“Are they all brothers?” I asked naively. “No, they’re The Ramones.”
I don’t know what’s scarier: That most of my recent blogs have either been about dead people (Dan Melnick); books largely about dead people (“Pictures at a Revolution”); or the living dead (my story about the Rolling Stones and the creation of “Exile on Main Street”).
Actually, now that I think about it, with Stones’ guitarist Keith Richards’ — who many have assumed to be a walking cadaver for years — announcement Monday that he was quitting drinking (he didn’t mention anything about heroin or cocaine but, hey, we take what sobriety we can …) many now assume he actually is dead.
No, actually, the story today sort of combines all three — I wanted to mention the just-published book “I Slept with Joey Ramone” (Touchstone, $28), a pretty beguiling and sensuous title that is only betrayed when you realize it’s written by his younger brother Mickey. And what Mickey meant was that they shared the same apartment for many years.