Now, now, now there has to be a better way...

...sing it again now , better way to show I'm grateful. So I thought up this blog to show my appreciation for loving me so long. You don't know how much you mean to me. Cause even though when times got rough you were right there and I thank you.

If you don't understand that you need to go research your 1990's music.

What am I thankful for? It's a question that comes up almost too often, if that's possible, this time of year. It's a question that has ever-changing answers, yet some always remain the same.

Friends and family top the list. Then come the fortunate lives we lead. Then comes the varying feasts we will partake in tomorrow. What comes next? You tell me.

Or maybe I'll tell you, too.

I'm most thankful for the family and friends I have. We have become much more spread out in these past years, but being away has made me that much more thankful for them.

I am thankful for my new job. I have been here for three and a half weeks now and it is starting to feel very comfortable. I am thankful that it is a salaried position and I no longer have to deal with the stresses of commission, especially during this time of economic turmoil. It is the first position I've ever held where I didn't feel like I was the smartest person in the building at most times. It's a new, and thus odd, feeling but a great one. I have much to learn here from many, many great people.

I am thankful for the new church family I have grown to know in my 15 months in Nashville. Just in the last two or three weeks I have truly felt at home at church. I am thankful for the youth that I work with there. They make my Sunday evenings more enjoyable than they realize.

I'm so thankful for the little things in life that at times aren't important at all, but other times are the things that keep you going. I'm thankful for the big things in life that seem so far away but are right on top of me, all at the same time. I'm thankful for sports and competition. We're all human and not one of us is above any other, but for those two minutes of victory I am more than most.

I'm thankful that I live in the United States of America, the greatest country in the history of mankind. I'm so glad that I can live the life I choose to live and not be overly judged or ridiculed.

I'm so thankful. Thank You, and you.

My post a few weeks ago is possibly my favorite entry I've ever written. I have two pieces of writing I am particularly proud of; one is this blog entry and the other is a poem I wrote several years ago. I'll be sure to post it when the time is right (i.e. when the Cubs lose the World Series in 2010; I think I posted it on my MySpace blog awhile ago, so feel free to search for it there if you just can't wait).

I'm proud of that blog entry because I think it sheds some light on the person I truly am, but at the same time, I believe, it is powerfully written. I'm very calm when I write a blog because I want to focus all my energies on the words being typed; I was immeasurably calm when composing that entry. As I wrote, I felt like I should cry. Not because I felt like crying, but because I was so emotionally open with the words I put on that page. I often hear girls say they needed a good cry. I haven't cried in over seven years and do not need to cry.

I just needed a good blog,
B

P.S. You caught that 2010 line, right? The Cubs will shine in 2009!

Just keep me where the light is

I write this as I lay in bed wondering what comes next. The latest chapter of my life has seemingly ended. I can't help but imagine what is next to come as the pages continue to fill themselves.

I write this as I listen to music that molds me, lifts me, heals me, energizes me, and has helped me become the person I am today. The music I listen to inspires me. The songs we listen to give us hope if only for those sparingly few minutes the play.

I write this wanting more. I want more from this world. I want to give more to this world. I want to help the world change for the better. I want the world to help change me for the better. We all want more. What it is we want is the question.

What do I want? I want too much. I want material things. I want emotional things. I want spiritual things. I want things. We all want things.

What things do we need? We need God. We need mothers and fathers who love us. We need hope and desire that never waivers. We need to be inspired and to inspire others.

We need to have nights where we lay in bed wondering how we got here, how we learned to call a place called Nashville home, how we came to love the same music our father's love, how we are hopefully beginning a career, and what we are going to do next.

We are in this together. We fill our lives with I's when it's the times of we that truly matter. Cherish those times. Do not, ever, let those moments pass you by unnoticed. Open your eyes, listen, and take the world in.

I write this as I fight the notion of sleep. I do not want to miss the world around me as it continues to move. I want more.

I am only a man,
B

In his words...again.

I was 23 years old when the nation was attacked on September 11, 2001. I can remember hearing pundits say "this changes everything" and "things will never be the same." Obviously it was a tragic and traumatic event, but that sentiment has carried on through the better part of my twenties. If you were 43 years old on that day, I would imagine it was a difficult concept to get your head around as well, but if you were a young adult just entering his or her individual life, there was an added twist; how can you process the idea of everything changing and things never being the same when you have no point of reference for what "everything" and "the same" is? I was just beginning to put my hands on the world around me, to interact and engage with it, and to actualize the dream of being an adult in a free society. To wait in line for 23 years only to have the "sorry, future canceled" sign flipped in my face was depressing, to say the least.

The social and political narrative of the last eight years, if you're a young adult, has been "you are the first generation of the second half of the rest of human existence." That's a huge psychological undertaking, and I believe it's one that will someday be diagnosed on a massive scale as having led to a kind of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. (Something has to explain away our premature obsession with 1980s nostalgia.) My generation has come to know itself as the generation that should have seen the good days, my, were they spectacular, now take off your shoes and place them on the belt.

What Barack Obama says to me is these days are good for something. Just when I'd thought my only role as an adult was to help shoulder the nation through its darkest days (known to us as "the rest of them"), Obama gives me the feeling that I could be alive to witness one of the most brilliant upturns in a country's history. Imagine that -- a young adult in this day and age being given something to someday brag to his children about having being alive to witness. What a concept.

That's why hope is a worthwhile commodity. To those who question whether hope is a tangible product worth building a campaign around, I'd say take a look at despair and how powerful that has been in reshaping how people think and live. I believe the definition of the "hope" that Barack Obama enthuses operates on the unspoken thesis that there has to be a polar opposite to the despair of 9/11. Because if we accept that there's not, the will to live becomes forever altered. To adults who will vote for him, Barack Obama represents a return to prosperity. To the youth, he represents an introduction to it.

-John Mayer
Huffington Press

Won't you be my neighbor?

I was called a grown-up tonight. I'm not sure it fits.

I listened to Room For Squares tonight for the first time in several months. I needed it. "3x5" and "Great Indoors" hit a particular note. It's amazing how lasting the message in a song can be. I feel like it was just last week I was listening to it when it was new to me feeling the same things I felt tonight. I'm thankful for the world this album opened my eyes up to. If it weren't for this album, I might not know who many of my now favorite artists are. If it weren't for this album, I might still be listening to Limp Bizkit and Korn (a great band, not my cup of tea anymore). If it weren't for this album, I might not have been motivated to finally learn how to play the guitar (i'll get good one day...maybe).

The Cubs weren't even in the playoffs this year. That's my absolute feeling on the subject. I'm completely numb to anything that is Cubs baseball right now. I put up a slight fight to anyone who tries to get on me about it, but I don't even feel like fighting for them right now. After 100 years without a World Series title, 25 of which I've been alive for and 21 of which I have been a Cubs fan, I didn't think Cubs-nation would ever doubt this team as much as I feel we are right now. If the term die-hard wasn't coined describing the Cubs I don't know where it comes from.

I watched Evan Almighty for the first time this past week. It was pretty good overall, but lacked the cleverness and originality that Bruce Almighty had. The scene where Evan's wife is talking to God stood out to me. Morgan Freeman is playing the role of God and he tells Evan's wife about how he doesn't think God gives people things like patience or courage, but instead he provides the opportunity to be patient or the opportunity to courageous. I don't know what the bible says about this particular point, but I like it. This is something I need to be more proactive with, taking opportunties that are presented to me instead of waiting for them to appear to me crystal clear.

I'm getting the job I'm waiting to hear back from. If I don't I guess I'm just gonna have to win the lottery cause it's really the only thing left.

Either that or you guys support me. Just send me your credit card numbers and I'll be fine.

Much obliged,
B

I'm still looking for my place on the field

I've just finished watching The Legend of Bagger Vance and am in a very ponderous state. This is often my state of mind when I blog. I like being in this state of mind because it makes me feel secure. It makes me believe that whatever it is I'm looking for is on the field somewhere.

These past several days and the events that have filled them have made me wonder where my place on this field that is life is truly supposed to be. As I sit here, with the credits rolling and peaceful instrument music playing, I am certain that where I am at this time is where I'm supposed to be. There is no better feeling than this.

It is 12:21am on September 11, 2008. It has been seven years since the attacks on the World Trade Center in New York, New York. It has been seven years since John Mayer posted what might be the most calming and powerful blog entry, and perhaps piece of writing, I've ever read (I'll post it below for those of you who have not yet read it). In our nations deepest time of need, to have someone you are influenced by and look up to without even knowing him write what was on your heart but could not find the words to say is a very powerful thing.

I had a teacher in high school who might have had more of an impact on me than any teacher or professor I have ever had. I will forever remember the tone and inflection of his voice when he would use the word "awesome." He made me understand the true meaning of this word. We very rarely say we are in awe of something or someone, but so regularly and commonly refer to things as "awesome." I might still use this word to describe simple things that are in fact interesting and not truly awesome, but you'll know when I find something simple awe-some. You'll hear it in my voice.

The thought that has been stapled to the front of my mind recently is that I want to compile a list of 12 of my "greatest hits." Obviously these are not my songs as I am a very shy singer and guitar player, and a novice at both. I don't know why it is important to me to have a list of my favorite songs, but it is. I could list artists and bands I like to you for as long as you wish, but if you were to ask me what my favorite songs are I would have a very difficult time. I have six songs on my "Greatest Hits" playlist on iTunes and some of those six might not stay on the list. I can only hope this takes a lifetime to accomplish and I hope I am never able to whittle the music I love into a 12 song list, but I will let all of you know when I do.

I leave first with the words of John Mayer in an interlude from "Clarity" on the As/Is album and follow that with his blog entry from those seven years ago. I hope this finds you all well.

We are truly awesome,
B

______________________________

Summer isn't over
They will lie to you
They will say it's true
But summer isn't over
Summer isn't over
No, no, no
I will worry about it
when I find out what
it really is I'm worried about
Don't be scared about next Tuesday
Cause Tuesday hasn't happened yet
...Tuesday hasn't happened yet
Summer isn't over
They will tell you so
But summer isn't over
No, no, no
No, no...

______________________________

As I watch what must be my 25th hour of television coverage of the terror attacks on our country, I can only feel that our own English language has failed us in our ability to convey how we're feeling. I wish there was an upper tier of vocabulary that, as young children, we were taught but taught never to speak, so that we could express ourselves at a time like this.

"Tragedy", "Lost", "Devastating", "Condolences", "Hearts go out" - They feel like throwing punches under water. They simply cannot make impact the way we want them to. Forgive the songwriter in me for wanting to try in my own way. This is not a holistic view of this tragedy, but only a few perspectives on this event that has exceeded even our collective ability to fathom.

We live in two worlds at once. The big world and the little world. I'm sorry to say that we've (myself included) been infinitely more interested and concerned about our own little worlds. OUR vehicles, OUR money, OUR personal portable bottled water supply, OUR communication devices. We are entirely self-governed people working within a larger framework that we've only really been exposed to while flipping through OUR satellite TV channels, looking for the perfect entertainment to satisfy us in our little world. That is absolutely not to be condemned. It's our simple human nature.

It is the pursuit of comfort, not happiness. I think we're all slowly waking up to the fact that comfort as we know it will never be the same. It's like being grounded times a thousand.

There is a relative bright side to this. We have actually unzipped the seam on our little worlds wide enough to climb out and make sure others are okay. Many of us are meeting each other for the first time, and in the process of looking behind us at the deflating bubbles we've stepped out of, we have become astounded at how small and suffocating they really were. The air outside, though filled with dust and debris, is in some ways, infinitely more fresh than any we've breathed in our little worlds. Today we are giving knowing glances to strangers we gave only the middle finger to while driving in our little worlds on wheels last week. Last week. A lifetime ago. Last week, when we thought it was okay to say "Fuck you, buddy!" to a stranger, as long as we said "buddy". That is the most beautiful irony I can think of. May our collective short attention spans never wind-sweep this sensitivity away!

I think I speak for the Excitebike generation when I say that I don't understand the mechanics of conflict. My brothers and I used to pour the entire plastic box of action figures on the floor in the middle of the living room. We took turns choosing a figure for each of our teams. We may have tried once to re-enact the good vs. evil fight as portrayed in the films or T.V. shows they were based on, but it only took us three good minutes to figure out that it's more fun to throw an action figure party in Castle Grayskull than it is to clash by the leg of the coffee table. Jabba shared bong hits to Han Solo more times than he ordered his capture. I know that my generation derived more pleasure out of making G.I. Joe look like he was taking a fierce dump than snuffing out the enemy. And I'm proud of that. I hope everyone in my generation, and beyond in both directions, is as well.

I may have felt confusion or guilt about this in the last few days, but I am equally proud and blessed to be an artist at this moment. I am able to inspire celebration in people. Sometimes the celebration of loneliness, sometimes the celebration of love, but invariably a celebration.

I will play as many shows in the coming weeks as possible. If I can fly, I will. If I need to drive, I will as well. (I have many cool things in my little world on wheels to make a cross country drive more like a cross country movie and music festival.) I will be there if it's humanly possible. Please know that if, in the coming days, shows are cancelled, that they were only done so because it was completely out of the realm of possibility. I will stand on every stage in every city that I possibly can, and we'll all celebrate together again. I love you all and will see you again very soon.

And always remember (as if we've ever forgotten)
We are Americans, and we are cooler.

This gets me through the day...any day...everyday

We're never gonna stop this train...

I've done it before; posting words from someone else so that even one more person can read them.

I'm doing it again.

As many of you are well aware, I am completely enthralled (obsessed sounds so creepy) with all things John Mayer. Mainly his music, but also the person he is. I am fascinated by the way he carries himself and his outlook on the world. I don't believe someone can be a hero unless you know what they believe in, but even without knowing anything of his spiritual or religious beliefs, he is almost to that level.

The following article is from the Connecticut (who knew that second C was in there?) Post. I hope you'll all read it and inch that much closer to understanding my love for this man and the work he does.

______________________________________

John Mayer: 'Dude from Fairfield'
MICHAEL J. DALY Managing Editor


John Mayer never expected it to be like this.

His 6-foot-plus frame is draped across a brown leather couch backstage at the New England Dodge Music Center in Hartford last Saturday night, a few hours before taking the stage.

Tinges of weariness, sadness - maybe a little confusion - mute the colors of the room. And this is a young man usually irrepressible in his chatter, quick to smile, quick to needle.

At 30 years old, John Mayer is in the prime of his life and the prime of his career, and he knows it.

He should be on top of the world. But at moments during an hour long chat, it sometimes seems like the world's on top of him. "I'm going to be all right," he says. "The last few weeks have been tough and I have been sad," he adds, alluding to the end of a months-long relationship with actress Jennifer Aniston, though he never mentions her by name.

But he's not going to parse that situation, defend anything, criticize anyone.

In deference to Aniston he says, "There's another person involved here, and I just don't want to " His voice trails off.

John Mayer is clinging hard to the notion that he's still "a dude from Fairfield," a talented artist dude, to be sure, but still a regular guy. Making music is what's at the core of his being, not the celebrity thing.

As an artist and a person, he says, he wants to live life at ground level. Not many dudes from Fairfield, of course, have achieved the fame and fortune - the celebrity - that this five-time Grammy-winning singer-songwriter has.
The bad news is that celebrity is a fickle, even dangerous, mantle, attracting attention like lamb chops attract wolves. And, in Mayer's opinion, the gleam of the mantle also deflects attention from his music, from the regular person and artist he strives to be.

It's clear during the conversation that he's grappling with some questions about his future - and his present. On stage, he has the artist's experience, life in the spotlight, the chance to show his stuff, play his music. "It's all release and relief," he says.

But on the street, it's life in the strobe light, private moments turned public, every personal relationship presented to the world in snapshots that flash around the globe and become the very definition of a person. People "know" him by virtue of what they read in magazines like Us Weekly. As Mayer says in his video, "Where The Light Is," most people who meet him would have to spend an hour getting to un-know about him what they think they know.
Last month, Mayer asked Los Angeles City Hall to regulate the paparazzi, the horde of celebrity-stalking photographers that Mayer says in his life, at least, have risen from the level of an annoyance to the level of a safety issue, both for him and friends who are with him.

He recounted being followed home in L.A. at 2 a.m. one night by a car carrying paparazzi.

"I guess people figure the contract is that you make so much money, that covers everything," he says.

"Yes, I make a lot of money. Hey, I have a sweet gig. I work two hours a day. But the thing is you have to sit in this seat to understand," he explains, "but nobody else gets to sit in this exact seat."

"But I'm too young to get jaded," he says.

Mayer says he's determined to keep his life real and to fuel his creativity that way. "I'm just a dude from Fairfield. I want to experience the things I'm supposed to experience. I want to go to the movies. I want to walk down the street. If a regular person wants to take my picture, that's OK.

"But today it's all about the image. A person sticks a Blackberry in my face and snaps a photo. OK. Why not just say hello and shake hands? I don't mind talking with people, and if it gets out of control, I'd just say 'OK, gotta go. It's getting a little crazy.' "

In his heart he knows the average person won't see him as a regular guy.

"I know I'm going be a 'rock star' the rest of my life," he says. It wasn't a braggadocios statement. It was delivered with resignation to the fact that some people will never see the man underneath.

Mayer has homes in New York and Los Angeles - for now, at least. "I don't know, I think I might need to build a life somewhere other than L.A. or New York," he says.

Of Los Angeles, he says, "I've got some great, smart friends there, but the aggressiveness [of the paparazzi] is really out of control."

In New York, he says, he's more visible because it's a walking kind of place, but it's less of a problem.
"In New York," he says, "you feel like you share the day with others. You walk on the street, you get a coffee.
"And that's what I want, both as an artist and a person. I want to brush up against life and all the other people you share that day with," he says.

To write songs that the average person can relate to, "You have to keep your instincts true. I want to stay at ground level. I don't have a bodyguard. I don't have a personal assistant."

He allows himself a smile. "My life's so cluttered, I probably ought to have the assistant."

He sighs. "You know, I've only got so much brain energy I can spend on this. I'll tell you this: I'm going to be far less referenced [in the tabloids] in 2009.

"I'm thinking maybe five years from now I'm going to look back on this and see there was too much sugar and carbs in the diet and not enough protein." Mayer has matured physically as he's entered his 30s. His face is more angular, less soft and boyish, and more prominent now under a haircut that's just a shade longer than a buzz. A daily workout regimen has broadened his shoulders a bit, and muscled his arms and torso.

Of course this not smiling mood makes him look a little older, too.

He's proud of the traditional Japanese, full-sleeve tattoo that works its way in bars of wind and light and koi and peonies along his left arm.

He looks at it. "This is an art form in Japan and they're not real anxious to give them to non-Japanese. It took six trips in as many years - and all the Japanese I know - to find an artist willing to do it.

"I convinced him I wanted to wear it as way to respect his art," Mayer says. His relationships with a succession of beautiful, high-profile women have brought him vilification as a cad in the tabloids. The women that have entered his life are, well, part of life.

He's not talking about and I'm not asking about particulars when he says, "I'm not going to resist things that are supposed to happen."

Thirty-year-old rock stars, especially thoughtful, introspective, funny ones, tend to attract women. And someday, he says, he'll be ready for marriage.

It's clear that these weeks since the dissolution of his relationship with Aniston have not been good ones.
"Sometimes it sucks to be alive," he says.

Through the confluence of circumstances that led to this meeting, the lovely Mrs. Daly is with me. The meeting was finally arranged in an e-mail in June from Mayer while he was in Amsterdam.

The e-mail was vintage Mayer - funny, irreverent, personal and fraught with affection for his companion of the time.

It was definitely a better period in his life.

Though I had spoken of John Mayer a number of times, Mrs. Daly has never met him and so for the first 30 minutes this night, Mrs. Daly is in fact unlearning some of the things she thinks she knows from what she has read.

As we were approaching the arena, she was fretting over what questions she was going to ask.

"Whoa," I said, "you don't need any questions. We're going to talk and everything will be cool."

Mrs. Daly joined the conversation comfortably. The slightly melancholy tone, though, finally got to be too much for this mother of four, the oldest of whom was a classmate of John's at Fairfield High. Something rang her maternal bell.

"John," Mrs. Daly finally inquired, softly, "are you lonely?"

He paused a moment and locked her in a brooding gaze. "We're all lonely, I think."

Way to go, Mrs. Daly.

"Look" he continues, "I'm going to be fine. I'm going to find the happiness I want.

"I want to be in love and have someone love me. I want a nice home. I'm going to have kids and I'm going to be the father who's standing behind the bus when my son or daughter leaves for the first day of kindergarten. And, oh yeah, the tour has to end on this date, whatever, because I have to be there for the first day of school," he says.
He's in the very early stage of working on a new album. He was, in fact, working on it backstage when we met.

"I'll always be making music. Thank God," he says, "I have the music. And thank God for my fans."

After John Mayer excused himself to go talk with his family, I asked Mrs. Daly what she thought now.

"I wanted to go over there, give him a hug and pat him on the head and say `Everything's going to be all right, John.'" In a few hours John Mayer and his fans will come face to face and the mood will take a turn.


It's a little after 8 p.m., the late summer light fading, and people are filing into the Dodge. One Republic, Mayer's opening act, is playing.

Mayer is backstage, alone in the room designated as his office. It's his inviolate private quiet time before taking the stage.

The band is in a nearby room and when its door occasionally cracks open, the toodle of a sax or trumpet leaks into the hall.

At 8:40 p.m., Ken Helie (HEE-lee), Mayer's road manager since 2002, comes down the hall, knocks on Mayer's door and goes in.

A minute later he comes out, and right behind him is Mayer, dressed in black now, clear plastic earphones strung around his neck.

"All we can do is try," he says to no one in particular. He says it again, mantra-like, as he approaches the door. In the room with the band, Mayer says it again. "Try. All we can do is try."

"OK," Helie says, "All hands in."

Mayer, David Ryan Harris, Robbie McIntosh, Tim Bradshaw, Sean Hurley, JJ Johnson, Bob Reynolds and Brad Mason all lean in, their arms the spokes of a wheel, their hands its hub. They wait for their leader to speak.

"All right," Mayer says, and pauses.

And then, in a tiny falsetto he sings, "We are fam-uh-lee."

The band responds with a somewhat beefier falsetto of its own, "WE ARE FAM-UH-LEE!!!"

And off they go, Helie leading them through a door to the stage and into a kaleidoscopic explosion of lights and the wash of the roar 24,000 people are capable of creating.

And John Mayer is suddenly JOHN MAYER.

He sings, he charms, he plays the guitar like it's the last time he'll ever have the chance to hold one. He rocks. He croons. And the crooning on some of his hits, like "I Don't Trust Myself (With Loving You)" carries a little extra poignancy given the conversation of a few hours earlier.

In the wings sit his father, Richard; his mother, Margaret; his aunt, Ethel Williams; his brother Ben and fiance; a couple of cousins; and Pat Tremaglio, a friend from Fairfield high school days.

Richard Mayer is a retired educator. He's 80 years old, gone a bit hard of hearing and uses a cane for general stability. He got John his first guitar - but warned him to have a plan B. He could be sitting in great seats on the floor but, as he pointed out earlier, he'd have to stand all night. And that's how it is. People can't sit when John Mayer plays.

At the conclusion of a mournful guitar solo by his son at the end of "I Don't Trust Myself," Richard turns and whispers to the person next to him, "It's a far cry from Crosby," and laughs.

One of the most noticeable aspects of the performance is that John Mayer is not only rocking, singing, charming and crooning, he's smiling.

He's with 24,000 of his friends and he talks with them about being born in Bridgeport, about growing up in Fairfield, and about the Stratfield Mobil station at the corner of Stratfield and Fairfield Woods roads - aka the birthplace of the blues.

It's where I made the acquaintance of a sort of off-beat young guy working the cash register, oh, 12 or 13 years ago.

"I got pretty good at scratch-offs and coffee, and maybe it was the toxicity of the gas fumes that taught me the blues," he tells the crowd. Many of them might appreciate what he wrote in 1995 in his senior yearbook. This from a young man with a dream and determination: "My world wasn't in the classroom, but I learned some things in the past four years. I'll make you all very proud one day. Thanks to all my heroes on tape and cd. The greats may be gone but their greatness lives on. SRV 1954-1990. To the greats who are still here, I hope to play with you one day. To the people in my life - SGM, MA, AF and Mom, Dad, Carl, Ben, stay happy. `The blues don't change' Albert King."
When it comes to the set list spot designated "JM Solo" - anything he wants to do - this night he chooses "Stop This Train," a hauntingly beautiful, cinematic tune from his album "Continuum." It's a song about the rush of time, changing fortunes, the link between generations, and the passing of them.

"Don't know how else to say it," he sings, "Don't want to see my parents go."

It's a song he once told me he couldn't perform in public for fear of breaking down.

He's overcome that tendency and selected it for tonight's show because his parents are in attendance.

In another interlude, he tells the audience, "I'm going to be fine. Because I've had good training." He turns to the wing and waves, acknowledging his parents, and tells the crowd how pleased he is that his family is there.

After 13 tunes in two hours of full-bore electricity, the show was winding down.

(Here's how good this show was: Well after it ended, Mrs. Daly and I walked through the parking lot with drummer J.J. Johnson. We complimented him. He shook his head and said, "Man, we've been playing these songs every night, all summer. I just don't know what was in the air tonight. The energy was amazing.")

At the end of "Gravity" Mayer says goodnight, thanks the crowd and the stage goes dark. As the cleansing wash of the applause rolls through the shed, Mayer runs to the wing. He's pumped. His mother stands and he hugs her. "I love you," he says, and reminds her she could reach him any time on his cell.

He bends over in front of his seated Aunt Ethel. She uses oxygen as part of a medical condition. He puts his hands on her shoulders and leans in close.

"I know it's not easy for you to travel," he says. "I really appreciate that you came."

His father stands and they embrace fully. "Daddy," the singer says.

Then he hugs, slaps and high-fives the others in the little impromptu seating area.

These were the final goodbyes on the night of the 26th stop in a 32-stop tour that began July 2 in Milwaukee and ends today in West Palm Beach.

There would be three encores. And when they were over, John Mayer would leave the building immediately and head for Atlantic City.

Another stop in a life that's rushing forward.

And of all people, John Mayer's the one who knows there's just no stopping this train.

Go on, watch me do me.

The desire to write a blog entry only lasts a few short moments for me. By the time I've had the thought that sparked my mind and gotten to my computer or even to the proper website, the desire and motivation is usually gone; or even the thought itself in many cases.

I have only a handful of I even maintain a blog. The main reason being to attempt at shedding the smallest bit of light into the world that is me. I'm a man who fears failure like nothing else. Having someone read something I've written about something I've done and relate to my experience, if only in the slightest manner, is an incredible feeling for me. To know my failures have been shared by others is something that gives me great comfort. I certainly am not saying I feel glad when others fail, but knowing that I am not the first to fail at any given opportunity makes life that much easier.

The second reason I blog is an attempt to "put myself out there." What the junk does that even mean, "Putting yourself out there?" To me it means releasing my thoughts in a form that is so impersonal that it doesn't feel like anyone can read it, when in reality almost the entire world has access to reading this. This all ties in with my fears and my hope that I'm not alone. I love the thought that someone in Canada or Australia or even someone I know well, but have no idea they're reading, is reading this and nodding their head in agreement or appreciation of something I've said.

The third reason is an ever longing attempt to be good at things. I've become very much aware of my lack of self-awareness concerning my strengths since I've moved to Nashville. Having job interviews sporadically and three managers constantly analyzing me has forced me to dissect myself like I never had done before. School came easy to me so I never had to figure out what any problems I might have been having were and work through them. Working at my previous job came easy to me, thus I never had to figure many things out. I'll be the first to admit I am not very good at doing the job that I am paid to do. But I'll also be the first to admit that I am the best at doing the things at my job that I do not get paid to do. Writing a blog may not make me any money (that would be great if it did though), but I think I am good at it. I like to think I am a good writer. Blogging is the only writing I have ever done outside of very simple high school projects. I read very little and honestly, as I said earlier, only enjoy blogging for those first moments when the thought crosses my mind.

I have no idea where I'm going with this. I guess this is my introduction of myself to the blogging world. I hope to continue blogging and I hope that my blogging does make a difference somehow to someone.

As far as future blogs are concerned, I have no idea what is going to come next. I really do put a lot of pressure on myself to make these great. Somewhere down the road I'd like to write a book of stories and experiences throughout my life. I have this thought that I should just blog a chapter a month or something and then put it all together to see how it feels. Who knows where that thought is going to go. Hopefully it stays with me longer than the thought to blog.

I'm good at staying up later than I should,
B

My first "real" blog.

My friend Allison constantly asks me when I'm getting a real blog. I guess I finally have an answer for her now.

More to come later as it is 12:40am and I'm getting up at 6:55 to watch the American's mens basketball team take on Greece. Upon waking before 7:00 in the morning, I'll be calling my brother Jeff to inform him I'm awake. He won't be drinking Diet Coke for a week after this phone call. It's going to be like torture for him. I love it.

Anywho, just wanted to post something to set sail to the new blog. Hope you'll continue to read. I'm going to blow you away one of these days. Check out my old blog at www.myspace.com/bmoles if you want a sample of what I'm capable of.

I hope I realize my potential tomorrow,
B