Saturday, March 28, 2009
The morning CLANG...
Not Kris Lang, or Klang, the not so talented ultra goofy horse mouthed basketball player at UNC...but the CLANG. Pots, pans, dishes, foot-stomps, loud voices, and my mother telling my father, "Matty just got in from college, Maryland, partying, saving the poor"...and my father yelling, "It's 7am, I'm up, he can get up too".
You are all familiar with it. My mental image is the father from the movie "The Christmas Story"...Christmas morning, a little hungover from a few glasses of red, stumbling downstairs with his robe on, hair disheveled, eyes half open and crusty, and the wife and kids all amped cause Santa had come. You'd like to smile, you'd like to be cheery, and gosh darn it you actually like all the CLANG, but God Dammit you just don't want to let anyone know. Tis better to be salty, mumble things in a incomprehensible language, and pretend to loathe the evil people who woke you up.
It was MAN night last night. My buddy Eric came over with his Boston Terrier "Mack", and our Boston "Fenway" and "Mack" played and played. My wife was at work, his was out of town, and we had "Man Town" baby. Sushi, beer, basketball, cleaning up dog puke (Mack has stomach problems), beer, farting...and I even showed Eric the new "Fart Machine" application on my iPhone. It was DUDE heaven. The game ended, I dragged my sleep deprived Sam Adams intoxicated self upstairs, and dreamt on about our powerful blowout win versus Gonzaga.
And of course morning came. Per usual my really hot wife even in the morning was up first. I stirred, grabbed our dog, and wondered why my head had the dull ache of beer induced sleep. I stumbled out of bed, put on the coffee and made a rockin ass breakfast. Truffle fried potatoes, bacon and easy over eggs. Magical shit for a half hungover Matty. And I guess I really wasn't that cranky, wasn't worried about the CLANG because I had become the CLANG. Me, Mr. Salty Pants, Mr. "Goddammit Dad Shut the Fuck Up, it's 7am".
As the caffeine hit the synapses I kept on CLANGING and made my way downstairs, directly below the kitchen and started washing clothes. Upstairs I heard more CLANG...the dog running around, my wife cleaning up.
And I realized...what a beautiful sound. The morning, change, a new day, new beginnings, and the wonderment of having a happy home and the thrill of just being happy.
I'm on my third or fourth cup of coffee, my crusty eye balls are clean, my dog is snoring on the couch and my wife and I are catching up on the week's ti-vo'd shows. I am in my zone, and I am happy. But please don't ever tell anyone that I guiltilly enjoy the CLANG, especially when I visit my folks at home. I relish my salty exterior, but gosh darn it, I relish on that plush interior of soul I control...