I’ve been dormant, and there are good reasons for that, but last week I had to leave private-room karaoke to cry in the bathroom for a minute or two after one of my songs and it felt almost dishonest not to leave that here?

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@whyicried
I’ve been dormant, and there are good reasons for that, but last week I had to leave private-room karaoke to cry in the bathroom for a minute or two after one of my songs and it felt almost dishonest not to leave that here?

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Sneak peeks of my employer's next wave of TV ads got me. There were a few hundred people in the meeting.
Got misty-eyed reading a Wikipedia recap of the Deathly Hallows epilogue.
Finally saw what's happening on-screen during "Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?" Brutal. In my wife's words, "It was like a 'welling up,' but there was also a lip-quivering…"
This guy (not mine) caught me in a morning cry and felt he ought to be close. A real sweetheart, if dumb as a rock.

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On reading my three short essays in PANK last week, my father sent me this fragment by Richard Selzer:
I stand by the bed where a young woman lies, her face postoperative, her mouth twisted in palsy, clownish. A tiny twig of the facial nerve, the one to the muscles of her mouth, has been severed. She will be thus from now on. The surgeon had followed with religious fervor the curve of her flesh; I promise you that. Nevertheless, to remove the tumor in her cheek, I had cut the little nerve.
Her young husband is in the room. He stands on the opposite side of the bed, and together they seem to dwell in the evening lamplight, isolated from me, private. Who are they, I ask myself, he and this wry-mouth I have made, who gaze at and touch each other so generously, greedily? The young woman speaks.
“Will my mouth always be like this?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say “it will. It is because the nerve was cut.”Â
She nods, and is silent. But the young man smiles.
“I like it,” he says. “It is kind of cute.”
All at once, I know who he is. I understand, and I lower my gaze. One is not bold in an encounter with a god. Unmindful, he bends to kiss her crooked mouth, and I so close I can see how he twists his own lips to accommodate to hers, to show her that their kiss still works. I remember that the gods appeared in ancient Greece as mortals, and I hold my breath and let the wonder in.
The piece is obviously and manipulatively moving, a more sincere Titanic. So I cried.
I was also delighted, though, to see a reader (if not an impartial one) understanding my work in a broader context, overhearing a conversation I had not known I was having. It can be so difficult to understand what happens to a piece one is proud of once it has been published.
I cried because my realtor is so good.
I guess something's going on, because I just cried during the highlight reel at the beginning of the 2012 Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Induction special.
baby shower guest list
Just read through all the Adam Yauch obituaries I'd set aside. I'm exhausted, and expected to be a little too sleepy-numb for tears. The one detail that broke me down was even one I'd already known; it was the phrasing that did it:
Yauch lived long enough to see his band inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame just last month, although he was too ill to appear onstage with his bandmates at the induction ceremony. [From Weeping Elvis.]
So that's what got me: the thought of Yauch watching the ceremony from some couch, wondering if he should be feeling sad he had to miss the event or glad he'd lived long enough to see it on TV.

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I'm going to be a father. It seems knowledge of that fact was sufficient to ratchet up my empathy for other parents to a degree that robs me, at least temporarily, of my sense of humor.
In this scene from Curb Your Enthusiasm, Larry David runs into notorious ball-mishandler Bill Buckner, whose failings have of course been a central plotline of the episode.
[A spoiler follows, but it's a predictable ending given the rest of the episode. Anyway, you might watch the scene now to be able to follow along with my emotional play-by-play below.]
The point of the scene is to show Buckner comically redeeming himself by miraculously catching a baby falling from a burning building. And he does. But here's what happened as I watched:
When the mother stood in her window, freaking out about having to drop the baby into the firemen's blanket-catch below, my heart rate quickened so much and so suddenly that it felt uncomfortable in my chest.
When the clearly fake baby fell in slow motion, I cried. The helpless fragility of the thing was just too much to bear. I wasn't even thinking, like, What if that were my baby? It was just, Oh no! There's a baby falling! Which of course there was not.
When the fake baby's head started to turn towards the ground mid-fall, I started to panic, since obviously there's no way that baby is going to live at this point.
When Buckner made the catch, I lost it. Just completely broke down.
To recap, a wholly comedic scene involving a fake baby falling from a fake building in a fake fire completely tore me apart.
Can I blame it on pregnancy hormones?
My wife is pregnant. For reasons she explains beautifully in an article published recently at The Rumpus, I wasn't in a position to share this news with you until now. I hope that explains my sporadic posting here. For many months, I have been crying mostly about things that I could not mention.
I spent a good part of the last 18 hours working these issues out on Twitter, but a major, long-term overnight noise issue in my neighborhood seems on the brink of solution. When I found out, I cried.
It's probably worth noting that I felt I had to be out of sight of the construction workers I'd been speaking to before I let it loose. Usually, I'm content to cry in front of, just, whomever, but I suppose there are a few scenarios that still push me into more classical modes of masculine operation.
Ultimately, I imagine it's a matter of practicality. When you're not construction-worker sized, if you're a man who wants to be taken seriously by construction workers, you can't cry. Just doesn't work that way.
That ending!
I'm helping my aunt with a redesign project for the website of the non-profit she runs, and I just read an RFP that had been put together with tremendous integrity and thoughtfulness. It was forthright, clear, and well-researched—and all on short notice.
So yeah, I teared up. Maybe it was inspiring to see a firm conducting business in this way, because so few firms do so. Maybe I care about my aunt and feel like I'm taking her shopping for a used car and she's counting on me to help her make her decisions.
Or maybe it's just another Saturday morning in the coffeeshop with Devan.

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Very nearly cried at the "Inbox" tutorial video for OmniFocus, a task manager for the Mac. There's one part where the guy says, "The important thing is to get [everything you have to do] out of your head—so you can get on with your life."
That IS the important thing. I am not a great sleeper, and I think lately stress is getting in the way. Good evidence here.
Empty again.