Monday, September 15, 2008

Some Girls

"Some girls give me money,
Some girls give me clothes,
Some girls give me jewellry,
That I never thought I'd own...

Some girls give me diamonds
Some girls heart attacks
Some girls I give all my bread to,
I don't ever want it back..."
Some Girls, The Rolling Stones

This girl is gonna leave you one of those lethal doses you talk about.

Of vitriol.

Don't get me wrong, Mr. Jagger & Co.

I love ya. Really.

Let me clarify that statement.

I love your music.
[Always have. After having been introduced to "Exile on Main Street" through my oh-so-cool-older friend Tony, I was hooked. I was born about 10 years too late to see their evolution from the beginning, but I could see their appeal right away, as the antithesis to the squeaky-clean (?) Beatles.]

I love your energy.
[I mean, y'all are what - in your 80's? We should all have such stamina after running back and forth and forward and backwards for 2 hours straight. It truly is a thrilling thing to see.]

I love your business acumen; that after all-ll-ll-ll these years, you can still figure out a way to rake it in, hand over fist.


Maybe I should backtrack a little.

With Duke 2 babysitting this past Saturday night, and the Baron off attending services at the Church of the Sacred Hockey Puck, I was at loose ends as to what to do.

I decided to rent a pay-per-view movie.

Yeah, so. I was restless, but not energetic enough to walk down the block to the video store. I'm all about the cocooning.

So the movie that caught my eye was the documentary, "Shine a Light", about the Rolling Stones, and directed by Martin Scorsese. I had wanted to see in in IMAX (thank god for small miracles that no one wanted to go with me).

The music was fantastic - especially the old blues numbers. When Jack White of the White Stripes and The Raconteurs came out to sing "Loving Cup" with Mick, he looked positively gleeful. No doubt just previously having come from off-stage, checking his butt-hole for horsehoes to explain his good fortune at being one of the chosen three "extra" musical performances.

The cinematography was at times frenetic, then painfully slow-paced. Kind of like a concert, I guess.

At times, with the right lighting and his fluffy hair, prancing Mick looked ageless. Then, just like on the episode of Seinfeld with the good light/bad light girlfriend, every crevice of his face showed up, and he looked like the Crypt Keeper.

I tried to think nice thoughts.

I really did.

Really. Promise.

And then, all that supreme effort actually sprained my brain.

And the thoughts that I dared not speak aloud came surging forth, no longer bound by the chains of politeness.

Like the thought of how both Mick Jagger and Ronnie Wood look like emaciated chickens that are so skinny, they're just not worth the effort to slaughter ("Let's just leave these ones to live out their lives, Martha, they're being so scrawny and all. They won't but last the winter.They're jerky on 2 legs.")

Once this visual got in my head, it was stuck, and whenever Mick started strutting around, pullet-like, I couldn't help but guffaw. Imagine these fellows below, one stage in a theater, with booming music and bright lights, freaking out and running all over the place:

(photo credit here)

And then there's Keith Richards.

Much talk has been made of his appearance. I didn't think I could possibly come up with something even vaguely original. Until I, in glorious HDTV, looked at his skin. More specifically, the quality of his skin.

While some would call it leathery, it reminded me of this:
(photo credit here)

Those eyes? They're actually all the doo-dad thingamajiggies he wears in his hair.

He's extremely talented, and really seemed to be in his happy place. And he's such a badass.

Ya. A spud badass.

Last, but not least, is Charlie Watts, quite possibly one of the most respected, gentlemanly drummers ever. Did I think about this? No.

Did I remember that he's quite the little jazz dude, and well-accomplished in this genre as well?


To me, he looked like this...
(photo credit here)

...but a very well-groomed tortoise.

He, too, was in his happy place. So happy, in fact, that he started to look a little savant-like to me. Charlie? Hello? Where are you, Charlie? It's time to go home now - the theatre's empty. Let go of the sticks, Charlie. Shh, shh. It's okay.

So, what is the end of all this?

I don't know.

Sometimes, some girls...

just wanna hear the music.

Some girls...

don't care who's directing.

Some girls...

think very strange things when they're home alone on Saturday night.


RiverPoet said...

B von B - I'm with you on what the Rolling Stones look like now. But does anyone really care when men get all dried up? There's always that double-standard. I'm sure they still have plenty of underage supermodels falling at their feet.

I was talking to a very drunk woman at a Cult concert a few years ago. She seemed actually proud and bragging that her 17-year-old daughter was Billy's "girlfriend" for the tour. Billy was more like the mom's age group, maybe even older. Apparently she had a really good role model at home, though. Pfft...

Peace - D

Baroness von Bloggenschtern said...

Countess D: The Cult apple apparently does not fall far from the well-ringed tree.

As for wrinkles giving rock stars "character", I would be mighty afraid to "tap" anything for fear of breaking bones.

I don't get it.

Although I think money and equine-esque anatomy may have something to do with it...

Anonymous said...

Darling Baroness,
I never got the Rolling Stones bug. I may be missing the 'skinny rock star appreciation' gene, but I just grew up liking so many other bands better.
While I agree that sometimes money helps wrinkly old men look better longer, I just can't think of anything that would make the rolling stones more appealing in my eyes.
However, if I'd been in your neighborhood, I'd have gone to the church of wrinkly rockers to bear witness with you.... cuz that's what friends do!

Mental P Mama said...

They're so skinny from all that jumping around. I'm with you on the old wrinkly business. They are actually scary to look at. Keith lives nearby, and we see him out and about quite a bit. I can assure you, it is not pretty. At all.

Baroness von Bloggenschtern said...

Countess AG: Next time I watch another doc w/wrinkly rock stars, I'll give you a call...

(Hint: don't wait by the phone).

Countess MPM: Have you ever been up close? Did he smell like rancid potato nuggets?

Or maybe hash brown(ie)s?

Still waiting to hear back from anyone who lives near Charlie Watts - or does he ever actually come out of his humungous shell?

Sandi said...

Keith Richard has been dead for 20 years now. It's just that no one has told him,yet.

Baroness von Bloggenschtern said...

Countess Sandi: This is a fallacy.

He is quite alive at the bottom of my potato basket.

And, may I add, an eyeful.

the redhead said...

I'm almost 99% certain that if you fell into one of the crevices on Mick Jagger's face, you'd never be able to crawl back out.

{i}Post said...

Music is for the ears, not for the eyes in instances such as these.

Baroness von Bloggenschtern said...

Countess Redhead: I KNOW! How can such a skinny little mug have such deep grooves? Freaky deaky, that's all I gotta say.

Countess iPost: And music also, apparently, soothes the savage beast.

Of burden.


Cormac Brown said...

Extra cruel.

Extra funny.

Baroness von Bloggenschtern said...

Count Cormac: Cruel?


Ce n'est pas possible, monsieur!

(ok, maybe a little)
(but only on days that end in "day")

Cormac Brown said...

but only on days that end in "day"

I'm stealing that, I thought I'd just let you know ahead of time.

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