I'm Just Another Tear Jerk

I honestly believe crying has become the national pastime. I'd been thinking about this for some time, and then earlier this week, WRVA's new afternoon guy, Doc Thompson, was having men - that's right, grown men - phone in and tell him which movies and TV shows make them cry.
And, believe it or not, the lines were jammed with MEN admitting they cry over movies. Can you believe that? Men? I know it's true, because I called in and couldn't get through. Okay, I admit it, Mr. Holland's Opus had me crying like a baby. And when Everwood was on TV, I couldn't watch it without a box of Kleenex by my side. I am glad to know that I'm not the only teary-eyed man in the city.
Actually, one caller hit upon something that I think explains the national affinity for crying...old age. The caller admitted that at his age, there weren't many movies he didn't cry over. I can relate. I sniff at the Simpsons sometimes. I think the older you get, the more weepy you become. It's probably some sort of brain deficiency thing going on. I used to laugh at old men who cried. They'd be laughing at me now, except they're all dead. So, i guess I really did get the last laugh, as far as they were concerned.
I think that this Boomer generation, in addition to having chronologically reached a crying stage in life, is also an extra-whiny generation to begin with. It was my generation that made such a point about getting in touch with their feelings. And now, even with our various limbs and other appendages going numb through diabetes, heart troubles and other ills, we're still very much in touch with our emotions.
Think about it. It was the Boomers who gave us the flower children. What a bunch of pansies those folks were. Now they're a bunch of flower geezers...still crying and whining about everything. Take global warming for example. I am so sick of hearing all these aging whiners crying over this warming thing. Hey, even if we are doing it to ourselves, which I doubt, what's so bad about global warming. When most folks go on vacation, they go south, don't they? Hey, with gas prices going up, global warming can save us some money. We can take our winter vacations in the tropics without ever leaving home. So, stop crying about it. Embrace it. Let's call it the New Tropicalism. Isn't that much nicer sounding?
And what about all those misty-eyed super-emotional Californians crying over the forest fires? You know, if you lose a home, yeah, you can probably shed a tear, but it's like each "victim" tried to outdo his fellow-victims by crying. "Oh boo hoo, i lost my house. Sure, my family is okay. No one was hurt, but poor poor me."
I don't actually wish my house would burn down, but if it does, I want to go on the news and say, "Hey. Stuff happens. At least we're all okay." I think I could get voted victim of the year for keeping my multi-chins up in the face of adversity. The only problem is the networks probably wouldn't air my interview. They don't like happy people. Actually, now that I think about it (You can tell I don't do much pre-thinking prior to writing this), I bet it's television and not old age that is really responsible for the over abundance of tears.
Being a victim is cool. Being a victim gets you your fifteen minutes of fame. Women flock to get on Jerry Springer and admit that their husbands were caught in a men's room playing footsie with another guy. I never could understand how those shows could induce so many criars to go public. I guess it's the fame thing.
I guess I'm glad I didn't get through to Doc Thompson. After all, why should I boast about my uncontrollable weeping. In fact, I'm going to try and dry those tears in the future. I'll become one of those iron-jawed guys...you know the type who never cries, even if he just got hit by a car.
I can handle it. I'm a man. I'll single-handedly reverse this trend. Today is the first day of the dry-eyed rest of my life. Just remind me not to listen to Delilah on the radio in the evenings. Talk about emotional. I'm welling up just thinking about it.