An open letter to John Mayer; You're ruining my life

Dear J-man, can I call you that? Thanks.

We’ve never met, you’ve never heard of me… we’ve been in the same room once but that’s as close as you’ve come to knowing me, and yet, I know all about you.

I know that your middle name is Clayton and that you grew up in Connecticut. I know that you have a fiendish interest in porn and whiskey and vintage Rolex watches. I know that when you were a teenager a neighbour gave you a Stevie Ray Vaughn tape which sparked your great romance with the blues, and that your fixation with guitar playing freaked your parents out and they packed you off to see a psychiatrist.

I know that you’re about 6’3” tall, speak Japanese and you chow-down on A1 sauce and coconut and sushi, probably all at the same time, while watching porn, in a pair of your many sneakers, to the soundtrack of The Police.

You came into my life sometime in 2003 when a friend downloaded and burned me a copy of your Room For Squares album, prior to it being properly released. I listened to 3x5 on repeat for 3 days straight and when I took a Winter weekend road-trip I made it almost 2 hours down the highway before realising that I’d left the disc at home. I pulled over, cried for 15 minutes then turned around and drove home to get it. During a storm.

I took that scratched up disc into the record store I worked at and played it for an entire month until my colleagues threatened to snap it in half and cut my throat with it. When the album was officially released on disc I merchandised it in every square inch of the record store and sold about 30 copies per day to people who probably never even listened to it, because I bullied them into making the purchase.

You’re welcome.

Anyway, so let’s get back on topic: You’re ruining my life…

READ THE LETTER HERE: www.headfirstdown.blogspot.com