Last night, during my break between work and workout, I turned on a "Simpsons" rerun just for the heck of it. I managed to stroll through the living room just as Bart was stepping into the cavity of a poultry carcass, sticking his feet through and pulling the thing up like a pair of shorts. "Look, Lise," he said to his sister, "I'm Baron Von Chickenpants!"
I used to be a Simpsons snob. Once upon a time, I wouldn't watch the show because I thought it glorified grossness, underachievement, slackerosity and all the trailer-trash elements of society. I was definitely above it. Then I caught a few episodes and realized that I'd been right on every point but one: I was definitely not above it. I have embraced my inner Simpson and am working on getting over myself.
I have my Lisa days (sanctimonious geekism), my Homer days (shameless slacking), my Marge days ("I have to do ALL the work around here!" [at Sensational Acres, not Media HQ]), my baby Maggie days (just shuffling along with a vacant stare) and, Heaven help us, even my Bart days. Chaos! Chickenpants! Pizza for breakfast! And lunch! And dinner! And it's fine. It all works out, and we have a few laughs along the way. So I dare everybody to pull a Bart today, just one, and then resume normal seriousness.