Fatah just don’t understand
My Fatah friends. Although I don’t agree with it, I understand the point your trying to make. But next time you might want to kidnap a Druze who actually served in the IDF and isn’t sympathetic to your cause.
Doesn’t google have a version in Arabic?
Kahane kisses
Ma’ariv reports that, much to the dismay of locals, soldiers and local girls are getting it on near Baruch Goldstein’s grave at Meir Kahana Park in Kiryat Arba.
Breaking the fast
Help me resolve something that is tearing my household apart.
I grew up with a huge traditional breaking of the fast with gargantuan servings of bagels, bialys, lox, lasanga, herring (two kinds!), tuna, egg salad and blintze souffle.
My wife grew up with the tradition of drinking a glass of orange juice and having a nice light meal.
We discussed this at great length last night over a deliciously thick potato leek soup. She concluded that perhaps this whole “break fast extravaganza” is a creation of Conservative and Reform Jews (she grew in up in an Orthodox household). I digress however. I believe that most Jews prepare the lacto-smorgasbord, not a light meal and that her family is the anomaly in the equation. Thoughts?
Interesting. Looks like Mr. Bogner and I share a tradition. Unfortunately, my arthritis medication messes with the toxicity of my liver, so no more drinking for me.
Yom Kippur blues
Couple of quick things. The incessant Madonna ass-kissing that went on here last week was nauseating. It takes someone like Yossi Klein Halevi to tell it like it is. The Kabbalah Centre is a cult and should be shunned, not embraced. Read Madonna and the Kabbalah Cult in the LA Times. If you don’t feel like registering use bugmenot.com.
Musically, this week has kicked ass. New Elvis Costello, R.E.M. and Brian Wilson albums. I remember hearing about Smile for the first time while a freshman in college. I grew up listening to the Beach Boys. My dad was a big fan but they remained just fun California pop until I was reintroduced and really listened to Pet Sounds for the first time. My friend Mike told me all about the long lost Beach Boys album that would never see the light of day…except for the tracks Good Vibrations and Heroes and Villians of course. Wilson rerecorded Smile and it was released this week. It’s stellar. Overproduced ear candy. Layers and layers of harmonies. Absolute heaven. The Wondermints, a power pop band who have been backing Wilson on a road do a fine job vocally. Yeah, obvioulsy it lacks the original warmth that was the vocal stylings of the original Beach Boys. Wilson’s voice is a little worn, but he still has it.
This week was quite a chaotic one at work. Working with a large number of morons gets wearing…. Anyway, Yom Kippur is a couple of hours away. I never quite connected with the holiday, probably never will. But that’s my issue and if I have to deal with it in the world to come, so be it. I’ll have a lot to share with the big guy upstairs. In any case, have an easy fast.
Peace Train my ass
Let’s not forget that Cat Stevens wasn’t allowed entry to Israel in 2000 because he donated money to Hamas on a previous trip in 1998.
Oh, but the Israelis are probably lying. Because that’s what us Jews do.
Fuck you Cat Stevens. I never liked your damn music anyway. Except for your cover of “Another Saturday Night.” That’s a good song. Oh, and I like “Can’t Keep it In” too.
They both get me moving.
Shawn Green update
DG writes:
Well, sports fans, it seems that Shawn Green has opted NOT to play in at least one game. I hope LA fans appreciate the tough decision that Shawn had to make and take a similar position to one that a Detroit newsman took when Hank Greenberg opted to not to play.
He wrote the following poem.
Come Yom Kippur - holy fast day wide-world over to the Jew -
And Hank Greenberg to his teaching and the old tradition true
Spent the day among his people and he didn’t come to play.
Said Murphy to Mulrooney, “We shall lose the game today!
We shall miss him in the infield and shall miss him at the bat,
But he’s true to his religion - and I honor him for that!”
Will he play on Yom Kippur?
The view from here is proud to present it’s very first guest blogger. In the past, I have asked many of my friends to have this dubious honor. They are all initially excited by the idea but never pull through (losers!). Thankfully, that wasn’t the case this time. My friend DG takes on the Shawn Green dilemma that Jewish sports fans are currently debating. Enjoy.
Yom Kippur is my least favorite holiday. I hate fasting, I hate atoning and most of all I hate long services. However, as a Jewish sports fan, it is my favorite time of year because I get to play my favorite game “Guess which athlete is a Jew?” Every year around this time, the Jewish press searches for Jewish athletes, checks their playing schedules and then cross checks it against the High Holiday calendar. Not a year goes by where someone doesn’t bring up the story of Hank Greenberg or Sandy Koufax, two star Jewish athletes who decided not to play on Yom Kippur.
This year, Jewish athlete/Dodger Shawn Green has a tough decision to make. He faces the same dilemma Greenberg and Koufax once did. With only 12 games left, and a close 1 1/2 games over the Giants for a wild card birth in the playoffs, the Dodgers play the Giants twice over the Yom Kippur holiday. What’s a young Jewish ball player to do?
Because of the lack of great Jewish athletes in the US, Green has been proclaimed a Moses figure by American Jewish baseball fans. He receives numerous requests to speak at Jewish functions, invitations to Bar Mitzvahs and plenty of awards by the Jewish community.
Green is obviously struggling with his decision and when asked by the press if he was going to play on Yom Kippur, he responded by saying “I’m not talking about it yet….I don’t want the media making a big deal out of it.” In the past, Green has decided not to Tamir Goodman. But Tamir Goodman doesn’t have the $16,666,667 contract or superstar status that Shawn Green does.
Personally, the fact that Green is proud of his heritage is a symbol to me of the character that he has on and off the field. Green admittingly didn’t have a strong Jewish identity until he was embraced by the Toronto Jewish community when he played there. As soon as he realized that there were those who looked up to him as a “Jewish ball player,” he embraced it and recognized the importance of his role to the Jewish community as a symbol. Green has a job just like you and I. Like all Diaspora Jews, he has a tough decision to make. Is he is going to work during the High Holidays or not?
This is a tough call and one I refuse to judge him on. Whatever Shawn’s decision may be, this Jewish baseball fan will support it. Play Ball!
DG is an avid baseball fan and a hot dog aficiando who makes his home in Brooklyn, NY.
Inside look at Madonna’s Kabbalah dinner
So I lied. My previous post is not actually my last post about Madonna. This probably isn’t either. I wasn’t planning on mentioning her again but when the opportunity arose for an insider view of Kabbalah conference’s gala dinner I couldn’t resist. I’m glad I didn’t. It’s golden. The writer will remain anonymous for fear of retribution.
So there I was, at Madonna’s Gala dinner in Tel Aviv, celebrating the achievements of the Kaballah Center’s Spirituality for Kids or as it is affectionately known, cults for kiddies. The evening was one long shiver down the spine. Little Jewish and Arab kids attending the SFK summer camp informed all of how they now knew about “the light and the negative” and “cause and effect” and how this has changed their lives. The guests were treated to the very latest in Israeli kitsch, kids singing a Hebrew rendition of “It’s a small world after all” followed by a Michael Jackson number. Jackson and Disney, what’s the subliminal message with the choice of role models there? We were all given little bags containing the book “Becoming like God” with a matching button to pin on our shirts. There goes my title for my autobiography. Black baseball caps with the same message were available upstairs at the Kaballah souvenir store. But the highlight of the evening was undoubtedly the charming Hollywood Hills matron sitting next to me. She name dropped about Demi and Ashton and regaled us with stories about how she is now manifesting her own miracles. She very kindly gave me her own pocket Zohar to keep me safe, and advised me to go down to the local Kaballah center. “Just try one class, can you imagine a life without stress?” And of course, the evening ended with a hug. And what about Madonna? She slipped out the kitchen door after her speech.
Now, if that isn’t worth breaking a promise, what is?
Oh, and now you can get Kabbalah keychains and shot glasses.
From The Jerusalem Post:
While the Kabbalah Centre gathering was promoted as spiritual, there was also a commercial aspect. At booths set up in the lobby, Kabbalah-inspired goods such as backpacks, jewelry, stuffed dolls, and children’s clothing all emblazoned with one of the 72 names of God were on sale. They were even tequila shot glasses (NIS 125 each) with one of God’s names on them. “We want to have more things relating to Kabbalah. They help us with our transformation, with developing a change from within,” said Rachel Roded, of the LA center. “You wouldn’t understand, it’s hard to explain to you,” Ellis said of the wide variety of goods on sale.
The shot glass is just under thirty dollars. A bargain when compared to the price of red string.
Lest we forget the dancing protesters. Ten points for the creative sign “Desperately Seeking Peace.”
AP
Sorry ladies. Madonna’s tour is over.
Unless she finds a cure for cancer (all types) while in Israel this will be my last Madonna post. Unless of course, a real riot breaks out. Not a fake one like Ma’ariv reported.
So I happened to be in the neighborhood where Madonna is staying and decided to check out how many rabid fans were waiting to meet their favorite immaterial idol. I was as shocked as you are to find….zero. Not one fan. There was one guy screaming at the top of his lungs about the gematria and symbolism in Shanghai Surprise but he was being ignored by all. Joking. He was screaming about Speed the Plow.
The only noticable presence was the paparazzi (see above) who patiently waited for Madonna and her entourage to emerge from the hotel.
There have been a myriad of obituaries, dedications and tributes throughout the web since Johnny Ramone died a couple of days ago. These two are the best.
One is from the blog of Jed Davis, the other written by Donna Gaines in the Village Voice.
I’m going to reprint Jed’s beautiful writing here because you should read it.
The whole story of Johnny Ramone is right there in the guitar. In the cracked and mottled paint, the dented neck, the slashed body, the beat-up pickguard held on by a half-dozen mismatched screws.
Johnny played this guitar from 1977 to 1996. Here, slip it on. When you sling the strap over your shoulder, the guitar freefalls right to your knees - stopping with a jerk just when you think it’s gonna crash to the floor.
There’s only one way to reach the strings of a guitar slung so low: spread ‘em like you’re getting arrested. You have to be a delinquent to feel comfortable playing this instrument.
Sit down for a second and hold the guitar up for a closer look. First thing you notice is the paint job, or the lack of one. Two decades of sweat have eaten away the white finish down to the bare wood - wood that is nicked, scratched, bashed and slashed. Never repainted, never sanded, never restored.
Check out the pickguard - it looks like a slab of armor sliced from the breastplate of a vanquished black knight. Like it’s survived the bloodiest of battles to fight another day. Each screw that holds it on has a different color and head; some of them barely fit in their assigned holes.
But Johnny’s fingerprint is an indentation in the neck where it meets the body - when you see that, feel it, you know this guitar could have belonged to only one man. It’s scalloped out, carved completely concave as if by a thousand years of elemental force. Of course, twenty years of downstroke is more powerful than anything God or Mother Nature could ever muster.
In the Business Of Rock, guitars are smashed to shit every night. Everybody from the Windmilling Stratolegend to the Latest Petulant Poseur Trying Desperately To Look Badass has consulted the BUSTING UP AN AXE chapter of the Rockstar Handbook. What is singular, and incredible, about Johnny Ramone’s Mosrite Venture is that it arrived at its condition simply by being played. And played. And played.
The thing is held together with spit and bubblegum. Which tells us two things:
1. This guitar meant nothing to its owner, who treated it like a Craftsman tool - determined to run the fuckin thing into the ground before he’d even think about replacing it.
2. This guitar meant everything to its owner, who maintained his trusty axe through two decades of punishment and considered it irreplaceable to the end.
Does one of these statements really disqualify the other? Can’t they both be true of a guy who played guitar every night of his life… but never practiced? Who gained a following of millions by ignoring trends and public opinion? Who helped save rock and roll by dismantling it?
Eh, maybe neither is true. Maybe Johnny just didn’t want to spend any money on a new guitar. One thing is crystal clear, though: this is the instrument of a man who refused to give up when things were bad, and refused to sell out when things were good.
Anyway… the guitar is in your hands, right? Play something. How about “Blitzkrieg Bop”? Go on, you can do it. You CAN do it, that’s the whole point. Downstrokes are sufficient - you don’t even need to hit the strings on your way back up. Just don’t you dare solo. Johnny’s watching.
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