I take my eyes off of Katie Holmes for a couple of years and look what happens…

“Here come the water works…” - Regina Bouie (the woman I affectionately call “mom”)

This was my least favorite phrase as a child (”You can’t have that Nintendo game until you get your report card,” was a very close second). Why did I hate the aforementioned phrase that has nothing to do with paying your utility bill? Besides the fact that the woman who gave birth to this was simultaneously clowning and emasculating me? It meant the following:

1) I was visibly upset and/or crying.
2) I was losing another game in game in “Family Football.”Fuck, I wish my sister would catch a fucking pass. She’s possibly the worst quarterback of all-time. She couldn’t even play for the Cardinals. (Editor’s Note: This was when the Cardinals were still in St. Louis and they were perennially the worst team in the NFL.)

I’m much more of a gracious loser these days than I ever was in my youth (with age comes maturity, or so you hope). I was raised by the most competitive mother and father duo that the world has ever seen. My dad once berated my youth baseball team when we lost a game by saying, “This game makes me sick. You kids should be ashamed of yourselves. So ashamed that you should be keeled over and vomiting right now. Losing should make you physically ill…”

At that time, none of us were old enough to engage in long division let alone be aware of the complex interactions between the brain and the body. I could tell you many more stories of pre-adolescent, ultra-competitive behavior and how it shaped the man-child that I am today but I will save that for a one-on-one conversation or another misguided blog post.

The point is, for young men of my age and profound wisdom (or quite simply others who were born within a few years of 1983 and share the generational hangups as yours truly) - crying, especially in the public realm, is just not an option. I’d rather be publicly disciplined (read: spanked) at the age of 28 (hopefully not by Regina Bouie) rather than become a snot factory complete with tears that taste like saltwater taffy for the whole world to see.

“Any grown man that sheds an accessible tear or cries out in front of an audience in the great state of Texas will be put to death by public hanging within seven days of the recorded criminal conduct.” — State of Texas Criminal Law - Section A28 Column 13B (Law is also known as the “Davey Crockett Didn’t Cry Motherfucking Crocodile Tears” Act of 1841. It’s in the process of being repealed but I wouldn’t count on it.)

Remember Waco? That was a mass crying game situation. Too many tears requires government intervention.

I once went eight years without crying thus my penis grew six-feet long and I’m not sure why. I literally think I was too sad to cry (also another sob story for another time).

So when I attended Carissa’s Wierd on Saturday night and found myself counting the number of boys and girls publicly boo-hoo’ing, I began to wonder if there was something wrong with me. Especially when I turned to my friend, another Carissa’s Wierd devotee who was in attendance and said, “Man, there are so many people crying right now. I’m going to start keeping count…”

Apparently I said the aforementioned phrase a little bit too loud and got a several icy teary-eyed glares from a few members of the peanut gallery. I’ve never been one to be strong-armed by crying adults so I can’t say that I felt intimidated in the slightest. Let the unabashed emotional census proceed!

By the end of the night I counted 13 people that were visibly shaken, not stirred affected by the music Carissa’s Wierd were playing.

As far the band’s performance, it was decent. I thought they played a better show at the Showbox Market last year. Normally I prefer Neumos to anything that takes place at the Showbox Market or SoDo, but on Saturday night that was not the case. There were some special moments that took place at Neumos, such as Jenn Ghetto being half-heartedly against performing “So You Wanna Be a Superhero?” She rushed through the fairly brief tune without stopping to take a breath between lyrics (at least it seemed that way). I thought it was endearing, yet while she was beginning the second refrain of the song I couldn’t help but think, “This was much better last year.”

Carissa’s Wierd also failed to play “Phantom Fireworks,” my favorite song of written by them. If there was any moment during that performance where my hardened heart might have softened up a little, it would’ve been doing that song. Instead I remain a heartless, inhuman blogger, no thanks to them (no thanks to you either!). Until something dramatic happens, all my writing will be constructed around timeless “Get off my lawn!” sentiments.

Gentle reader, note that I do not think there is anything wrong crying, especially during a Carissa’s Wierd song. Lord knows that when I suffered a break-up a while back I listened to that retrospective album as if I were on my deathbed. It’s funny how the newly single are inclined to believe there is no tomorrow. With that being said, I’ve never cried during any live performance. Sarah McLaughlin could be on-stage singing “I Will Remember You,” with dozens of abused animals being projected on a movie screen behind her and I wouldn’t feel a thing. That’s just me, I’m a dick a constant abuser of the “poker face.”

My question to you is, what is the most powerful live music experience that you have ever witnessed? Did you cry or did you feel a different emotion? Was it the song(s) that inspired those feelings or was it because you were going through tumultuous times far beyond the concert venue?