An Imaginary Conversation With The Cat On My Block.

Cat: God bless you, mami.

Me: What?

Me: Seriously, did you just say something?

Cat: Meow.

Strong Open

The great thing about keyboard smiley faces is that they allow us to quickly express emotions that are sometimes difficult to put into words.

Three Songs That You Wouldn’t Possibly Think Are About John Mayer That Are Actually/Maybe About John Mayer

While Swift isn't naming names on "Dear John" — well, last names at least — she doesn't shy away from calling out someone for a love gone terribly wrong. There's no confirmation that the tune is about Mayer, but some lyrics that have appeared online have everyone wondering if he's the John she's singing about.


1.) Frank Sinatra “Fly Me To The Moon”

Fly me to the moon
Let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like
On a-Jupiter and Mars

In 1952, Mayer was a freshman student at Berkelee School of Music. By the end of his first semester he contracted both mono and the typical white boy itch for an alternative education. The itch begets the prolapse, as prostate wisdom goes, and Mayer fell quickly into drug dealing. His particular cocktail of cocaine cut with spermicide was nicknamed Moon Trip not for any sort of launch sensation it provided but because it was typically packaged in ass-centric pornography pages ripped from vintage Hustler issues. You know the rest of the story. He was contacted anonymously. He was floored by the visage in the doorway. He spent the night in a penthouse giving his idol a sponge bath. Both client and provider were genuinely moved to tears, like a grandpa realizing his lapdog has just pooped on the couch for the last time.

2.) Tracy Chapman “Fast Car”

You got a fast car
I want a ticket to anywhere
Maybe we make a deal
Maybe together we can get somewhere

True fact: John Mayer drives a Ford GT, the older, meaner brother of the Mustang, with 550 horsepower, and two side mirrors that can be angled to catch the light glints reflected off of both driver cheekbones. His GT is custom painted in road cone orange and choke sex blue ensuring that at no moment the outer world mistakes him for anyone but John Mayer, and he never has to wonder about the horror of making a right turn unnoticed. Anyway, one time in 1993 Tracy Chapman was hitch-hiking on Route 101 and Mayer saw leather and the promising outline of breasts and he pulled over. Chapman asked him, “Maybe we make a deal?” but the terms could not be met.

3.) Blessed Union of Souls “Hey Leonardo”

She likes me for me
Not because I look like Tyson Beckford
With the charm of Robert Redford
Oozing out my ears


They were just a small town Ohio band. A 100 lb bass in a Midwestern pond. But they had dreams. Dreams that invaded their daily thoughts when they were in line for concessions at the Apple Creek drive-thru or stirring soup on the stovetop. The dreams were of Billboard Top 100 fame, the kind of get me out of this damn place Springsteenian fantasies that make people very bad middle country boyfriends. One night, Elliot was driving around town with his girl sitting shotgun when John Mayer’s “Your Body is a Wonderland” came on the radio. “I COULD do this, Lisa!” Elliot shouted, hitting the steering wheel emphatically, “I could!” And Lisa, her poor potato-eyes looking to the sky for divine intervention, took to petting her boyfriend’s ego like it was a shaken and fragile cow that had just been tipped. “Baby,” she said, “I like you for you.”

I've never really understood

the bizarre synergy between Liz Phair and Keith Richards. Mainly because Richards has always seemed more myth than man to me-- you know, he's the large-than-life rock God sustaining a vampiric existence care of 4am speedballs and maybe/probably daily unicorn blood transfusions, and as much as Liz Phair rocks and rocks hard, her persona seems to be culled as a direct affront to the very sandbox in which Richards' plays. Sure, Phair's Exile in Guyville was a tribute (or was it more of a jab? or was it be BOTH? OMG FALLING DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE.. WHERE'S MY SPEEDBALL?!!) to the Stones' Exile on Main Street, but it also a painfully human bitch-out of the boy-owned world that she desperately wanted to enter and simultaneously wanted to destroy. I feel like circa 1993 Phair would call it a hate fuck.

Anyway, here is the Liz Phair of now reviewing Richards' biography.