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John Mayer is a Big Crybaby
updated: Jun 09, 2012, 9:30 AM
By Nicole Buchanan Freire
So this was in the news: John Mayer: Taylor Swift Humiliated Me!
And here's what I think. I think I'm about to buy a Taylor Swift album, because, sorry John Mayer, I'm all
TEAM SWIFT now.
John Mayer's tender feelings were hurt because he dated a young, famous singer-songwriter, dumped her, and then had the
temerity to be angry that she wrote a song about it! One that she sings! IN CONCERT. A popular song, not just one she recorded for herself to listen to as
she hate reads John Mayer fan fiction. (Ooh, you guys, I have a lot to say about internet hate reading, but I'll save that topic for another day.)
Ahem, John? May I speak frankly? You are a singer songwriter, are you not? And you have a shiny new album that just came out? I
understand, from what I've read, that you are unable to promote said album by singing and touring because you have throat problems.
(Which I totally get, do you remember when I had my tonsils out John? Oh, do you not recall that? Let me refresh your memory Jello With a Side of Jello). It must be tough, to not be able to successfully display your talent
at SINGING AND SONGWRITING all over the media because while you can't perform, you sure can run your mouth.
You know, like you did here?
John Mayer on Sexual Napalm
Let's see, you talk about dating Jennifer Aniston, your love of porn, and on the subject of Jessica Simpson (another young singer songwriter you dated), you
had this lovely bon mot to toss out:
That girl, for me, is a drug. And drugs aren't good for you if you do lots of them. Yeah, that girl is like crack cocaine to me... Sexually it was crazy.
That's all I'll say. It was like napalm, sexual napalm...
Wow. John, you just called a woman a destructive sexual instrument of war, akin to taking drugs, ones that are bad for you.
(Things that have never been said about taking crack cocaine: "Man, that crack cocaine really makes me want to just lie here on my sofa and order pizza
while watching Monty Python and laughing hysterically for a few hours. And dude, do you have any M&M's handy?")
Now, correct me if I'm wrong (no really, don't, I don't care) but as a singer songwriter (or writer, actor, doctor, artist, the barista at Starbucks, and
pretty much all human beings on this beautiful planet who communicate in any fashion to anyone, anytime) you reflect on your life and your experiences to
construct your songs, right?
You're aching for the sometimes frustrating moments of connection, or to be perfectly frank, a communion with another soul. Those things inform your
songwriting and singing. You find them necessary, cannot live without them, and have built your entire life and career around expressing them in public. On
the radio, on iTunes, and in concert.
And I'm guessing you're not just writing pure fiction, because this lyric, from your (admittedly, pretty sexy) infamous song, "Your Body Is A Wonderland"
is totally based in reality.
Something 'bout the way the hair falls in your face
I love the shape you take when crawling towards the pillowcase
You tell me where to go and
Though I might leave to find it
I'll never let your head hit the bed
Without my hand behind it
This is a very suggestive little verse and I'm betting it's based on John Mayer's actual experiences in bed. It's a mildly sweet way of saying, uh, um,
(Dear Mom and Dad and my kids, I have NO IDEA what John Mayer could be talking about. When a man and a woman love each very much they chastely
kiss each other on the cheek and then everything is covered in gold glitter and your memories are erased by aliens. The End.)
So. Let's recap. John Mayer makes a living writing songs and performing them. He also has no compunction to keep his 'private life' to himself, but
shares it freely with the public.
But wait! Some other singer songwriter did the same thing! Isn't art amazing? The potential beauty of communication, of shared experiences,
expressing those experiences and sharing them with your fellow travelers, wow, it's truly a transcendent thing.
Not to John Mayer.
In fact, John Mayer is SO UNHAPPY that he can't just stop at whining like a truculent teenage boy about it. No, he has to really go the extra mile here
and call out Taylor Swift for not adhering to his imagined scale of musicality.
Mayer also takes issue with "Dear John" as a musician. "I will say as a songwriter that I think it's kind of cheap songwriting," he says. "I know she's
the biggest thing in the world, and I'm not trying to sink anybody's ship, but I think it's abusing your talent to rub your hands together and go, 'Wait 'til he
gets a load of this!' That's (expletive)."
So Taylor Swift is a 'cheap songwriter', while John Mayer can write about trying not to smash his girlfriend's head into a headboard or wall while they're
in bed? Which is really, uh, I don't know, not exactly the classiest lyric I've ever heard?
Because this is the takeaway lesson here folks. The double standard is alive and well and certainly extremely busy kicking, just as it always has. A boy
can write about whatever and whomever he likes! But oh, when a girl does the same thing?
WAH WAH WAH.
Now, I can go on FOREVER about the continuing degradation of women, the struggles of feminism, and the ridiculously difficult methods I try to employ
while trying to raise a teenage girl with a healthy sense of self-esteem and keeping her voice loud and clear but I might just lose my mind. Temporarily.
But hey. John Mayer? Way to call the kettle black. Newcastle called and they want to know when you'll be bringing the coals.
Taylor Swift can sing about whatever she wants to. It's her right, and it's also her job. You happened to show up in one of her popular songs. Deal with
it like a grown man and keep your mouth shut.
THERE'S AN APP FOR THAT
So far I have completed three workouts in the Couch to 5K program. That leaves me with..............someone else to do the math.
I am taking this project very slowly. People ask me how far or how fast I've been running and all I'm able to do is gesture tiredly at my phone.
The app I'm using (if anyone's interested, it's this one:CoolRunning.com) tracks
everything for me. My distance, my speed, a GPS, everything.
But all I really care about is talking back to my phone as I run/walk. I've already developed INTENSE feelings towards the computer generated woman's
voice that tells me when to run and for how long.
Phone: "Let's start off with a brisk 5 minute walk!"
Me: "Ok, I can do that."
Phone: "Now jog!"
Me: "What? Already? What happened to five minutes?"
I squint at my phone. Huh. Ok, that was a fast five minutes. I jog.
1:30 goes by.
Phone: "Now walk!"
Me: "Oh, thank god!"
Phone: "Now jog!"
Me: "Oh, no."
I jog for a minute.
Phone: "Let's walk!
Me: "Yes, good idea!"
I stagger down the sidewalk.
Phone: "Now jog! Faster!"
Me: "I HATE YOU."
And so it goes, for a half hour. It's excruciating.
Mostly I'm glad to hear her voice, probably because I'm gasping for air and can only follow verbal commands. I'm barely upright; I don't think that we
can call what I'm doing so far "running."
SCATTERED THOUGHTS WHILE STAGGERING DOWN A SIDEWALK
The part of my DNA that hails from Ireland really comes out when I exert myself in any physical fashion. The other day after I 'went running' someone
said to me, "Oh, you look flushed!" which was a very nice way of saying, "My god, I think your face is going to explode!"
This is why the Irish like to hide in dark pubs and drink. We don't wish to frighten small children or pets with our sweaty, beet-red faces.
I probably need new shoes.
All of my running gear is courtesy of the benevolent gods of Alpha Thrift. That means I am either:
a) Wearing the exercise gear of the recently deceased
b) Wearing the exercise gear of someone who met her fitness goal and consequently shed her now too big clothing for a smaller size.
I am content with b.
I definitely need running shoes.
When starting a new exercise routine that involves leaving the house and going OUTSIDE, I think it best to choose this time of year. Not for the lovely
sunshine or breeze, and certainly not for the ridiculously high pollen count. No, you want to do it now because the jacaranda trees are in bloom and petals
are strewn everywhere.
So when your running coach voice tells you to run and you want to smash your phone into the ground in response, well, let's just say that not everybody
gets to walk over a carpet of purple petals laid down especially for you by Mother Nature herself, just to keep you motivated. I have a rich interior life.
Also helpful when starting a new exercise routine? A surly teenager! Make sure to bring one along with you. They can critique your extremely poor
form. Or comment on your lack of bendy knees. They'll tell you that you're running too slow. Insist that you keep your eyes up, up, look at me, Mom, it's
totally easy! SEE?
How much to spend on shoes?
Visualize those training montages from all the Rocky movies. Play them in the cheap theater of your mind as you run. Are they helping motivate you?
No? Quick, switch to a fantasy involving Ed Norton in "Fight Club." No? How about Ed Norton earnestly discussing his new script choices as you drink the tall
glass of Gatorade he poured for you, and yes, it's fruit-punch flavored, Ed knows what you like. Now, that's better.
Can I be reported for yelling at my phone?
Am I scaring that lady with the dog?
What do other people think about when running?
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