olds in front ran in circles, out of reach of their parents eyes.

"Ohhhhh," we all sighed as the final display kicked out the jams, reds, whites and blues mixing with oranges, yellows and greens that were meant to look jewel-like, but were more Starburst (the candy) seeming than anything.

Still, hard to look down on a sky filled with fire, man-made or otherwise.

Now if only we could get rid of that horrid anthem! "America the Beautiful," anyone?

p.s. Votes also accepted for "This Land is Your Land."

Sign of the Apocalypse

2009-07-04T17:11:00.002-04:00

Alert the neighbors!

Call the folks!!

Wake the dog!!!

A hot gaseous orb has appeared in the skies of Boston!

Be afraid, be very afraid.

Cannonball Heard Round the World

2009-07-03T17:01:00.002-04:00

Can I just state for the record how much I love The Breeders song "Cannonball"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7AsId-qVIb4

Vive la revolution!

Iggy and Heebie invade Holy Lemonland

2009-06-29T16:52:00.003-04:00

During the past couple of weeks, one JewPunk sighting and one JewPunk citing.

The citing: Heebie-Jeebies at CBGB's in The Jerusalem Post.

The sighting: Beeber Does Iggy in LEMON magazine.

Stay tuned for angry letters to the editors!

Jew Punk Time in New York Times

2009-06-14T21:58:00.009-04:00

For those of you who didn't make it to "Loud Fast Jews" at YIVO the other night, no need to worry. Turns out the New York Times was there -- and that they were namedropping "Heebie-Jeebies at CBGB's" like nobody's business.

Seriously, it's a funny and interesting article and I'm thrilled to see my book was mentioned in it. Check it out for yourselves:

"Punk, and Jewish: Rockers Explore Identity"

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/06/13/nyregion/13punk.html

The Hora, the Hora

2009-06-11T13:15:00.006-04:00

Remember when Queen Elizabeth said she was having her "annus horribilis"? Sounded kind of dirty, but we knew what she meant. In 1992, not only did Chuck split from Di, Queenie was also forced to pay taxes. The horror, the horror.

In health terms, the previous twelve months have been similarly horrid for me. In addition to numerous colds, flus, coughs and sneezes, I just experienced a three-week bout with pneumonia. Hence, my latest disappearance from bloggerizing. Still, I'm almost fully recovered now, so the inane drivel begins again.

Most recently drivel-wise is a shout out to all of you to go see "Loud and Fast Jews" at YIVO in NYC tonight. Lenny Kaye, Handsome Dick Manitoba, Tommy Ramone and Chris Stein will be talking about the Jewish Origins of Punk. Hmm, sounds like a good idea for a book, doesn't it? I wonder if anyone's written it...

Till next time,

s

Punk 101 Gets a Backstage Pass

2009-04-09T18:32:00.005-04:00

Check out the website of the Boston Phoenix. There's a blog (with video) all about my Jewish Origins of Punk class meeting Balkan Beat Box and Sway Machinery backstage. Cool Q's, just as cool A's, and great footage of the show.

http://thephoenix.com/BLOGS/onthedownload/

or

http://thephoenix.com/BLOGS/onthedownload/archive/2009/04/09/field-trip-tufts-punk-rock-class-visits-with-balkan-beat-box-and-the-sway-machinery.aspx

Hanging onto Passover or Passing on the Hangover?

2009-04-09T07:16:00.003-04:00

No, despite the headline I didn't get drunk last night. After all, our forefathers weren't freed from slavery just so that they could go down to the local pub. Or weeeeere they? Seems to be a lot of talk of vineyards and grape-peeling in the good book (what, not the "best" book?), so maybe we've gotten it all wrong.

Still, as I say, no imbibing for me. I was a fiddler on the wagon, not falling off the roof, sipping OJ and munching on macaroons late into the evening.

But today's another day and I guess I could say I've got something of a coconut hangover. Just so much of the sweet stuff you can take. Like me and WE TV (Women's Entertainment Television). Enough of the Golden Girls already. Bring on the chainsaws and David Mamet!

In other news, two items.

First, none of you has yet to guess my favorite Beatle (aside from those of you who know who you are and are ineligible due to contest rules restricting friends, families and employees.) Come on people, it can't be that hard? I'm not pulling an overly clever trick here and including someone like Stu Sutcliffe or Pete Best (though Stu's pretty fucking cool, in my opinion.) Let's get those cards and letters coming. I feel the need to inscribe, and now!!

Second, I just came across yet another item about Jew Punk that also mentions the book and my personal thoughts on the subject. It's straight outta The Forward and concentrates on Can Can, a band from my native state of Jo-Ja (Georgia to the Yankees among you.) One thing I especially like about this band is that they're not only from GA, they grew up in Austell, a tiny town (at least in my day) where (drum roll please) my father had his dry goods (that is, clothing) store.

Vive l'Austell! Long live jeans, t-shirts and ladies slacks!

And of course, God praise Beat Music in all its forms.

xo,

s

"Name that Beatle" contest!

2009-03-31T18:51:00.006-04:00

As usual, I've been a bad blogger. Very bad!! Not only don't I post as often as I should, when I do, I post very little. Well, today's belated and overly short post is in keeping with this pattern, except for one thing -- it gives some indication as to why this is so.

And why is it? Well, basically, the halls of academe call to me with their siren song of youth productively instructed and hopefully not misspent. In other words, I am busy with my teaching duties.

But rather than tell you this, why don't I show it to you via an article that was just posted about one of my classes. The class, as you'll see, relates to my book on the Jewish Origins of Punk and it is quite nicely written and laid out. In fact, it features both a pic of the Ramones and a video of them in performance. Perhaps best of all, though, it presents me in classic Teen Beat magazine fashion. I just wish they'd asked me about my favorite color -- and fave Beatle.

Speaking of Beatles, the first person to name my favorite Fab will receive an inscribed copy of "The Heebie-Jeebies at CBGB's" -- gratis! After all, the anagram of my name isn't Ever Been Beatles* for nothing!

* Okay, okay, so it isn't spelled exactly correctly, but come on, who said Fate was a good speller.

Corrupting the morals of Jewish America's youth

2009-03-18T19:45:00.003-04:00

Yes, I'm proud to say that apparently that's what I'm up to ... at least, according to the following article.

http://www.njjewishnews.com/njjn.com/031909/njArtistTakesFreshLook.html

Then again, I guess I'm also bringing them back to the fold.

Weird.

CBGB's book launch pics

2009-03-14T16:47:00.045-04:00

Just rediscovered these photos from my book launch at CBGB's. While I shudder at the sight of me bloated, pale and out of shape (that's what you get from being chained behind a desk for two years), I thought you might be interested in some of the highlights. Not sure how to make captions, but in order of appearance are Gods & Monsters (from left, Gary Lucas, Jason Candler, Billy Ficca and Ernie Brooks), me and Ross Friedman ("Ross the Boss" of The Dictators) and me and the Bellomo sisters ("Tish & Snooky" of Manic Panic and The Sic F*cks). Oh yes, one bonus pic -- me with the salami-gram that my parents sent me from Katz's Deli. Better than a Nobel, Oscar and Grammy combined!

The Morning After ...

2009-03-10T17:38:00.004-04:00

Just a quick note of explanation to my readers out there in blogga-land (you know who you are.)

So, I realize yesterday's entry may have come off as a bit harsh. Aside from the fact that I was genuinely annoyed by the unfair put-down I received (and it wasn't the first), I also must confess that I was pretty stressed.

During the past couple of weeks I've experienced (in rapidly ascending order): 1.) A mid-semester crunch (exams, papers, all-nighters!); 2.) The Move From Hell (80 boxes!!) and 3.) The grinding worry of my father being in the hospital(!!!) He's out now, as of today, but it was pretty scary off and on. Still, the worst has passed and bright lights are on the horizon.

With that said, I think it’s only hit me now how ragged out I've become. As a result, please don’t be surprised if I disappear for a while with a bottle of something soothing and a few classic DVDs.

I promise to return before long, back to my usual Zen-like self, letting all negativity roll off my back and down the drain.

Of course, if you believe that last bit, might I also interest you in a bridge in Brooklyn? It's highly traveled and the perfect investment in these troubled times. Just the thing to help you relax too.

Punked?

2009-03-09T09:37:00.009-04:00

This morning I received a very nasty email from one of the individuals who I interviewed for “Heebie-Jeebies.” She angrily denounced me for having wasted her time, saying I asked to see a number of her photographs then ended up using just one of them in my book. As I’d already explained to her on more than one occasion, I was looking for certain TYPES of photos and had to go with the best I could find. I’m sorry that this resulted in her time being unprofitably spent, but hey, I was doing research. That’s how it works!

Oh yes, she also called me a “JERK” and an “ASSHOLE” (in capital letters, no less) and concluded by saying that I would tell the students in my punk class “lies" just like "all the ‘supposed’ experts on punk.”

Ok, fine, this secondary player (at best) in the punk scene feels neglected and passed over. I’m sorry she feels that way. Still, why attack me? I mean, if she really thinks I'm just another “expert” who doesn't know anything, then why is she so determined to have her photos included in my book in the first place? Is money really that important to her? What about punk integrity and all that?

Speaking of money and integrity, can I point out that this person was treated to two dinners by me, including one where she drank nearly $100 worth of red wine? And that in return for those dinners and those rounds upon rounds of drinks, she "borrowed” a pre-release copy of The Ramones documentary, "End of the Century" that I’d been lent by director Michael Gramalgia with the express demand that I keep it to myself then return it ASAP?

Picture me later that night retracing my steps up and down Second Avenue, looking in gutters, in trashcans, under newspapers, hoping to perhaps find the video I thought I'd lost. Only the next morning did my dinner companion bother to tell me that she’d lifted it while I was in the bathroom and taken it home because she was determined to see how she came off in it.

Pretty stressful, as you can imagine. And pretty annoying. Still, I figured, once a punk, always a punk, and I decided to laugh the episode off, even though it had caused me to lose a night of sleep and worry that I’d alienated someone who had done me a solid.

Now I’m the “JERK” and the “ASSHOLE”!

I tell you what, my accuser, I’ll make like Lou Reed and be your mirror. Maybe then you can see how YOU look!!

Your Flesh Magazine

2009-02-24T22:13:00.004-05:00

Ok, it sounds like a porn mag, but it isn't. That is, unless you consider my inane drivel a form of porn. If not, check out the interview in the latest. I got to make a couple of lame jokes as well as send some shout outs to long neglected punk rockers and friends. Just remember -- if it appears all I'm doing lately is posting news about myself ... well, what can I say, I guess I am. It's the busy time of the semester and I don't have as much time to write here as I'd like, so I'm letting others who are writing about relevant JewPunk topics do so for me. If you're fed up with this line of blogging and you prefer I begin sharing the secrets of my soul yet again, just say. I'm here to serve you, my dear readers. Your wish is ... well, you know the rest.

http://www.yourfleshmag.com/artman/publish/article_1331.shtml

Happy Birthday Tommy Ramone

2009-02-08T10:23:00.006-05:00

Belated birthday wishes to Tamas Erdelyi, the quiet genius behind The Ramones.

Turns out the German newspaper Die Zeit ran a very interesting article on Tommy's special day. Also turns out the article spoke at length about Heebie-Jeebies at CBGB's. For those of you who tune in here regularly, this is not the same article that Die Zeit ran a few weeks ago, but an entirely new one.

To check it out go to the link below. You can then translate it using one of the free online services such as Babel Fish. Or, you can click on the second link, where I've conveniently translated it for you. Unfortunately, the translation reads like something out of a Fortune Cookie Factory run by Chairman Mao -- it's damn confusing, in other words. Kind of like the Strange Flavored Chicken. Good luck!

http://www.zeit.de/online/2009/06/ramones?page=3

http://translate.google.com/translate?hl=en&sl=de&u=http://www.zeit.de/online/2009/06/ramones%3Fpage%3D3&ei=M_iOSdDNB6KBtweg0IGbCw&sa=X&oi=translate&resnum=5&ct=resultprev//search%3Fq%3Ddie%2Bzeit,%2Bbeeber%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26hs%3DGjB

Insomniacs on Film

2009-02-02T08:14:00.008-05:00

I was just alerted to this recording of a reading I did in Atlanta for "AWAKE! A Reader for the Sleepless," the anthology on insomnia that I put together for Soft Skull Press. Joining me for the show are Hub Cap City (former Chowder Shouter and Jody Grind leader Bill Taft's new band) and Tom Cheshire (poet, magazine editor and lead singer of All Night Drug Prowling Wolves.) The video's a bit dark -- but then again, so am I.

http://www.forum-network.org/lecture/awake-steven-lee-beeber

Punkadelic!

2009-02-01T10:22:00.006-05:00

Here's an odd bit of JewPunkocity that I just heard about. It's the Wednesday, January 28 entry in the Book Lover’s Page-A-Day Calendar 2009. Belated JP Day to you all!

Actual JewPunk Pics!

2009-01-25T16:07:00.007-05:00

Hello Juden Punks,

For the curious among you, I'm posting a pic of the translated edition of the book. In the next few days, I'll do the same with some pics I took while in Germany. If you can't wait till then, just stop by my Facebook page. I put a slew of them up there yesterday.

xo,

s

I LOVE Germany!

2009-01-20T18:32:00.002-05:00

Hey Y'all,

Sorry for the disappearance from blogland. I've been away (in Atlanta) then preparing for classes (I'm teaching four at three schools). When I get time, I'll fill you in on what might prove to be my favorite course -- it's at Tufts University and is called (drum roll, please) "The Jewish Origins of Punk Rock." Guess whose book I've assigned as required reading.

Since I'm just about to head to my writing group and am kind of burnt from my first day of classes at Emerson ("The City" and "Behind the Headlines"), let me leave you with a link to the latest wonderment from Germany. Seems Die Zeit, Germany's equivalent of The New York Times, reviewed my book this week. From what I can gather via the mangled (but free) translation provided by Babel Fish, they liked it (the book, that is). God bless 'em!!

Here's the link if you want to check it out. You can also try one of the free translation services provided on the web. Or, if you're actually seeing this in Germany, you can just take it in and feel smug. After all, we Americans are pretty pathetic when it comes to speaking anyone else's language.

http://www.zeit.de/online/2009/04/heebie-jeebies-im-cbgbs

Auf wiedersehen,

s

That Pan-Terrestrial Back-at-Home Jig

2008-12-30T09:25:00.013-05:00

Happy Jew Year Everyone!

In honor of the holiday season, I’ve decided to give you one final gift. That’s right, another post about my visit to Dylan’s birthplace!

What’s left to say, you might ask? Well, quite a bit actually. Because after I posted the tale of the walking tour and all the Dylan landmarks it contained, I realized I’d completely forgotten to share the highpoint of the story. An encounter with … well, read on.

It all began outside of Zimmy’s, a theme bar/restaurant located at the south end of Hibbing’s main street. Not far from the bowling alley where young Bobby Z won numerous trophies and the fancy hotel where the Zimmerman family celebrated his bar mitzvah, Zimmy’s is purposefully nondescript for two reasons. First, it has to blend in with the older, stately shops that make up Hibbing’s main strip; and second, like some medieval Gothic church, it saves its true riches for inside – much as does the body with the soul.

The riches were indeed splendorous, as Tracey and I quickly learned. After enjoying "Forever Young" veggie burgers and local beers, we wandered the room, gazing at the artifacts and holy relics: battered guitars, both acoustic and electric; photos of the pudgy-cheeked Zimmerman in sneering, cigarette-dangling Presley mode; an artist’s rendering of Bobby D in reverse-negative Johnny Cash aspect (wearing a white, rather than a black suit, that is), and, like it was a splintery piece of the true cross, a slightly chipped, but still clearly identifiable plectrum (guitar pick) used by the man himself.

Yet perhaps best of all was a tidbit of information imparted to me by Zimmy’s owner, and the subsequent rendezvous with destiny it inspired.

"Are any of Dylan’s old friends still around?" I asked, wisely avoiding my earlier mistake of seeming to conflate the MILF before me with the now Zayde-esque Bobby D.

"Oh sure, you betcha," she said, waxing eloquent on such local legends as Echo Helstrom, Dylan's all-too-symbolically named high school sweetheart, Mr. Z, a distant Dylan relative referred to only by his initial and (are you sitting down?), Leroy Hoikkala, a former iron ore miner, but at onetime the drummer in Dylan's first band, The Golden Chords.

"His first drummer still lives here?" I stammered, an adenoidal crack exposing my inner adolescent.

"Sure," she said. "In fact, he comes in here all the time. Want to meet him?"

Did I want to meet him? Did I want to touch the hand of God, or at least the hand that touched the hand of God, much less brought forth His righteous thunder?

"I guess," I said, feigning indifference. “Yeah sure. Why not."

And so, after a brief phone call and a seemingly unendurable five-minute wait, the backbeat of God himself entered the room and, spying us, sat down and ordered a drink.

As I did my best not to stammer or break-voice again, I took in the image of the man who knew Dylan before the beginning. Like John the Baptist or one of the other disciples (aside from Judas), the friendly Leroy Hoikalla sat before us, beatifically sipping vodka on the rocks. His crest of silver-blond hair curled forward like the prow of a Viking ship, his blue eyes and large white teeth called to mind fjords, his barrel-like chest--or rather, gut—all but echoed with the resonance of a drum, the slapping skin and whomping boom together heralding the way of the Lord, the Lord our GOD – Robert Zimmerman.

"So you knew Dylan as a kid?"

"Oh sure."

"What was he like?"

"Oh, you know, a good guy. Yeah, a real good guy."

"Mm hm. Well, was he different at all?"

"Different? How?"

"Different from other kids in the town?"

"Different?"

"You know, quieter, more creative, angry, that sort of thing."

Leroy tipped his glass slightly so that his ice clinked. Then he slowly set it down and looked directly into my eyes. The blue of his own suddenly seemed as powerful as glaciers.

"He wasn't angry,” he said, lowering his voice a half-octave and speaking slowly, so as to make sure I got his point. “He was just a kid like the rest of us. A friend of mine.”

“Okaaay,” I said, now speaking slowly myself, though more in the way a backpacker might to a threatening bear whose habitat he has trespassed. “I just meant…” But I wasn’t sure how to continue.

Evidently, Leroy took pity on me. Or perhaps he believed he’d put me in my place. Apparently he’d suspected motives.

“We all got along here, it wasn’t a matter of him being Jewish or not…”

Uh oh...

“It was just … well, he was like me, one of the outsiders. We were into rock ’n’ roll, motorcycles, that kind of thing.”

“You rode motorcycles?”

“Oh yeah!”

“Dylan too?”

“Sure.”

“That’s so cool!”

“Yeah,” Leroy said, pleased. “You know, I remember the time Bobby was almost killed on one of our rides.”

“Really?”

“Um hm. We were all out at the railroad tracks and a train was coming, and suddenly Bobby took off like he was going to make it across before the train blocked him. It was impossible, really, but we all liked doing crazy shit like that. He just tore off and when he realized at the last minute that the train was going to beat him, he took the bike down, into all the rocks piled up around the tracks, and he slid almost right under the train. He was just lying there as the side of it went right by his head. We thought he was hurt for sure. But after the train passed he just got up and brushed himself off. ‘Hey Bobby, are you alright?’ I asked. ‘I’m ok,’ he said. ‘You almost just got yourself killed,’ I shouted. ‘I’m ok,’ he said again. ‘How did you feel when you went down?’ another one of our group asked. ‘I was ok,’ he said. And though we kept talking about it for a while and would bring it up again in the weeks to come, he never said much more than that. He didn’t talk much. I guess he was different that way. He was pretty quiet.”

“I should say,” I said, marveling more at the fact that this story was almost like an omen, a prophecy of the mysterious motorcycle mishap of ’66, when Dylan disappeared for a year, only to return never the same. From the surrealist poet of the underground, he emerged the prophesying—and acoustic—John Wesley Harding. It was almost like in the New Testament where the miracles of Jesus fulfill prophecies foretold in the original Five Books of Moses. It was almost religious in its dimensions, and definitely mythic. But I didn’t say any of this to Leroy. I didn’t want to get back on his bad side with such a touchy subject.

Strangely enough, he did so for me.

“Yeah, Bobby didn’t talk much at all, you know. In fact, I remember this girl who had a thing for him and she asked him once what it was like to be Jewish in Hibbing and he didn’t say anything, but he looked unhappy. ‘Don’t ever ask him that,’ one of my friends told her. ‘He doesn’t like to talk about himself. Especially his private life.’ And I guess he didn’t really. Though it always seemed to me he was just quiet in general.”

“What about as a performer? Was he quiet then too?”

Leroy threw his head back and laughed, waving for another drink.

“Oh god no,” he smirked. “I still remember the first time we played together in public. It was at the Civic Auditorium. I think it was the first time he ever played actually.”

In Dylan’s wonderful memoir Chronicles (supposedly only the first in a series), he describes seeing the wrestler Gorgeous George here and being inspired to pursue a music career after the legend winked at him busking in the lobby.

“I thought the first time was at the school talent show?”

I’d read about this in the Dylan Museum time-line. Like the motorcycle mishap, it played out like a foretold prophesy, Zimmerman's classmates mocking him as he rocked much as Dylan’s former acolytes at Newport denounced him for going electric, the principal in this case playing Pete Seeger’s role and threatening to cut the cables.

“Yeah, there was that talent show,” Leroy said. “But this was even before that. It was his first public performance and his first professional one. We were so loud that they ended up shutting us down before we finished. Just cut the juice on us so that we had to stop.”

What? Now I was really confused.

“Didn’t that also happen at the talent show?”

“No, it was at the Civic Center.”

“But I keep reading that the same thing happened at the talent show.”

“I don’t know, maybe it did. But it definitely happened here.”

Hmmm.

I didn’t push it and Leroy didn’t seem to care too much either way. He’d said most of his piece about the Bobby that he once knew, and he was working on his third and final drink and feeling the mellow pull of home.

“Well, it was great meeting you,” he said, rising and extending his hand.

“No, great to meet you,” I said, genuinely excited.

This one-time link to the great man, this former drummer in The Golden Chords who brought forth the main volume on which the riotous first performance was based, was a down to earth, natural, easy going sort, completely humble and without pretension. He was faithful and loyal and all those other things that the best are supposed to be. And he did it all with a grace that belied his nondescript, middle-aged image. I could see how he had become Dylan’s friend. And I could see how he had been able to beat those drums. The shake he gave me in parting was powerful to the point of pain, though clearly not intended that way.

“See you,” he called from the door.

‘See you,” we returned in unison.

And it was only then that I realized I’d forgotten to ask the one question that had been on my mind since Leroy had entered. Like the rest of those we’d met, he had a pure Minnesota accent, complete with the laconic monotone slipping into singsong at the ends of sentences and the sures and you betchas. Why then, I’d wanted to ask, had Dylan sounded like Woody Guthrie when he first appeared, only later to speak like a black beatnik and Daffy Duck in turn? What was up with that? Had he always talked that way?

But the man who had helped bang out the word of God for the public was already gone. And God himself certainly wasn’t speaking. At least not to me.

“Damn,” I muttered.

“Damn what?” Tracey asked.

“Just damn.”

“Don’t curse.”

I looked at her, assuming she was joking, but she wasn’t.

‘We’re in Zimmy’s and they just did you a huge favor letting you meet Leroy.”

She looked almost maternal in her concern as she said it, and I realized she was right. It was wrong of me to curse, especially here. I was in Hibbing, at Zimmy’s, in a restaurant named after the great man. I was on hallowed ground.

---

P.S. Ok, so this turned out to be even longer than my earlier post about Dylan. What can I say? I got on a roll. And considering Dylan was in part revolutionary for breaking the formula of three-minute pop songs, it seems somehow fitting. Just be glad I didn’t throw in a harlequin or some circus imagery. Or Napoleon in rags, for that matter. And the language that he used.

*Regarding the asterisk above in reference to Bobby D’s cousin, a certain Mr. Z., I must admit that in my enthusiasm to track him down, I ended up going through the local phone book and calling all of the Zimmermans I could find. Though they were surprisingly friendly, considering the prank-phone-call possibilities inherent in my question (“Are you related to Bob Dylan?”), none claimed to have any connection. Damn.

On the Cover of The Rolling Stone

2008-12-22T16:24:00.004-05:00

Check it out! I've made the cover (or at least the Contents page) of Rolling Stone ... the German edition of Rolling Stone, that is.

Kind of like being big in Japan -- but better.

http://www.rollingstone.de/news/article.php?article_file=1227001976.txt

Sprechen Sie Punk?

2008-12-22T12:12:00.002-05:00

Hey,

Any of you out there speak German? Want to tell me what they're saying on this podcast?

http://podster.de/episode/829158

danke,

Stefan

Don't--and I mean DON'T--look back!

2008-12-20T14:57:00.010-05:00

Greetings,

I begin this post in Draft Letter form ("Greetings from the President of the United States...") because I've just received a note of almost equally disturbing proportions. I'm posting the entire message below, but let me state for the record that I hope it ain't so. I mean, I'm not responsible for the actions of strangers, still, if there's anyone with whom I would prefer not to share genetic material, it's the following. What was it they used to say in my grandparents day: Bad for the Jews? I couldn't have said it any better. Read it and weep:

Based on Jewish tradition that makes one Jewish if born to a mother of Jewish ethnic decent, Sarah Palin is Jewish, though she touts a mask of evangelical Christianity.

Sarah Palin's mother, Sally Sheigam, was of Lithuanian Jewish heritage and so were both of her mother's parents, Louise Sheigam and Shmuel Sheigam. Her father, Chuck Heath, also comes from Jewish blood because his mother, Beatrice Coleman, was of Jewish decent. Further information on Governor Palin's ancestors can be found in the vital records in the Lithuanian State Historical Archives in Vilnius (http://www.archyvai.lt/archyvai/index.jsp).

The Archives holds birth, marriage, divorce, and death records for the Lithuanian Jewish community from 1851 until 1915 when the Jews were required to leave the country because of World War I. They are in 18th Century Cyrillic script and Yiddish. Many of these records include the mother's maiden name and town of registration.

Palin's maternal grandfather, Schmuel Sheigam, was a Lithuanian Jew, born in 1912 in Vilkaviskis, Lithuania, The Sheigams' grandmother was a Jewess named Gower. At the Ellis Island Immigration Center, the name was entered as Sheeran, instead of Sheigam, a standard practice when immigration officers were unable to understand the pronunciation of non-English speaking immigrants. They are buried in the Jewish cemetery at Budezeriai.

{Matzav.com Newscenter}

Only 13 shopping days left!!!

2008-12-07T19:04:00.005-05:00

That's right, Hanukkah will be upon us in under two weeks -- Dec. 21, to be exact.

With that in mind, I'm forwarding you an article from The Forward (forward! forward!!).

It's about Jewish music mash-ups and name-drops a certain you-know-who, author of a certain you-know-what:

http://www.forward.com/articles/14653/

Enjoy!

jp