Surf's Up

Surfing is a bit like jobhunting.  Even though there are a lot of you out there, your chances of success or failure come down to your own ability, and a little bit of luck.  It requires a lot of paddling, alone. Far from catching the wave, all the hard work is too often rewarded with a drenching hit of cold water knocking you off the board.

But sometimes, (and this is why people persevere at both sports), you catch a beautiful wave and cruise on top of it all the way into the shore. 

Down at Capitola beach, I was privileged to see three surfers standing parallel to one another on the same wave this week.  I couldn't take a photo (no camera), and the whole thing lasted only a minute.  But trying to find a picture for this post to capture what I saw made me realize how rare it was. 

I wish that I could tell you that the point of my (somewhat tortured) metaphor is that I  have cruised into my own dream job.  Not yet.  But perhaps the three surfers were a harbinger, presaging something good to come.  Three very different opportunities opened up to me this week.  One is with a fascinating startup, which has the typical kinks associated with an early stage company, but has real potential; the second is a traditional consulting role, which wouldn't start for a few months, but which could see the revival in earnest of the Cakewalk company and the third is with a company that I would love to work for, in a field which I know little about.

None of them really fits the mold of what I have sketched in my mind as my "dream job", but perhaps I have painted myself into a corner, by failing to imagine what I could or should do next, simply because I haven't done it before. 

In the six months since I moved west, I have had my ego drenched a couple of times.  But whatever comes next (whether one of these opportunities, or something just around the corner that is better yet), I am looking forward to the exultation which comes with riding the wave.

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...