I Heart Mick Jagger

Now, I know that plenty of this blog is dedicated to the criticism of men. And why not? There's so much to criticize. And yet, so much to praise. So let me introduce you to the first in a many-part series dedicated to the men -- and perhaps women -- who make us swoon, giggle, and maybe even -- gasp! -- think. (Stay tuned for such crazes as "I heart Ben Harper," "I heart Topher Grace," and "I heart Anderson Cooper"). So I figured I best start with the oldest of them, and we can work our way up to modern times. Mick, at six hundred and thirty-two, I love you because:

...when the lights came up and you strutted onto the stage last night, I couldn't wipe the silly grin off of my face. For two hours. I mean really, it's Mick Jagger.

...you are just so darned fabulous. Hot accent aside, let's face it, homeboy was rocking the heroin chic look years before Lindsay Lohan and Nicole Ritchie's mothers began producing the eggs that eventually spawned those malnourished freaks. Further, you changed outfits four times in two hours. You transitioned effortlessly between sparkly black belly tank, gold lame shirt, long black velvet coat, and pink (dare I say salmon?) button-down. Even your guitar was sparkly.*

...I'm raging jealous of your body. Your lips are the real version of what Pamela Anderson is striving for with those silicon-stuffed monstrosities. Your cut arms are the reason I keep going to that tortuous pilates class. Your hips are probably, oh, half the size of mine.

...you've got moves. We know, baby, that Axl Rose didn't invent the slinky side-to-side rocker dance. That was all you.

...I think you really understand me. When you belted out "I Can't Get No Satisfaction," I felt as though you knew that only 22 percent of New York's happening ladies are getting any

...you're the only British rocker I know who can channel the Rastafarian grooves of Bob Marley ("Stand Up For Your Rights") and the soulful feel of a classic blues master ("Back of My Hand") within the span of an hour.



...you teach me a lot. You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, ladies, you just might get what you need.

Perhaps some of you may think that this review of Mick is over the top. I know, I know, it's only rock and roll, but guess what? I like it. Have you had enough of my lyrical reference obnoxiousness? Then I'll stop now.

*Special props here to Keith Richards for his sparkly headband. We love it, man. But you are not, I repeat NOT, fabulous.