1. Regularly staying up until 5am scouring celebrity bios on Wikipedia, including, tonight, Robert DeNiro, Joe Pesci, and John Mayer
2. Learning nearly all of John Mayer's debut album "Room For Squares" on guitar my freshman year of college
3. Reading John Mayer's blog earlier tonight
4. Enjoying it
I don't know what it is about John Mayer that I'm so fascinated by. And I don't know how it happened, or when. Perhaps it was his combination of sensitive "your dorm or mine, after sex let's cuddle and stay up all night misquoting dead French philosophers" lyrics and Dave Matthews at Berklee acoustic guitar stylings. Maybe it was his Stevie Ray Vaughan ripped white-man's blues guitar solos over said sensitive lyrics and Dave Matthews Does Jazz Chords. Or maybe it was that I had no taste whatsoever.
Regardless of my fascination's true genesis, all I know is that, during my freshman and sophomore years of college, I found myself hopelessly dog-paddling in the Pool of John Mayer. I learned "Why Georgia" on guitar. Then "Neon". Then the solo from "City Love". By ear picked out "Your Body is a Wonderland". From "No Such Thing" stole the song structures, turned it into my own. C#m to Dm, EMaj7 to FMaj7. "(Would I Make It) Home" the song was called. I still remember the Mayer-esque cleverness.
A journey of a thousand miles/
Begins with one single step/
I always want to ask/
Is it left or right?
I didn't realize it at the time, but it all came to a head when, during a heated debate concerning, what else, music, one of my musically-judgmental roommates accused me of being John Mayer. "Dude," he had said, pointing his finger at my chest. "You are John Mayer!"
And, as much as I didn't want to admit it then (and certainly not now -- I've got hipster cred to maintain) it was pretty much true. One instance in particular I recall: In an effort to to annoy my girlfriend, rewriting the lyrics to "Your Body is a Wonderland". To include the phrases "candy tits" and "bubble gum cum". And then playing it at shows.
Yeah, that went over like a turd in the punch bowl.
But, oh, to be young and shameless again. What are your shameful late-night addictions?