When's the Last Time You Cried?

Also, I'm doing a cool reading / cooking class with the James Beard Foundation

Lately I’ve been asking my friends the last time they cried. Many of them cry all the time. This lady I had lunch with today (Momofuku Noodle Bar, still good!) cried this morning because she made blueberry bagels and she was so moved with gratitude to be able to make them that she cried. (I think a blueberry and a bagel are two things that should never be crossed.) This morning! Two of my friends in my book club cry often. One all the time about everything. The other ocassionally but regularly. Well, I haven’t cried for…Jesus…35 years? Can that be true? Fuck. That’s true. Since I was 8, around the time when my parents got divorced. When I was growing up, if I ever started crying, through physical or emotional pain, my dad would say, “how many wah-wahs?” [I just asked my mom if this is true or something I made up and she said it was true and asked why and I said I was putting it in my newsletter and she said, “It’s not new. It’s old.”]

It’s not as if I haven’t choked up. I do regularly. There was a stretch at Kyle’s Karaoke Korner, a live karaoke event where you could request pretty much any song — the more obscure the better — that my friend Kyle used to put on in the back of Otto’s Shrunken Head during which I choked up at every song I sang. I was going through a lot at the time. Anyway, the songs were supes sad. Jackson C. Frank’s Tumble in the Wind Version II (the line “I read the words quite clear / Hurry home to your loved ones now /Wintertime is near”) and Bruce Springsteen’s Streets of Philadelphia. If you’re interested in the vibe, here I am performing Lee Moses’ amazing track Bad Girl II a decade ago.

Recently I choked up listening to Linda Ronstadt’s Long Long Time. (It’s at the 1:03 mark. It’s the V of VI Secondary Dominant that gets me every time.)

In fact I was feeling real sad lately and made my friend Amy a list of Sad Songs. And she made me a list of Sad Songs, one of which was Linda’s, and it made me so grateful I have friends. (I’m 42 and I’m still learning that sharing emotions can be helpful and reduce sadness.) Last week I told a story to a group of high school students, for an event kinda like the Moth called House of Speakeasy. They were students at Talent Unlimited, all musicians. Man, teenagers are a tough audience. Granted, I told them a story about how the fact that Gawker’s archives recently disappeared has forced me to realize that I can’t live in the past, pining after some imagined apex, but rather must write a new story every day (or something, I was nervous). They were muted, probably because they have no idea what Gawker is, fair enough. Also no one knew who Hulk Hogan was! Also, later I was chagrined to see that I’m not mentioned in the Gawker Wikipedia page. Ugh, doesn’t even merit a mention! But after the story we broke into smaller groups. They were supposed to ask me questions but didn’t really have any so I asked them questions. One was, “What’s a piece of music you like to play or listen to and how does it make you feel?” This 14-year-old Chinese pianist, super shy because of his language skills, raised his hand and said, “Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9 Number 2” I asked what he felt when he played it. “I feel sad,” he said, “but not bad sad. Just sad.” I thought that was beautiful. I put it on the playlist.

But I haven’t actually cried. No tears. No sobbing. No Claire Danes crumple face. And I want to too. I feel like my tears are a wave that never breaks. And some voice in my body is saying, “How many wah wahs? How many wah wahs? How many wah wahs?” Anyway, I would like to be able to cry. Not sure how to do it. I’m thinking ketamine is a good place to start. You know what? Generally I’d like to lose control a little bit more. Or rather, awaken to the reality that I’m not in control a little bit more. Someone asked me the last time I really let loose and the answer is I haven’t as long as I can remember. Line dancing gets close. Jiu-jitsu gets close. Both of those bracketed — and therefore safe — by some sort of form and culture. But, as a rule, I keep everything very tightly controlled. Probably because the times I have been out of control I’ve been emotionally dysregulated and I’m scary as shit to myself and others. But there’s gotta be a way to get loose and not hurt other peopel? Anyway, ketamine.

Here’s the interactive part: Let me know when the last time you cried is and if you have any ideas how the fuck I can get myself over that bullshit drop off of shame — the childhood trench! — to bawl like a baby. How many wah wahs? As many as I need!

OK, anyway, a book I cowrote with Mingoo Kang and Nadia Cho about Jang — the first of its kind in English (or Korean) is available for pre-sale and I got a review copy and it’s beautiful. I spent more than two years of my life on this one. Most ambitious project I’ve ever worked on. Very proud. Preorder it now! It’s important for some reason I don’t fully understand but has to do with how they count sales?

I wrote about a “cathedral of fried chicken.” A place called Coqodaq from the Cote team. Cluck here.

For Men’s Health, I did a big thing on new mental health terms to get you through 2024. Ironically? I don’t know. No. I learned a lot! You can too.

Oh, I was on Matt Rodbard’s podcast TASTE. Listen here. My hair is longer now and I have a mustache.

I’m sure I’ve written some other shit too. I don’t know. Who cares, really?

Finally, this is the entire point of writing this. On January 28th, I’m reading some of my children’s books at Platform by JBF. I’m reading my first book, Can I Eat That? and What’s Cooking? and, I don’t know, maybe Solitary Animals: Introverts of the Wild. Even more fun is that Chef Marian Laraia will be cooking and teaching kids how to make some of the items from my books, things like stuffed peppers, peirogies and cheerio-covered donuts! It costs money, $25, which is a lot for a reading but not a lot for a cooking class. So do come! If you don’t I won’t cry — because I can’t! — but I will be sad. Get your tickets here.

As a sad bonus, here’s a recording I dug up recently that almost makes me cry. It’s me talking to my son many years ago about the movie Coco. It’s not just the conversation that is beautiful but his voice, which sounds so different now, and also, of course the Satie.