Health Kick

It's still a source of wonder to me that I live within jogging distance of the ocean.  And as I set off yesterday in shorts, (Shorts! in February!) I reflected that but for my move west, I would have been getting my exercise on the east coast shoveling sidewalk snow.

Not that California doesn't offer snow opportunities of course.  We just returned from our ski trip to Squaw Valley (still celebrating their Winter Olympics 50 years after the event), where the powder base was terrific and being replenished as we skied.  We tackled all of the possible intermediate areas, covering 13 lifts in a day and a half before settling down to chips and guacamole along with 106 million of our fellow Americans for the most watched SuperBowl ever.   Black runs were off piste (so to speak), since I'm a fairly lousy skier in the first place, and the last thing that either Eric or I need is a broken anything five months before the wedding.

For the folks in New Orleans, I am guessing that mardi gras this year may be even wilder than it normally is.  For us, it marks the beginning of a health kick.  The Christmas pounds seem to be obstinately staying put on my hips, despite my efforts to banish them.  Radical action is needed.  So, for the first time in years, I shall be giving up something for Lent.  Alcohol.

Lest any of my friends think that I have suddenly "got" religion, I should assure them that my church-going is right where it has always been; lax.  It's just that, having missed the opportunity to have an ascetic January, Lent provides a convenient length of time (helpfully punctuated in mid-March by a wedding dress fitting for motivation) to make a real difference to my errant waistline. 

Forty days is an awfully long time not to have any wine, so it is possible that I may allow myself three wishes, Aladdin-style, when the alcohol ban can be lifted.  I found on a previous abstinence bout that the most challenging time was not my regular wine with dinner, but going out with friends for parties.  Celebrating someone's birthday with a sparkling apple juice sucks.  Hence the idea of a few "get out of jail free" cards during the period.

In the meantime, there are some treats to look forward to, even if they don't strictly fall within the new healthy regime.  This weekend, we will be heading over to meet our local celebrity, Marina Sousa, a cakemaker who has been featured on Oprah and the Food Network, and who works close by in Capitola, to taste some of her creations as a possibility for our California celebration over Labor Day weekend.

And Valentine's Day came early for me this week, when Eric ordered the pizza pictured above on a night when neither of us felt like cooking.  Cheesy?  Perhaps.  Cute? Definitely!  Especially when you know that the name of the pie place is www.pizzamyheart.com.

The Taxman Cometh

It's the time of year when envelopes start plopping into the mailbox from all one's financial institutions with weird codes that only the IRS could devise.  Interest income, earnings, mortgage interest, retirement accounts - each has its own special number so that the government can keep tabs on what we're worth, (and how much they can wrest from us).

My taxes this year will be more complex than ever before.  The sale of the Brooklyn chateau generated a capital gain which just falls within the guidelines to exempt me from paying tax (I hope).  Doubtless, I shall have to jump through myriad TaxCut hoops to prove that to the government's satisfaction.

Then we bought a house, just in time to benefit from the expansion of the First Time Homebuyer Tax Credit.  Now some of you may be smelling a rat here.  How can I be a First Time Homebuyer, if I just sold a house, right?  Well, I'm not.  But Eric is.  And apparently, I may be able to take his deduction (you should know he is on board with this).  If I've lost you at this point, and you're still interested, there's a Wall Street Journal article on the subject here.  Even if I can't take his deduction, then at the very least I should be able to get the existing homeowner deduction, which Congress handily passed just before our sale went through.


So far, so good.  But moving state will complicate matters.  Even though I haven't worked since I've been in California,  those of you who have been following these posts will know that I also have some investment income to declare.  Remember my foray into the stock markets?  Well it transpires that I am a reasonably successful "day trader".  Although I have yet to come anywhere close to replacing my former income (sadly), I have made enough to afford a wee ski trip to Squaw Valley over SuperBowl weekend (yippee!).  At least, I think I have.  I haven't yet worked out how much of my investment gains will be clawed back, which may yet come as a nasty surprise.

At any rate, I am delighted to report that my stock market experimentation has so far yielded a realized return some 10 times greater than the interest I am earning in my savings account. So thank you, Mr Buffet, I'm glad I took your advice.  (Also glad I bought your shares, as they are up a healthy 4.9% from September as of today's close)!

One thing I have learned, since venturing into the treacherous seas of short term investing, is that it requires a very strong stomach.  While the markets have not yo-yo'd in quite the same way that they did in the fall of 2008, there have been a couple of times when I thought I'd be writing off losses at tax time.  Fortunately, I appear to have dodged that bullet this year.

I haven't yet set aside the time to evaluate the full situation, but I am hoping that Uncle Sam may give us a windfall this year, which we'll obviously put towards the wedding.  After all, the tax code is largely designed to favor married couples, a throwback to the traditional view that marriage reinforces a stable society.

My investment goal for the next six months is already determined, however.  I have a (rather expensive) wedding dress to pay for.  You'll know if I made it when we post the wedding photos in July...

So Long, Tiger

It's a bizzare coincidence that just as I am finally taking up golf, the game's most famous ambassador, Eldrick Tont Woods (aka Tiger) has taken an indefinite leave. I'd like to think that he was scared of the competition, but think it is unlikely given that my seven year old niece has a better game than I do, and has certainly played more.

On the face of it, the biggest reason for me not to join the game informally dubbed "the sport of businessmen" is cost. I'm between jobs, and golf is one of the most expensive sports to play. With clubs, clothes, green fees, balls, tees, lessons and practice on the driving range to purchase, it's a wonder that most amateur players aren't entirely bankrupt. Fortunately, one of the most costly items (the clubs) was generously taken care of at Christmas, and I got a natty pair of golf shoes too. The rest of it is still to come, though, and having jotted down a back-of-the-envelope budget, I'm expecting to be at least $100 a month poorer as a result of my new hobby.

But the other side of the coin is the long list of benefits that go with the sport. It turns out that golfing is a bit like a secret society, with vast numbers of friends confessing to being lifelong golfers, now that they know that I'm joining the club (not a literal club - definitely can't afford that -but the golfing community).

• Golfing involves a pleasant amount of fresh air and exercise. It's just enough to feel like a mild workout - particularly if you skip the buggies - but does not require the somewhat manic training schedule mandated by participating in triathlons and IronMans - which far healthier friends on the east coast have recently taken up.
• I shall finally be able to participate in golfing tournaments, which I have been turning down for several years now while working, on the basis that it would be jolly boring as a non-player.
• We live close to some of the finest golfing in the world, including the home of this year's US Open, Pebble Beach, and Cypress Point (see picture of the 15th hole right for why one might want to golf)
  
• Our wedding celebration in California is taking place at Pasatiempo Golf Course, which was designed by the same Yorkshireman who created Augusta National, Alister MacKenzie.

This last reason provides quite a good incentive to put my best foot forward and try to improve my game before September. One of the perks of spending oodles of money on a reception with the Pasatiempo folks is that they will allow us to play the course for a little less than their normal eye-popping rate. I'm sure that the groom and his best man were thinking that they might take advantage of that. But they'd better watch out. I'm sure I can fit in a game of golf before my hair appointment...

My lessons commence next Wednesday (booked the first one on 13th for luck). Thwack!