The Reason Books Rule

I was moved to tears yesterday.
No kidding – as I am prone to do in blogs. No exaggerating – as I am also prone to do. No making up part of this or changing details so it reads better.
Just tears.
From reading.
The book: They Don’t Play Hockey In Heaven.
The story: A 250 page autobiography of a 31 year old man trying to revive his professional hockey dreams after 9 years and removal of a brain tumor. (The brain tumor is its own story chronicled in Man Made, which I will be searching for in used book stores.)
Ken Baker wasn’t just some hack former player, he was the winning goalie on the US Under 17 world championship youth hockey team. World Championship.
He was on track to be on the ‘92 Olympic team, former teammates with Mike Modano. Baker thought he just lost the desire to play, or lacked the commitment to stay in shape, but unknown to anyone, the brain tumor sapped his testosterone. Life unexpectedly stole his dreams.
In later years, the tumor was discovered, treated and a dream – an actual sleeping dream – inspired him to play gain. First in afternoon pickup games and adult league fun games, and then he tried out for AA hockey
To Ken Baker, it didn’t matter. He just wanted a shot at being paid to play hockey, so he left his successful writing career, his new marriage and his home, and moved to Bakersfield, California.
AA hockey. Two steps below the NHL. Rarely do players make the transition. Think Wheeling Nailers. Think long bus rides, long hours, #3 goalie, with practically no practice time, 32 years old by this time, without knowing if he would ever get into a game. $50 a week, as an emergency goalie.
He was determined to do it. Dedicated to the dream. It was real life. Inspirational.
And when he finally got into a game – the last two minutes with a 7-2 lead – and made a save, the crowd went wild. (they knew his story) and I broke down. Perhaps I was tired from reading for 5 straight hours for the second day in a row.
Perhaps Ken Baker is that great.
Either way, I was moved.
Later he played a whole game. He won. I was moved to tears again.
He retired after that one season, but he’d made it.
Live the dream.

Peace
Larry

Pens vs Flyers: threats, fan(atic)s and accusations of tanking

Wow. People (supposedly normal people) posting on the internet while waiting for the Pens-Flyers series to start are angry. And rabid - not in a good way.
Internet discussions are pretty much focused on petty name calling and accusations about players, fans and whole cities sexuality, manhood, and general superiority compared to their fans, players and city.
Can I get an intelligent conversation about hockey?
Or do the sites only let posters on who also tip cars and burn couches after major and minor victories.
Here’s my predictions for the series:
Both teams’ fans will complain about officiating – even when they win.
All Flyers fans will say Sidney Crosby dives, and Pens fans will say the Flyers are goons.
Crosby will be booed in Philly and Hatcher will be booed in Pittsburgh.
Whoever loses will blame it on officiating first, unlucky bounces second and underachieving third. Neither will admit the other team was better.
Oh, yea, and in the midst of this complaining a great series of hockey will take place, between two teams with great skill, grit and passion.
And if I hear one more comment about how the Pens 'tanked' their season finale against the Flyers so they didn't have to play the Flyers I think I'll scream. It was bad enough that the Senators tried to use this tactic to motivate their team, but now Philly is using it?
Hello Philly fans, if you really think the Pens tanked that game, you'd better be really worried, because your team barely won. An empty netter? Against a team bent on tanking the game? One goal against a team determined to lose?
If that's all the better the Flyers play, they're not going to fair well against that same team going all out.
So to all you internet posters, Shut up, and talk hockey.
Larry (posting on the internet)

Three things overheard over the past few weeks

1) After buying some books from Half-Price Books (one of my favorite places) the sales clerk asked if I needed a bag. And because I've b(eco)me (eco)nomical I said no, and she answered: "Groovy."
I wasn't aware people still said Groovy.

2) I didn't hear this one, but my girlfriends goddaughter, told us the story. She is in kindergarten, and was riding home on the bus, wearing a new pink leopard print jacket and a boy on her bus said: "I like your jacket. If I was a girl, and sometimes I wish I was, I would like a jacket like that."
Evidently, I’m not aware of a lot of things.

3) We were sitting outside the new I-Hop in Robinson (that's right, International House of Pancakes finally in the Pittsburgh area) waiting for the pancake goodness, when a family exited the restaurant. A boy no more than 7 holding his father's hand said as he passed by: "My taste buds just shot straight to heaven."
I-Hop should pick that up as their new slogan.
It would be Groovy. And if I was a pancake, and sometimes I wish I was, I would want to send taste buds to heaven.

Keep your ears open.
Peace
Larry

Ben Ten Little Piggies (and then there were nine)

So, I broke a kid's toe today.
At work. Not a child, but a coworker, for those of you who know I work in a toy store but not how I liberally use the word ‘kid.’ This kid was in his early 20s. (presumably he still is, with the mortality rate of broken toes being what they are.)
Breaking a toe may seem like a strange result working in a toy store, especially considering it was the big toe; the hardest one to break; the one that went to market.
But I did it by accidentally lowering a one-ton palette of sand on it. And then quickly jacking the palette jack back up as his face contorted in pain and he kept repeating, “Up, up, up!”
He took it well. Better than I would have.
Better than I did.
I am now in a funk over this accident that I can’t help thinking I could have prevented. I’m not sure how. Is there anything worse than accidentally hurting someone you hardly know, wondering why this had to happen, and how this person is going to react?
Is there anything worse than watching as he limps away, unable to put weight on the toe, and knowing that’s your fault?
Did I ruin the next six weeks of his life?
Will I be in trouble with his family, with my boss, with his friends and my coworkers?
Why did this happen to me? Why?
Will he hate me? Be mad? Be angry? Be forgiving?
Is there anything worse than the unknowing? The moments before you apologize, before you know for sure the extent of the damage?
Is there anything worse than the guilt feelings that have been lingering with me all day; the guilt that hung in the air in the back of the truck almost too thick to push boxes through as I finished unloading without my partner who was on his way to the hospital?
Is there anything worse than that?
Of course there is.
Having a broken toe and being on my way to the hospital.
And the guilt grows …

(Be well, Ben Ten.)

All my Xs go in taxes

Or ... What the hell! This is hard!

Why pay someone else to do what I can do myself? Or what I assume I can do myself – mowing the lawn, shoveling the driveway, easy repairs on cars, and, since I consider myself a fairly competent individual … my own taxes.
That’s right, my own taxes.
Undaunted by the fear, I gathered income statements, calculator, pencils, pen, and local, state and federal tax forms and started into the most ridiculous event of my year.
I am above average in intelligence (at least that’s what the tests say,) but I am also above average in laziness (at least that’s what my girlfriend says). Still, it just makes sense that normal competent Americans should be able to understand their own tax responsibilities, even if they’re lazy.
Sometimes I’m above average in the expectations of my government.
Multiple income sources mean multiple 1099 and W-2 forms plus an extra 1023 form piled in front of me, all so I can fill out my 1040.
The 1040 EZ form – supposedly easy, hence the clever use of initials – has a paragraph and then 7 bullet points just to determine eligibility. So, before you open the instruction booklet, you’ve already exhausted a quarter page of instructions.
I’m not eligible for the EZ.
So I turn my attention to the standard 1040 (the 2HRD4U form.)
The 1040 comes with a 77 page book of step by step – almost – instructions on how to fill out the form, which is, deceivingly, only two pages. That’s over 38 pages of instruction per page of form.
But I forge ahead: Name, address, Social Security number. So far, so good.
Now for section one: Filing status: Single. That takes care of the first five lines. I’m rolling.
Next: I’m my own exemption. Booya! Take that line 6a, 6b, 6c, and 6d.
Line 7: Wages and salary from W-2s? Got it!
Who needs that silly 77 pages of instruction. I’m almost half way down the first side of the form and I haven’t looked at a single instruction … then I hit line 12 which reads, “Business income or (loss). Attach Schedule C or C-EZ”. The handy Tax Return Page Reference tells me the instructions are on page 24. (Instructions for filling in my name are on page 19, which makes me wonder what was on the first 18 pages.)
I turn to page 24 and find these ‘instructions’:
Line 12 – Business Income or (Loss)
If you operated a business or practiced your profession as a sole proprietor, report your income and expenses on Schedule C or C-EZ.
That’s it.
A rewording of what was on line 12. And not a mention of where I could find the schedule.
I hunt it down. It’s another 2 page form, with its own appendix with 10 pages of instructions, which I consult many times before getting it right (or at least what I think is right.)
It’s just a minor bump on my road to tax victory.
But to fill out my 1040 form properly I need to fill out schedule C multiple times.
Two more pages, and more consulting the books, and 45 minutes later, I’m back on track.

Until a few lines later when I need to fill out schedule E once and then schedule SE. SE? That’s through the alphabet once and then 5 more. That’s theoretically 31 other schedules to fill out, which doesn’t include the multiple worksheets I found ‘glancing through’ in the instruction book, such as:

Standard Deduction Chart for People Who Were Born Before January 2, 1939 or Were Blind – Line 37. (I see the connection)

Chart A – For Most People. (This was the title. I’m not kidding.)

Worksheet To See If You Should Fill in Form 6251 – Line 42. (a worksheet to see if you should fill in a form so you can fill in a line.)

Or the all popular and not confusing at all – Unrecaptured Section 1250 Gain Worksheet – Line 19.
This is an 18 line worksheet with a word in the title that’s not really a word, all to fill in one line on a form which needs to be filled out to satisfy one line on the 1040. And the instructions for the worksheet couldn’t be clearer.
If you are not reporting a gain on Form 4797 (that’s a-whole-nother form!) line 7, column (g), skip lines 1 through 9 and go to line 10.
If you’re not fortunate enough to skip ahead though, you get a shot at figuring out this:
1. If you have a section 1250 property in Part III of Form 4797 for which you made an entry in Part I of form 4797 (but not on Form 6252) enter the smaller of line 22 or line 24 of form 4797 for that property. If you did not have any such property, go to line 4. If you had more than one such property, see instructions.

We’re talking line 7 column G, parts I and III from 3 different forms to fill out Line 19. And depending on your answers you might have to read the instructions.
I’m glad I didn’t have to deal with that nonsense.
Instead, I track down my own Schedule E and SE nonsense, and finish those.
I’ve been working for a few hours or so, I’m caffeinated and motivated and I run into this:
Line 17: Rental Real Estate, royalties, patents, etc. I wonder if this is where I need to put my book earnings.
No use guessing, I check that 77 page booklet to see what it says about line 17, and it says: Nothing.
The booklet goes from instructions for line 16 to instructions for line 19, without mentioning lines 17 or 18 at all.
Nothing. At all.
The instructions I needed just weren’t there.
And I’m not sure that was the worst thing.
I’m bearing down hard to finish when I run into this conundrum: I’m filling out yet another 2 page form with yet another 10 page instruction appendix, to fill in yet another one line on the 1040 form, when I realize in order to complete this form, to fill in line 55 of the 1040, I need to know what goes in line 60 of the 1040.
How do I know? I didn’t get there yet!
Now I have to go back to the original 1040 form, and fill in the lines between where I had to leave to fill out the supplementary form and the line I need to finish the supplementary form so I can go back and fill in the line before the ones I just filled in.
What? Exactly!
After over 4 hours, spent over 2 days, I finally reach the end of the second page; Amount you owe.
Of course, I owe, so I write in the amount.
But that’s not the last line.
Seems like it should be, but the last line is: Estimated tax penalty.
I just throw in a number and pay it. I know I’m going to owe it. Somewhere along the line of those 77 pages of instruction and numerous supplementary forms, and worksheets I’ve made a mistake.
I know it.
You know it.
The IRS knows it or they wouldn’t be asking for penalties up front.
Perhaps the mistake was in thinking I could do my own taxes.
Peace
Larry

Yankee let loose, Dawg

Set up:
My friends and I were in a bar in Nashville, in the heart of “southern” country, listening to a songwriters open mic, which featured more than one song about how the south was great and Yankees sucked. (and I’m not talking about the baseball team .)
As we were leaving, my friend Joe and I stopped in the bathroom. He stepped into a stall but I could see his bright red Ohio State Buckeye hat peeking out over the top.

Reality:
As I stood at the urinal, a loud drunken southern boy burst into the room.
Hillbilly: Whew! Someone fucking let loose in here, dawg. (pause as he unzips) Someone fucking let loose in here, boy. (another pause as he presumably looks for his penis.) Whew, dawg, someone let fuckin’ loose, huh?
Me: (in a low grunt, peeing and trying to mind my own business) Yeh.
Conversation over.

What I shoulda said:
Hillbilly: Whew! Someone fucking let loose in here, dawg. (pause as he unzips)
Me: You’re telling me, it’s nasty, nas-T.
Hillybilly: Whew, dawg, someone let fuckin’loose, huh?
Me: I think it was the guy in the red hat
Hillybilly: Huh? (as he quits searching for his penis and begins searching for the dawg that let loose.)
Me: And that’s an Ohio State hat!
Followed by me exiting.

The Magic of 8s (or 8 reasons I like the number 8)

I like the number 8.
Am I obsessed? No.
Do I think the number is following me? No.
Do I see some connections with my life and the number? No.
I am forcing these connections for the sake of this blog. But it's really starting to work out for me.
Eight is everywhere, especially if you look for it. It’s the ball you sink to win pool. It’s one better than the great wonders of the world.
The eighth thing you get when you Google eight: The Eight Irresistible Principles of Fun.
If that’s not a sign …
So here is the first installment of 8s. (Ironically, blog number 8 on Phillis with words.)

8 reasons I like the number 8
1) The Magic 8 Ball: That prognosticator, shaken not stirred, which stirs me to make decisions I otherwise would never be able to handle. All signs point to yes.
2) It’s the pun in my favorite joke; Why’s 6 afraid of 7? 7, 8(ate), 9.
3) There’s 8 letters in Dwellers, Penguins, FN Improv, Cavalier (my car if not my attitude), Lawrence and Danielle.
4) Soccer superstar Shannon McMillan: Shannon ‘The Cannon’ - and I ain’t talking about taking pictures.
5) There are 8 planets. (sorry Pluto, but it works out for me!)
6) *
7) Visually, half of 8 is 3 and 3 is a magic number. (the other half is the mirror image of 3, and if there’s anything that represents the magical unknown, it’s the world inside a mirror.)
8) 8 is like infinity on its side.

- Thanks for reading -