When I send a poop joke out on Twitter, every single time, people write back, ' LOL, that's why I love you.You're not like every other bullshit celebrity.' It shows an artist detaching from the matrix of trying to micromanage perfection. So, it's not really about poop at all." This is pure Mayer talk. He operates in layers of meaning, where a poop joke is so much more than a poop joke.
And every time he sees a paparazzi, he can't help himself, he's got to act out; just the other day, he and his friend the well-known lesbian Samantha Ronson engaged in a bit of hot up-against-the-wall-oral-sex silliness for the cameras. But here he sits tonight, leather jacket pulled in tight against an early-evening chill, big soulful puppy-dog eyes looking more pensive than usual. "All I want to do now is fuck the girls I've already fucked, because I can't fathom explaining myself to somebody who can't believe I'd be interested in them, and they're going, ' But you're John Mayer! And he will not stop until he finds her, and her Joshua Tree of vaginas. All cozy in sweatpants and a hoodie, he usually turns in now; if he hasn't by 7 a.m., it's time for a Xanax or an Ambien.
Momentarily, he stands up to try to get a propane porch heater started. He clicks away, no luck, turns, sits down, gets up, tries once more, no luck, gets someone else to do it, eyeballs some girls at a nearby table, says nothing to them ("When it's time, my mouth will just start going"), returns to his drink. He wants a girlfriend, a real life-partner girlfriend. ' So I'm going backwards to move forward. "Do you think it's going to take meeting someone who I admire more than I admire myself? Aren't we talking about a matrix of a couple of different things here? When he gets up, usually around noon, he drinks some coffee, eats breakfast, brushes his teeth, hits the shower and stands in front of a great big closet (he spent about $200,000 on clothes last year) asking himself one of life's more important questions: "Who the fuck do I want to be today?
That's just how he operates." "I am the new generation of masturbator," Mayer says later on, out of the blue, apropos of nothing, really. Before I make coffee, I've seen more butt holes than a proctologist does in a week." Does this new generation of masturbator masturbate every day? He's in love with the sound of his own voice, always saying things like, "Let me break it down for you," and then laying into it with revelatory verbal fireworks of the kind that constantly threaten to blow him to smithereens.
"I don't like that question, because it seeks to make me sound strange if I say 'yes,' but of course I do. He can't help himself, he's got to say what's on his mind, despite the consequences, which often get played out in the tabloids and on trash TV, such as the time during a stand-up-comedy gig when he said he never got to have sex with early girlfriend Jennifer Love Hewitt because of a bout of food poisoning.
And I have excused myself at the oddest times so as to not make mistakes. I'll read a little something and die a thousand times in my own mind, visualizing the death of my career or respect for me and my music. But then two weeks ago, it occurred to me, ' John' – if I can use my own name with myself – ' The only reason you're going through these trials is because you're brave enough to say, "I don't want to detach.
I don't want to go live in a gated community."' So, I will continue to make these worldwide dignity mistakes as often as it takes to not make them anymore." ow Mayer got to be like this is kind of a mystery.
But then suddenly the girl's up on her feet and walking out.
But his guitar chops, especially in the bluesy area, are unquestionably great, and he can count Eric Clapton among his admirers.
A class clown in his early years, Mayer had taken up the guitar by his midteens and had begun shutting himself off in his room to the exclusion of everything else.