Jason Mraz

May these words wow you into every inch of wonderfulness you wish to be and re-awaken you to all the amazingness you already are. Beginning now.

Happy Mom’s Weekend to All the Mom’s and Mom’s to Be. Here’s one of my favorite songs about Mom’s written by Jude. I took some liberties on the lyrics and left out a few verses. I highly recommend hearing the original off of his album “No One Is Really Beautiful.” It’s stunning. Mona and I wanted to perform this song in front of the Eiffel Tower and/or by the Seine, but those places were too noisy and all we had to record with was our iPhone. Still, it’s the thought that counts. Just like when you made your mom a personalized card, damp and heavy with paste and popsicle sticks.

“What is going to save the human race?

Please.
Thank you.

Three words that will totally change this planet.

More than solar power. More than recycling. More than wind energy.

Why?

Because if we all started treating the people and things that we interact with every day with respect and compassion, the effects would ripple through every aspect of our lives, transforming society.”

The above is an excerpt from the Superforest Humanifesto, the only spirited doctrine I’ve ever fully believed in and followed. Superforest.Org is a positivity blog that focuses on poetry, music, sustainability, DIY culture, and kindness, and it deserves mention. Its archives are packed with great intentions, inventions, and stellar ideas; from how-to’s to enlightened TED talks.

Within the idea that a new world can be born from being kind comes internet odd man, Timothy De La Ghetto. Check him out in the ever-morphing Superforest of Los Angeles as he instigates drive-by compliments. Thanks for spreading the love Mr. Ghetto. I think you’re a pretty sweet dude.

“Evolution and all hopes for a better world rest in the fearlessness and open-hearted vision of people who embrace life.” ~John Lennon

The first time I ever got a flat tire on my bicycle it happened in front of Jr Seau’s house. It was last autumn on the day of the biggest swell to hit Oceanside in years. Jr’s house had taken a beating the night before; waves pushing sand into his garage door, crumpling it like a piece of tin foil. He and his buddies were busy in his driveway bagging sand to prepare for the next high tide. I’d driven over someone’s house key when my tire farted and squeeked like a balloon, dumbing down to a depressing flat. And I’d met Jr. a few times at music related events, so he welcomed me without a double take into his driveway to contemplate the changing the tube and survey the damage and rescue of his beach house. He and his buddies took a much deserved break for small talk after bagging what looked like 100 bags easy. We joked about paddling out in the giant surf but no one had the balls. It was 10’ closeout after 10’ closeout with a nasty current.

I’d never changed out a tube before. I’d seen it done a few times so I wasn’t going in blind. Still, Jr continually made fun of me trying and kept recommending I go to the bike shop. He and his buddies kept offering me beer and I obliged. It was warm out and the giant swell had attracted people to the beach like it was a holiday. It felt good to be there. Jr busted out his Ukulele and entertained us with strumming and humility. He was well-known in Oceanside for his Aloha nights, family and friend gatherings with food, music and debauchery. I was never able to attend, but hanging out in his driveway that afternoon on that sunny day gave me the experience I sought.

He was a funny and foolish man, and was also very, very kind. Aloha was his style. And Mahalo was his genuine attitude.

The last time I saw him was at Jitter’s, our local coffee shop. I was lucky to be a part of an unofficial ukulele club that spontaneously gathered there to strum over morning coffee and vegan pastries. Andy Powers had met me there to share a new Taylor Ukulele and he and I, along with Pops Gilley and Jr, went round and round improvising songs and reviving a few classics on our big sounding tiny instruments. Jr was a giant man who could pick his big smiley teeth with ukuleles if he wanted, but he held it ever so gently. He himself a big instrument with a tiny sound, hunched over the Uke, focused on his fingering.

He always listened to music and stories in awe; the sign of a curious mystic. I imagine Jr has gone on to a more mystical plane because somewhere in his heart he felt it was a higher calling. And I can’t be mad at him for that.

The reason it hurts so bad when someone passes away is because we lose the ability to tell them we love them.

He was a cool dude, a music lover, and a friend to many. A great sportsman and an all weather surfer who never wore a wetsuit in the winter. He will be missed greatly, and always remembered.

Aloha Buddee! We love you.

While waiting for the elevator yesterday a woman turned her head towards me and her eyes lit up while projecting crumbs of some kind from her parting lips. She was busy rapidly eating something, but was not concerned about choking. OMG. She said. You’re… Bruno Mars!…

Whenever I check into a hotel I use an alias name so I won’t be bothered. But sometimes the hotel peeps don’t make a note of it and when I lock myself out of my room, which I do often, they refuse me access until I can prove to them that I am who I said I am. I’m sorry I tell them, I don’t have any ID that proves I’m Kenny G, you have to trust me.

Today I even used a fake address when checking in, where upon handing the paperwork over to the hotel clerk he cordially replied, Thank You Mr Magoo, enjoy your stay.

Whoever lives at 11-22 Boogie Woogie Avenue in Freakanicsburg Vagina can expect a holiday card from the Movenpick Hotel.

I’m on the Pacific Surfliner, the coastal train that makes several daily trips from San Diego to Los Angeles Union Station. Train travel is probably my favorite form of transportation… after bicycles, scooters, motorcycles, piggyback rides, and tour buses. Railroads are smooth. And quiet. And people pack light. And there is no traffic to be attentive to. No seat belts. No possibility of a water landing. And you get to watch the world whir by. Or type.

I’m headed to LA for some acupuncture to treat my laryngitis. Whether or not I actually have laryngitis is not confirmed, but one thing is for certain; I don’t sound very healthy. Losing my voice is due in part to losing my mind mid week last week. It happens. It wasn’t a bad version of losing my mind. There was no sadness or pain, just lunacy.

Similar to laryngitis, but inexcusable, are all the names that were misspelled or left out of the liner notes on the new album that came out last week. Oops.

For instance, my friend Niki Paige-Hadany gave me a cd of my old demos, in addition to lots of encouraging conversation, mid way thru the album process. Listening to her thoughts and my old ways gave me insight on how to compose I’m Coming Over, 93 Mil, and I Won’t Give Up. Were it not for her, my album would sound a lot different. But alas, I forgot to thank her on the album.

Same goes for Amanda Harrison, who tirelessly connects me to communities all over the world. She’s the google map to my dropped pin. Without her, we’d be lost. And yet, I somehow lost her name when liner notes were drafted and reviewed 15 times.

How about my agent, Jonathan Adelman? A man whose birthday is only 2 days apart from mine. I guess sometimes people are so close to your heart your forget to recognize them, just as I failed to recognize him in the thank yous. Thank you Jonathan.

And there’s Sacha Skarbek, the man with whom I penned “In Your Hands” in his garden after we ran a 10k around Hampstead Heath. Sacha and I have written many songs together: Up, This Is What Our Love Looks Like, Only Human, Love For A Child, If It Kills Me, They Shaped My Life, and about 20 more you may or may not ever hear. Either way, you will hear me say THANK YOU SACHA, you handsome devil.

Also, I have immense gratitude for Jon Marro for sharing the fabulous LOVE shapes that started this revolution. He’s always been a huge inspiration, but only his name showed up in the liner notes. Not enough acknowledgement in my opinion.

The funniest and perhaps most ironic flub on the album package relates to spelling of a few in my band. I’m even quoted as saying, “I’ve read their names in classic album liner notes for years, so it’s an honor to have them in mine.” And yet, when they did appear in mine, we spelled their names wrong. Fortunately, they are bigger than that and thought it was funny. We’re still gonna fix it. Thanks Matt Chamberlain and Justin Meldal-Johnsen.

These names and more will be added, repaired, revised or deleted in future printings of the album, which may or may not make the current version of the album a collector’s item.

I should probably also thank Lionel Richie. Just in case.