I used to not like The Simpsons.

Ashlee, O.J., Marc, the furniture store in Cedar Falls… I hated ‘em all.

No, not really. I’m actually speaking of The Simpsons, the popular animated series on Fox. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. Back some 18 years ago, or whenever it was the show began, I was not able to watch Fox. The network was still in its infancy, and therefore widely unavailable, especially to residents of rural northeast Iowa. Not long after The Simpsons came on the air, though, you started seeing Bart Simpson’s likeness on t-shirts, plush toys, plastic dolls, etc. I remember attending the Iowa State Fair one summer when such Simpsons fare was particularly ubiquitous. I decided then, for no good reason, that I didn’t like The Simpsons. I didn’t like the show, and I especially didn’t like Bart, for I was sick of seeing him at every turn during my visit to the State Fair.

I believe it was the following summer when I went to Adventureland with my church (or maybe school; I don’t remember). Again, Bart was everywhere I looked. My blind hatred for all things Simpson intensified. In fact, I decided that day that I would try to win one of the giant Bart Simpson dolls only so that I could dump it in the yucky, mucky, amusement park pond beneath one of the roller coasters. That, I thought, would show the world not only that I did not like The Simpsons, but that no one else should like The Simpsons either. Ha! Well, I decided I didn’t want to get in trouble, so I never went through with my plan, but that’s beside the point.

It wasn’t until I was in college, when some of my friends began to speak fondly of The Simpsons, that I began to lighten up a bit on the ol’ yellow folks. And then, when I started dating someone (whom I later married) who watched The Simpsons fairly regularly, and who often extolled the show’s hilarity, I finally began to watch it myself.

I had a change of heart. I realized that the show wasn’t just funny or just entertaining, but freaking hilarious. After I graduated from college and had my first place of my own, and therefore many, many hours to kill each week, I began watching The Simpsons daily. I actually scheduled things around syndicated episodes of the show. I became a true fan of The Simpsons, and remain one to this day.

So thanks to those who opened my eyes and opened my heart to that lovable cast of three-fingered, milk-through-the-nose laughter-inducing louts. I’m better for it.

Accident prone?

Recently my wife accused me of being accident prone. I was in the kitchen at the time, using a knife in a manner that apparently led her to believe I was about to cut myself (I wasn't, by the way). She said something to the effect of, "I don't know why you're always telling me to be careful doing stuff like that. You're the one who is always hurting yourself."

I disagreed with her, stating that I was not, in fact, prone to accidents, and that my higher incidence of household mishaps was only due to the fact that I did more things that could potentially result in such mishaps. I mow the yard, I slice 'n' dice in the kitchen, I cut the cheese, I change the baby's diapers, I wrestle mountain lions in the back yard... She sits atop piles of fluffy pillows and eats cotton candy all day!* Of course I'll have more accidents!

Anyhoo, I got to thinking more about my alleged accident prone-edness, and started to wonder if maybe she's right. Some examples:

• Last night I lit some charcoal to grill our dinner. Shortly after I started the charcoal, it started to rain, so I rigged the grill and its lid to cover the burning coals, while still allowing adequate air flow, etc., for them to get going properly. It worked great--the coals were still going strong, despite the heavy rain. So I went out a bit later to spread the coals and put the grill back in its proper position. I didn't think about the fact, though, that the grill had been licked by flames for 20 minutes or so previous to that, and I just tried to pick it up with my finger and was subsequently burned. Yow!
• Also last night, as I was eating the dinner I'd just prepared on that very same grill, I bit the inside of my cheek really freaking hard, and let loose with a pained, closed-mouth yell. Yow! I bit it in the exact same spot I'd bitten numerous times the week before, and which had just finally started to heal enough that I wasn't biting it all the time. I have a tendency to bite my cheeks and lips and tongue an awful lot, it seems...
• A week or two ago I was making supper (maybe I just shouldn't cook anymore...), and had some pasta boiling on the stove. I wanted to see if the pasta was done, so I scooped a noodle out of the water, blew on it and let it cool for a bit. Then I picked it up with my fingers and tried to put it in my mouth. Now, this was a long, squiggly, hollow noodle, and as I put it to my mouth, scalding water poured out of it, onto my tongue and lower lip, and down my chin, leaving a bright red line down the center of my chin. Yow! The next day the skin came off, and I looked like a dope.
• A couple weeks ago I was sweeping our deck, and bashed my knuckles on the roof of our dog house (which, by the way, our dog has used approximately one time for a duration of about 43 seconds since it was built seven years ago), leaving them scraped and bloodied. Yow!
• A few years back I was on a portage during a Boundary Waters canoe trip. As I slogged through the mud, a pointy stick jammed between two of my toes (I was wearing sandals), leaving a decent sized gash right in between 'em. Yow! It got all full of mud and stuff. Our guide/counselor advised me that the best possible thing to do would be to wash it in lake water. Later in the week a leech thought it had died and gone to heaven when it latched on right in the middle of my open wound.
• And a number of years ago, the most oft-cited incident: We were visiting my sister-in-law and her husband for Halloween, and were carving pumpkins. I stabbed a brand new, super sharp Rada knife into the top of my pumpkin, placed my left hand on the pumpkin to hold it steady, and promptly pulled the knife directly into my left thumb, neatly filleting it nearly to the bone. Yow! As soon as I did that, I jumped up, ran to the kitchen sink (that's where I go when I cut myself), and said, "I need stitches." We all went to the hospital, where I did get stitches.
• When I was a kid, I was playing football with a neighbor kid ("Heh, heh... Spaghetti."), who punted the ball to me. I ran under it, and as I caught the ball at a dead sprint, ran straight into the trunk of a cedar tree with all its branches cut off. I split open my shin (all the way to the bone, this time!) and got to have stitches then, too. Yow! Also, the first shot of painkiller the doctor gave me didn't work, which he realized about halfway through giving me the stitches... I managed to hold onto the ball when I hit the tree, though!
• I stayed home sick from school one day, and decided that the best treatment for my illness would be a little woodcarving. I got out my fancy set of Xacto knives and started cutting away at a little piece of wood that would eventually turn into a convincing replica of a boot! As I carved, the knife slipped, and I cut open the knuckle on my left thumb (my left thumb has had a tough life). Yow! I jumped up and ran to the kitchen sink (see above), and then my dad took me to the doctor. No stitches that time, though--they taped it shut!

That's probably enough examples, and really, it's not so many considering how flippin' old I am. Lately, though, I seem to have little mishaps with alarming frequency. Could it be that I am, in fact, accident prone? Or perhaps I'm just careless. Or stupid. Or maybe the first is the result of the latter two. I never have considered myself to be accident prone, but maybe it's time I took a good, long look at the evidence.

*I should go ahead and state that this is an exaggeration, if you didn't already get that. She MORE than pulls her weight around the house...