lundi, juin 02, 2008

Crying (part 2)

So Jason Adair has been crying a lot lately. Lars and the Real Girl made him cry like a baby. When he teared up at Penny and Desmond's reunion, his wife won a bet.

It gets me thinking about tears, and how I can't let Jason (already dubbed "the leader" in a certain place on the Internet) get all the "sensitive guy" play.  I'm sensitive too, ladies.  Tears cleanse the windows to my soul on a regular basis.  People usually assume the opposite about me.  Given the rough bark of manhood that forms my outer layer, I understand.  But it still hurts when the tender inside goes ignored.  

Hence, if I may do so without admitting to the debilitating testosterone deficiency from which Jason Adair suffers (I forgot to mention he cries when he has to ride up a long steep hill on his bike) here is a list of things that have, in all honesty, made me cry in the last few weeks.  

*"Lose Yourself" by Marshal Mathers.  A radio guy said: "Seriously, listen to the lyrics of this song.  It's amazing."  So I listened as the rapper/movie star laid it all on the line.  Next thing I new, I felt a lump in my throat and had to wipe away the tears from my blurred eyes.  Was it the earnest presentation?  Was it the beat?  Was it the inspiring injunction to grab hold of the moment and own my damn life?  I can't say.  All I know is I cried.  Just a little.  
PS-I owe emnem an apology.  That song could only have been written by a true artist. I'm not kidding.

*Cheeky Monkeys.  You'll have to find them on Youtube.  Just a couple of young kids who dance on "Britain's Got Talent."  I found them by accident (not really, I was actually seeing what came up when you put the words cheeky monkey in the youtube search bar).  I wanted to mock and deride, but something about their infectious, unabashed enthusiasm, their dedication, I don't know.  I got misty.  And I'm not afraid to admit it. 

*Fix you.  (by Coldplay)  I know, I know, "You know how I know you're gay?  You like Coldplay."  Sorry, they're undeniably great and that damn song all of the sudden got to me.  My wife was stretching in the next room.  Doctor prescribed stretches.  I don't talk about it here, but she has been sick and addicted and in incredible pain for years.  So long that most people's sympathy has turned to condescension.  I put the song on because I hadn't listened to that album in awhile and was looking for something to accompany breakfast.  I found myself caught up in a moment of realization, almost an epiphany, about the suffering of my wife and my desire to "fix" her.  The music swelled.  I had to leave the house and have a cry on our covered porch.  Now I almost have to avoid that song (much like Audrey Hepburn singing moon river) because if I'm unprepared it'll grab me and salt my tear ducts.  

*Sinus Infection.  This actually wasn't crying in the strictest sense of the word.  I have the strength of ten men and feel no aversion to pain.  But the effects of a recent sinus infection and the requisite medication had the effect of making my eyes water from time to time.  Secure in the manhood that not even women's pants can conceal, I let it show and let it flow.  Also my nose ran like a faucet.

NEXT ENTRY: News from the TMI department!


1 commentaire:

pssst a dit...

Thanks for stripping away that rough bark man exterior. We women like to see a good man cry as much as we like to see him do the dishes -- and wear fitting girls pants. . . I think you do all three. Triple threat!