I blogged about seeing John Mayer in concert several months ago. Well, I actually blogged about the feast of carnal delights that followed the Mayer show as a thank you gift for giving Dana’s ticket to a friend at the last minute. (So, I guess you could say that the “free” dinner only ended up costing my around $100...)

If you remember, this show was right before the whole "John! Just keep your mouth shut when you’re not singing!" thing of his penis being a David Duke-esque white supremacist and comparing Jessica Simpson to sexual napalm and wanting to quit his life and just snort her. Anywho...

So it turns out that one of the guys I work with has a friend who taped the show and he gave me a copy. For a live, I’m hiding a pair of stereo microphones in my ball cap and standing in a crowd of mostly screaming women, the recording quality is surprisingly good with *just enough* of that desperate “I LOVE YOU, JOHN!!!” to keep it real. So, I was listening to this show the other day, and I forgot a bit of riffing that Mayer did on technology during his song “Half of my heart” that was something I could definitely relate to. As a reviewer, I know how exciting it is when that Brown or White truck pulls up or when you come home and see a pile of packages on the front door. And very few things in life say “I cared enough to send the best” like getting a package on…Saturday! So, I thought I’d share Mayer’s comments here, to let you know that while he IS a massive douche much of the time, he can also sometimes be somewhat kinda relatable. You know, for a guy that dates super models.

I love on-line shopping.

I just love Googling stuff.

I love opening Fed-Ex boxes more than the love of a woman.

Saturday delivery. I love my Saturday delivery.

Electronics, sensaphonics.

I got bubble wrap... I know someday in my life I’ll understand how true love is better than Saturday delivery, Fed-Ex. Little bag of candies, throw those. Styrofoam.  Ohhh, manuals, CD-Rom install, nice! Eww, little tiny battery, remote. Mmm! You know what I’m talking about men? The problem is that as soon as you take the thing out and plug it in and fire it up and it goes vroooo! Waiting…waiting…waiting. It’s blue! It lights up blue! This is the greatest day of my life! I’m gonna stay in all night, get drunk and read the manual. I’m just gonna drink Scotch and read the manual and I don’t need anybody. Fu-- her!

That’s the one half of your heart. The other half of your heart kicks in after you can’t work the damn thing or you can and you go, ‘Oh, that’s what that does. Big deal! Now I just want someone to hold me.’ And I got a bunch of junk right there in the foyer. I got boxes that opened up boxes that came out of boxes, I’ve got a Russian doll of just shipping. Some thing that doesn’t work right cause you took a hammer to it cause you didn’t read the manual. And all of a sudden you’re like, ‘I do want love.’

Any man out there know what I’m talking about? This is what I live with.