Simon Respectfully Wishes You a, Well, Not Happy, So Let's Go With Meaningful Yom Ha'Shoah.

Just real quickly, today was Holocaust Remembrance Day, which would've been a great day for President Ahmadinejad of Iran to apologize for comparing said historical event's actual historcial veracity to that of unicorns and leprechauns and other beings that apprently caper about in his head when he isn't inciting impoverished farmers to take up their pitchforks against the hook-nosed enemy.

You know who else could've taken today to reflect on the past instead of opening his capacious piehole? Tommy Thompson, the "conservative" (that's code for "I hate you if you're not exactly like me or much richer") Republican who recently announced his bid for President. At today's function at the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism in Washington D.C., he unhinged his yap to utter the following: “I’m in the private sector and for the first time in my life I’m earning money. You know, that’s sort of part of the Jewish tradition and I do not find anything wrong with that.” Nice work, Tommy. Have a knish.

How did I, personally, commemorate this auspicious yearly event? By writing taglines for an upcoming movie about, I shite you not, one of the architects of the Final Solution!

Professional discretion prevents me from being more specific, but let's just say his name rhymes with "Play-Golf Trike-Man." Spinning out dozens of pulpy teasers (in partial tribute to Grindhouse, about which more in a moment) for this undoubtedly gripping and dark production caused my mind to unmoor itself very briefly and to drift about airlessly like those hapless astronauts in Kubrick's 2001 who pissed off HAL the computer. As the darkness of genuine atrocity and the mad hyperbole of one-sheet convention deranged one another, I found myself typing things like "There's a New Adolf in Town!"

Not good. But it does afford a somewhat linear segue (for me, at least) to something that's been sticking in my big Jewy craw lately. OK, not just lately — it's been there forever, like a fetid caraway seed stabbing indefatigably at the inter-molar gums of my soul.

It's the way people still talk about Jews in the entertainment business, as though our Starbucks grande cups are really filled with gentile-baby blood and we spend each day wondering how to demoralize and degrade America.

It's the way "Jew" and "entertainment" bounce off each other in the reactionary-dumbfuck popular imagination, each making the other seem more evil and twisted and unwholesome.

And most of all, it's the utter hypocrisy of blaming the Jew-entertainment complex for all of America's problems but never once saying anything like, oh, gee, "The DEFENSE industry, which is largely run by non-Jews (many of whom give ample lip service to the merciful word of Jesus), is responsible for untold real destruction, unlike the entirely virtual mayhem of Hollywood (or, more accurately Vancouver)." Or, "The OIL industry, peopled by the evangelical golfers of Dick Cheney's inner sanctum, is truly and literally ruining America, unlike the squib-heavy pantomimes that glimmer fleetingly on the screens of your local multiplex."

Grrr.

Still, it's likely that the blame-Jewy-entertainment-firsters took heart at the much-ballyhooed underperformance of the Weinstein-produced Grindhouse. I suppose if you hate that kind of entertainment and consider it moral poison, I can't really blame you. But if you're one of those people who enjoyed this flick but have since, ahem, revamped their opinions in light of what the dunderfucks who consider opening box-office to be Holy Writ called its disastrous performance, well ... stop it.

I freakin' loved Grindhouse. I ate up every gnarly bit of gore, every geeky allusion, with a knife and fork. It afforded me more than three hours of delirious enjoyment. That America, the same America mentioned above, did not clutch this fearlessly gross and meta-referential labor of love to its bosom the way it did such worthy cinematic benchmarks as Norbit and Wild Hogs does not give me pause.

To reiterate: I heart the gun-legged Rose McGowan. I dig the crazy stuntman and his car. I relish the trash-talking chicks who take revenge. I adore the lurid trailers. And I love the fact that it was all hatched in the fever dreams of two movie freaks who didn't give a fuck if the focus-groupies didn't get it. I don't care either.

I love this movie because it takes all the funky compost of exploitation moviemaking and uses it to grow a beautiful film-fanatic's garden. It's a tribute to a fantasy realm full of fantasy violence. No doubt some will take today's horrifying headlines and try to blame the real-life carnage on the out-there imagery of Grindhouse and kindred flicks. Count on election-season sermons about our "sick" culture, alluding to some subversive element that rots America from within. They will tell you that guns don't kill people — movies do. And between the lines of their diatribes you'll know they mean movies made by Jews.

As far as I'm concerned, they can go sit with Tommy Thompson and President Ahmadinejad and shut the hell up. I'm trying to watch a fuckin' movie here.

How to Spend $75
(Wherein We Noodge You for Your Own Good)

It's pretty easy to find that the world has hoovered seventy-five clams out of your wallet, purse, mattress or whalebone-studded money clip.

You and your posse can spend it on about two rounds of drinks (before tip) at any Hollywood bar while straining to be heard above the latest Arcade Fire album and the cacophonous jingling of a million cell phones.

You can fork it over for a very average meal for two with no wine in an underlit boîte that overdresses the salads.

You can lay it down for some not-yet-assembled, piece-of-crap end table with a Swedish name, or a pair of socks from Barney's, or a lame gift basket full of indigestible baked "treats," or two months of fruitless online dating, or a Bedazzled frock for your shih tzu.

It's not really very much money, considering the underwhelming return on investment you can normally expect out of life.

Which is why we're writing to urge you to consider the value of a ticket to IN HAGGADAH DA VIDA, the stellar second-night Passover seder/feast/happening on Tues., April 3, which the Very Hot Jews are co-sponsoring (along with Reboot and Storahtelling) at hot L.A. club The Echo.

Go here for a larger image

Buy a ticket (although it's crazy to buy just one — bring your crew and share the love) and for once you'll truly get your $75 worth:

A hip, soulful, funny, interactive, modern, deeply meaningful seder ceremony conducted by young Israeli visionary/old soul Amichai Lau-Lavie. The founder of evening sponsor Storahtelling, he's one of a kind, with a fresh, deep take on the past but firmly rooted in the present, and blessed with a wicked sense of humor. This will be unlike any seder you've ever experienced, punctuated by ultra-modern stories, songs and observations. You'll leave inspired and energized, with new friends and an expanded sense of community.

An unforgettable feast — WITH WINE — provided by the culinary guerrillas of Ghetto Gourmet. When it comes to versatility and panache in the kitchen, the Ghet is as good as it gets, and when your taste buds first savor their version of the Passover meal, you'll experience a religio-orgasmic epiphany. And they'll serve it up to you with such grace that you'll feel like a mighty king. And don't forget the vino, selected for the occasion by local grape fiend and brainiac Brit Julian Davies (of The Echo's beloved Irregular Wine Tastings).

Fantastic live music by the splendorous Abby Travis, the magical Marvin Etzioni and others, incorporating the classic/psychedelic rock theme of the night and using some amazing tunes to further underscore the themes of Pesach in a way you never imagined possible.

The seismic turntable stylings of DJ Paul V, whom you may know from Indie 103.1, Bootie L.A. and Dragstrip 66, among other beat-mongering benchmarks. A master of the mash-up and guru of the groove, Paul has been a powerful force on the L.A. club scene for some years — and one of the first to get the kids shaking a tail feather to rock music again. He regularly rocks the Echo, but this is his first time doing it to commemorate a Jewish holiday, as far as we know. He's not an M.O.T., but he's definitely mishpuchah.

Comedy and spoken word from brilliant mensch Marc Maron, writer and hot Jewess Jill Soloway (Hello? She wrote for "Six Feet Under," people), the incomparable Ronna & Bev (whose new video is burning up YouTube), your favorite Very Hot Jews Simon and Sera, and more. These folks will not only add their wit and wisdom to the ceremonial richness of the holiday but will also be noshing and drinking and kvelling and schmoozing with you. It's unlikely that you've ever shared a table with so many hot, clever and accomplished Jews before.

Will you meet that someone special? Very possible. Will you make tons of friends and have the time of your life? You bet your ass. What's more, you can find the event itself and virtually all of the participants on MySpace — make friends with them now and leave a comment on their pages about how happy you are that you'll be attending.

So order your tickets today — or at the very latest by Mar. 28, so the Ghetto Gourmet folks know how much food to make for you nice people.

Don't make us come over there.