Sunday, March 27, 2011

A Minor Moral Defeat

I’ve been doing my taxes by hand since—well, since I’ve had to file taxes.  Granted, in the beginning, it was easier.  Technically, EZ.  But I have taken a certain amount of misguided pride in this yearly ritual.  I grab my number two pencil and the instruction book from the IRS, and hang out with a bad movie on cable.  In recent years I’ve made a small concession to my own fallibility: I check my math with a little red calculator.

I’ve filed in as many as three states in a year, and each year there seems to be another form I need to fill out.  Friends and acquaintances seem shocked when I ignore their suggestions for tax software.  Come on.  I’m a math junky.  This isn’t even hard math.

Last night I breezed through my federal return.  Connecticut didn’t take me much longer.  I made it three quarters of the way through New York when I hit a wall. For three months last year I lived in New York and worked in Connecticut.  Both states expected me to pay taxes on this income.  In the New York instructions, I found a vague reference to credit for taxes paid to another state, but try as I might, I couldn’t find any information on how to actually claim it.  I searched and searched, but kept coming up empty.

And so for the first time ever (when it comes to taxes), I gave up.  I completed everything online in TurboTax.  And that silly little software that I’d avoided using for more than a decade increased my return.  Substantially.  I guess this is one more piece of evidence that I am in fact fallible.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

The Bane of My Existence

That would be the backpack. Don’t get me wrong; I’ve employed this handy tool with some frequency at different points in my life. Distributing the load I’m carrying over two shoulders instead of one is better for my back, and assuages my fears of becoming lopsided from carrying everything on my right shoulder all the time. I also love that a backpack leaves my hands free to ward off predators . . . okay really I just want my hands free to gesticulate wildly.

As handy as a backpack can be, I’ve come to loathe them. Or at least the people who where them. Apparently, before one is allowed to purchase a backpack, they are given a spatial awareness test. If they pass, they are forbidden from completing the purchase. How is it possible that no one seems to realize that when they put something on their back (or over their shoulder) it actually protrudes? I dodge these hunchbacks on a daily basis. Usually I’m successful, but the closer they come, the more irritated I become.

So, here’s a little educational info for users of public transit:

  • When you put a backpack on your back, it does not magically meld into your torso, allowing you to take up the exact same amount of space as you do naked
  • When you put a large bag over your shoulder, it often extends out further than your body
  • When you carry a large umbrella horizontally, you are effectively wielding a weapon

What are the odds of the millions of people who need this information actually receiving it and understanding that it applies to them?

That’s what I thought.

Perhaps I’ll invest in body armor.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

No Need for Ruby Slippers

In my sophomore year of high school we studied Hemingway. For extra credit, Chelsea Thaxter (such a cool name that I didn’t forget it) gave a presentation on the Home / Not-Home concept. I don’t remember much about it, only that both Home and Not-Home had a distinct mood and feeling, and nothing to do with actual location. Read more here.