For some reason, my mother thinks Mick Jagger is the lowest mutation of human life on this planet. I can’t understand it. I could play her any number of suitably ribald selections from albums like Dial ‘M’ For Motherfucker by Pussy Galore, Filth by SWANS or, say, Freaks, Faggots, Drunks & Junkies by G.G. Allin, and she’d still think the Rolling Stones were the rudest, evilest, most degenerate gaggle of transgressive, drugged-up cut-throats to ever blight the earth. I mean, Jagger’s even been knighted by this point, hasn’t he? (He has, but it seems the Queen shares my mother’s view). I don’t get it.
I’m not even the biggest Stones fan in the world, but as a result, I cannot stop myself from picking that scab. I just don’t see how one of the most revered rock bands in history inspires such palpable disgust in her. Even the sight of the fabled Rolling Stones logo — Jagger’s exaggerated tongue -- makes her scowl (which, of course, means I started wearing that t-shirt on the regular).
In any case, it’s Thanksgiving week, which means my little brood and I will soon be bound for my mother’s house for the holidays, where I’ll be undertaking the perilously herculean task of side-stepping any/all conversations of even a tenuously political nature (especially in the wake of Monday night’s events in Missouri). Thanksgiving should be about good cheer and the reinforcement of the bonds of family — not venomous teeth-gnashing and circular arguments with no hope of meaningful resolution.
This Thanksgiving, don't take the bait. Regardless of your side of the fence, don't get into a heated political debate, no matter how tempting. You'll be doing yourself and your whole family a favor. Keep the peace!
But don’t ask me to back down on the Stones matter — `cos that ain’t never gonna happen!
I found the image above courtesy of the Facebook page of Julia Caffritz (ex of Pussy Galore/Action Swingers/Free Kitten, etc.)