leave john mayer alone!

i heard the dj's talking on The Current (Minnesota Public Radio, of all things, which absolutely kicks ass - listen to them here - bookmark it) the other morning, and they were going on about somebody who had made all these horrible racist, misogynist statements in a recent interview. i didn't at first hear who they were talking about, but they sounded so earnest and so horrified that i opened up a Google window and typed in one of the phrases they had quoted, "jessica simpson is like sexual napalm," i think. it didn't take me long to find out that the blogosphere was simply about to have a conniption over none other than...what? John Mayer? you've got to be kidding me.

i know, i know. John Mayer is probably a douche. mostly because he's an insecure, geeky, bubble-gum proto-romantic pop guitarist who's rolling in both money and hoochie. he tapped Jennifer Aniston, for crying out loud - that's enough to make any heterosexual white guy over the age of 30 hate the dude. that and the tune from "Your Body is a Wonderland" is one of those that gets in your head & causes mental anguish while standing behind some large woman with bad hygeine at the grocery store.

john mayer did an interview in the March issue of Playboy magazine. i don't subscribe to the periodical, but i'll still read the articles if i find one laying around the bathroom at a machine shop, or stuffed in the bottom drawer of my mechanic's toolbox. Playboy chicks are still among the tastefully hottest nude centerfolds in a world of horribly tasteless and prolific pornography.

in this interview, which can be found in its entirety here, our boy says some pretty provocative things, some pretty sexual things, some pretty candid things. in reading the interview to determine what all the hype was about, i found it pretty damn refreshing that a star of this guy's magnitude pulled no punches, told no lies - he put it all out there, perhaps to his own detriment. or maybe not - he may have just wanted some more attention. i don't know, because i haven't talked to him.

but it was a Playboy interview! that alone might give a hint that provocative, sexual questions might be asked and answered. he did drop the "n" word, which i guess white people still aren't supposed to do. but he qualified that by pointing out the irony that a white guy can never really have a "hood pass," for that very reason.

and he did say he had a white supremacist dick, which is probably not a good thing to go into black and white, because the reader can't hear the subtext. but in reading the actual context, i got that it's an aspect of his id that he really doesn't like, that it baffles him and causes some amount of self-loathing.

which is why i guess i feel sorry for the guy. he may be a narcissist douchbag wannabe, but at some level i relate. alot.

i have lots & lots of friends - good friends, who give me way more than i feel like i ever give back. i am very smart & talented at nearly everything i put some work into (and more than a couple things i don't even have to try very hard, which creates other problems); yet i still feel incompetent - afraid y'all are gonna find out that i'm a no-talent hack one of these days, and i'll be abandoned. i've a host of insecurities that make me act out in crazy stupid ways and say hurtful things because i don't think i'm getting enough attention.

so anyway, it's my opinion that there's a couple things going on here: jealousy and white guilt. what else could possibly explain all the feigned shock over some of the things this 32-year-old unthreatening whitebread motherf'er said in a Playboy interview. especially in a world where very shocking, explicit pornographic images are three clicks away for your average five-year-old. white dudes are hating on him because he's living the dream - he's a rock star, just like in the Nickelback song, with the ability to make hot, popular chicks drop panties for some inexplicable reason. all the chicks that aren't hot or popular are similarly pissed off, because it ain't their bodies he's singing about.

and whenever some white guy starts pushing the boundaries of what's culturally acceptable to the black community, how quickly the rest of us white people are willing to sell that dumbass down the river. "oh my god! i can't believe he said that! that is absolutely unacceptable, and i don't find anything funny or justifiable about him saying he had a white supremacist dick*. i am horrified!" as if this one white guy had spoken for the rest of us. moreover, as if what he said had any credence.

(* this last is a direct quote from one of the Current's uptight dj's)

race relations in America will never advance so long as the "n-word" card can still be played. i love me some Mos Def, and on his 1999 release Black on Both Sides (arguably the best hip-hop album ever), a few of the lyrics of the song "Mr. Nigga" pretty much describe the loop we're stuck in:

Yo, the Abstract with the Mighty Mos Def
White folks got it muffled across beneath they breathe
"I didn't say it.."
But they'll say it out loud again
When they get with they close associates and friends
You know, sneak it in with they friends at the job
Happy hour at the bar while this song is in they car
And even if they've never said it, lips stay sealed
They actions reveal how their hearts really feel

so mr Def, who i admire and whose music (and acting) i really dig, has just put me in a very uncomfortable position. i'm boppin' along to his oh-so-very-fresh beats, rhyming along with these very insightful lyrics, and then he just whips out his nine and points it at my dome and says, "HEY! i know you didn't just say the n-word while you was singing along to this song i wrote called Mr. Nigga."

how the fuck am i supposed to reconcile that one? how does my heart really feel? 

how does John Mayer's heart feel? read the interview in context and entirety before expressing your socially-expected discomfort, America. leave the poor conflicted douche alone to play his guitar and feel conflicted. who really gives two shits about John Mayer anyway?

profiler

on my way home from dropping Lucas off at school this morning, i passed a car with Michigan tags on the way up the New Stock grade. the weather around here has been a little like Michigan for the past couple weeks, i mused, as i took stock of this vehicle. "vehicle," by the way, is what my co-worker, who is from Michigan, calls a car or truck. i've formed quite a few opinions of what Michigan people are like from daily contact with this one guy. i have a tendency to profile people in this way. "profiling" is a nice word for my prejudices.

the car was a mid-90's Mercury Sable, covered in road grime, with the plastic front bumper cover loose & flapping on the driver's side. the front hubcap was missing, and the rear was cracked. the left rear tire was low. immediately i've made some assumptions - this guy doesn't take care of his stuff. it follows that he probably doesn't take good care of himself.

as i pull alongside, i see that he's pretty drastically overweight, and he's got the full beard & mustache, but not because he hates shaving as much as i do - in this case, it's just slovenliness. the car is filled with crap. i don't really have time to analyze the piles of detritus, but the back seat is filled to the bottom of the windows with disorganized stuff, the front passenger seat with fast-food castoffs. i make a few more misinformed judgements about this slob. he's a typical blue-collar Michiganer. he probably used to be an auto worker (for Ford, considering the POS Sable), and he lost his job when the economy melted down. he probably should have lost it for being a lazy slob many years before, but he had a union contract.

so in the course of a few seconds on the highway, i've judged this poor bastard & found him lacking. as if i were God. i do that fairly often. my favorite targets are found on the highway, because i get to start with the license plate or the type of "vehicle," and build my derision from a gross generalization. my favorite targets have Florida plates. you are categorically an idiot and/or a douche-bag if you happen to find yourself in front of me with Florida plates on your car.

i've learned at this point in my life that the things i dislike most about other people are the things i detest the most in myself. this has been proven time and time again in my own hypocrisy. taking the above example, if i turn the mirror back upon myself, i can see that i am also driving a grimy Ford product. every surface behind my seat is covered with my child's detritus or my own random crap. i have no idea what my tire pressures are. i HATE shaving, and just recently took the time to shave my patchy beard-ish growth. i'm probably madder at that guy because he can actually grow a beard & not look ridiculous. i love me some nasty fast food - i'm just (so far) blessed with halfway decent metabolism. i am a lazy fuckin' slob, when i get right down to it. clutter makes my OCD act up, though, so i have to clean up from time to time, or go (even) crazy(er). seems i'm jealous of my friend's lack of compulsive disorders, as well.

the funny thing is, i'm always judging in my father's voice. even if i'm talking out loud to somebody who can't hear me (and doesn't even really care what it is i have to say), if i listen carefully, the timbre and diction are not mine - they are those of my cranky old father, who taught me by example. i spent the larger part of my formative years sitting shotgun in my dad's various automobiles, listening to his commentary on the other drivers, their bad habits, and their questionable lineage. thanks, dad.

the good news that comes out of this is that if something is learned behavior, it can be modified. i can change for the better. i can un-learn how to be so relentlessly judgemental. it starts by just catching myself in the act, and stopping it. flip the mirror back on myself. act my way into right thinking.