Sunday, October 17, 2010

Cry Me a River

In the last week, I’ve cried though two plays and a movies, plus a bunch of DVR’d TV shows I taped and caught up watching on Friday night while my husband, the card shark, was playing poker with his buddies.

Yes, it’s true: I’ve set the all-time Tiny Tears, Poor Pitiful Pearl record, which I’m humbled and honored to have set, thank you very much. In fact, please feel free to wave a Kleenex at your computer screens as you read on, because, believe it or not, I’m looking through you, oh yeah, I am - and I can see for miles.

Play number one: Broke-ology, playing at Theaterworks in Hartford, was so funny, poignant, well-acted, and heart-wrenchingly sad that I sniffled and snorted my way out of the theater and into the sun. It wasn’t until I was safely in the car that I was able to break into a round or six of loud sobs. My husband cried with me – but not as long or hard, because he was driving. When we got where we were going (a favorite restaurant), I made him take a walk around the block with me, so I could compose myself before we walked in the door for what turned out to be another yummy meal.

Play number two: Brief Encounter, playing on Broadway in NYC, was also funny, poignant, and well-acted, as well as incredibly innovative and clever. The set was minimal, but oh-so-creatively constructed, and the songs vintage Noel Coward. The actors were versatile and brilliant. The juxtaposition of clips from the original movie and videos made for the production were perfectly rendered. The end, though, turned out to be a four-Kleenex tearjerker, which was difficult for me, because I only had two stuffed in my jacket pocket.


Movie number one: Nowhere Boy, about the early life of John Lennon, before he became an official Beatle, made all four of us cry. (I was at the movies with another couple, right? You probably figured this out without me explaining, but I wanted to make sure, so I explained. OK?)

Since I’d also cried the night before while watching some of my DVR’d TV shows (like Parenthood, where I cried along with some of the characters, who were also crying), I’ve started to worry that I’m, maybe, baby, turning into a middle-aged, female version of Johnny Ray, the singer who cried like a baby when he sang on the Ed Sullivan Show.

Now that you all know I’m a world-class sobber, who loves to Cry Me a River, I heretofore guarantee you that the next time you see me, I’ll gladly cry a river over you.

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