How long have you been watching the news and feeling like crying? Last week was the worst but it’s been going on a long time. Of course there’s rage, but as the true horror keeps building and obliterating everything else, there is grief.

I just want to cry when I hear his voice. When he turns everything to shit. When he finds a new way to shock our sense of decency. I want to cry but I suck it up. You can’t go around crying all the time when you’re already exhausted and besides, you’re trying to aim for numb.

But maybe a good cry would be cathartic. The weight you feel when you think about the world might be lightened, just a little. Crying exists for a reason. Tears of despair are supposed to be biologically useful.

We’ve had our days of marching but we need a day to cry. Before the midterms or after the midterms, it doesn’t matter. If we take over the senate, we can add relief to our reasons for crying.

Every community can gather at a Starbucks or the library. We need to make sure it’s a secular event. No praying, just crying. We’ll all bring tissues.

And let me be clear: We won’t “weep.” I hate the contemporary use of that word, like it’s a badge of honor or an accomplishment to “weep.” We will cry, and we will cry hard. We can even sob.

If you don’t want to cry, that’s your problem. Go ahead and get an ulcer or colitis or heart disease.

If you do want to cry, what will you cry for most? Me, I will cry for the stupidity and racism that brought us here. And for hippos.

Are you in or out?

Only a seasoned brand-whore would think of spending $1,375 for these awful jeans by Brunello Cucinelli. Your friends would have to be able to recognize the designer, who

operates from a restored 14th century castle in Solomeo, Italy (in fact, he restored the entire village). The line has expanded beyond the initial coveted cashmere to include designs for men and women

to justify the expense. Otherwise, people would just assume you were a homeless person wearing a factory reject from Sears. For $1,375, you get the following:

• • Drawstring waistband.
  • Patch pockets with monili trim.
  • Back button pockets.
  • Relaxed fit.
  • Tapered, wide legs.
  • Pull-on style.
  • Cotton.
  • Made in Italy.

I don’t know what monili trim is, and I don’t care. I do know that for normal humans under 75, an elastic waist on jeans is the kiss of death.

A newer, more fashion-forward brand is Sacai, who really brings it with these distressed high rise boyfriend jeans.

These were $855 but now reduced to just $256.50. So much bang for your buck, I hardly know where to begin.

Part of the brand’s Spring ’18 collection, these boyfriend jeans are cut from substantial denim. They’re thoroughly deconstructed: from the asymmetric paneling to the mint-lined rips, to the gathered puffs of fabric that peek out from under the cuffs.

What does “mint-lined rips” mean? I see there’s something swashbuckling or piratey going on here, and that’s not a plus. Here’s how it looks on a model:

So much attention to extraneous detail! Do these jeans say, “Hey, I’ve got money!” or “Please forgive me?”

This next pair makes me sad. First, because DUH, and second, because Escada has been over for years and years but won’t let go. It’s time, Escada. Pull the plug.

God. “Live Laugh Love.” On your jeans. I want to cry.

In case you bought these but you worried that people might overlook your statement, you could spring for the coordinating t shirt.

Live, laugh, eat, pray, be your best self.  Just don’t broadcast it, for fucksake.

I didn’t actually cry, but I did get choked up. I watched it again, and then I watched it some more. I fucking love Susan Boyle.

What is it that has touched a nerve all over the world?

I know there’s a simple explanation, but I also think there’s much more going on.

First, there’s the fairy tale aspect. I was thinking Cinderella, but my son suggested The Ugly Ducking, and of course he is correct. But why so much weeping?

Are we crying with relief that for once there is justice, and virtue is rewarded?

Are we crying with self-pity? We all harbor a secret belief that we are special and one day the world will take note; It’s happened for Susan but not for us.

Are we crying because we feel sentimental when we root for the underdog?

Are we crying because of a universal longing for authenticity?

Are we crying because we are projecting a life of sacrifice and rejection onto Susan Boyle?

Or are we responding to the sheer passion and sweetness of her voice?

I only hope nothing happens to burst the bubble. Our love for Susan Boyle implies a collective humanity and desire for transcendence.   However, it must be noted that my husband’s response is essentially ‘big deal.’ When urged to elaborate, he said, “It’s Shrek.” ( If you need a cynic, you know where to find him!)

Thoughts, anyone?

“Loss” is an occasional nightclub in London that promises its patrons an evening of exquisite misery. Apparently, it’s based on the popular crying clubs in Tokyo, where stressed Japanese businessmen can rent rooms by the hour to watch weepy movies or pay $10 to attend a group cryathon.

Hahaha! I mean, Waaaa. I think this could be a great idea.   My friend Ann suggested a couple of years ago that people opposed to President Bush get together for massive public cry-ins.   Since we felt there was little we could do to get rid of him, at least we could express our grief over the destruction he has wreaked.

It’s not too late to have a good cry about the Bush Administration. If you think you’re over it, try watching news footage of Hurricane Katrina.

Back to Loss, a project of “The Last Tuesday Society:” It is the work of a Romantically gloomy young man who calls himself Viktor Wynd.   His pose of exhausted misery is pretty funny, once you read the stuff at his website. He describes Loss as a place for “the miserable, the pathetic, the beautiful, the dying and the divorced” to “sit around the dying flowers, crushed velvet, mouldy taxidermy, old broken children’s toys and dead butterflies…” He will even provide chopped onions for those who need help getting their cry on.

Viktor, I love you! I get your joke! You are so beyond Emo, you’re almost anti-Emo! You are a dedicated performance artist who doesn’t just offer jars of shit at your ‘art’ exhibits; you label them “Realtor Shit” and “Pharmacist Shit.”

If you need more crying, here’s a photo of Robert Downy Jr. from a collection of photos by British artist Sam Taylor-Wood called “Crying Men.”