The new tooth

Joe Torre, ladies and gentlemen: Not showboating, not fame-whoring, just blessed with the self-respect to walk away from a bad situation. If you didn't already recognize him as the embodiment of dignity in an undignified profession, look hard. And if you think that he was foolish to walk from a contract that might have gotten him as much as $8 million if the Yankees had won, I gotta admit I feel sorry for you. $8 million is a lot of money, sure, but Joe already HAS a lot of money. And his dignity, not to mention his belief that a decent working relationship must be based on trust and respect, was worth $8 million to him. We can't all afford to make that choice, but it's gorgeous to see someone who can do so stand up for fair, honorable dealings between employees and management. I'm proud today to be a fan of the man -- not, anymore, the organization.

Every so often a person has one of those weeks where a bit of positive reinforcement is helpful, no matter what a stretch the accolade might be. In case you're having that week, take this thought to heart and be proud: You are, and I am quite sure of this, a better parent than anyone who'd pimp their child to that Lord of the Flies-looking mess on CBS. I don't care if you don't have any kids of your own. You are still the superior parent. I'm so proud of you!! In fact, I'm even going to give you bonus points for also not putting your little indentured servant out on the stroll beauty-pageant catwalk. (Confidential to J, sender of jet-powered-semi footage: No, this is why they hate us.)

How many discount cards do you carry in your wallet and where are they from? 
Submitted by danatmedog.

No discount cards! No! Don't do it! Horrible privacy violation, and generally a cheat as well -- the prices are artificially increased to give you those "discounts." Total scam.

Show us a photo of you from when you were in grade school.

You're looking at it -- my Vox photo is my kindergarten class photo. I have a polyester pantsuit and chickenpox.

So I'm on the phone this morning with my mom in rural Nebraska and she's describing what sounds like a case of meningitis underway with one of her friend's pre-teen kids: severe headache, stiff neck, general misery.

"HAVE YOU TAKEN HER TO THE DOCTOR?!"

"Yes, but they sent her home."

"Sent her home."

"Told her it was a muscle strain. Then it got worse, and it hurt so bad she was crying, so she went back the next day. Then they took a blood test and said her white count was high and it was some kind of bacterial infection, so they gave her some antibiotics and told her to come back if she didn't feel better in 24 hours."

"AND [parent of child] TOOK HER HOME?!"

"What else could you do? They're the doctors."

Oh, I don't know... they could do a spinal tap to see if a middle-school girl was toting around a highly contagious disease during swimming-pool season?

This is by the way the same small-town clinic that sent my dad home with aspirin for what turned out (upon examination elsewhere five days later) to be stage-4 lung cancer; earlier this year, they managed to do multiple chest x-rays and exams and still miss a pneumonia diagnosis on the mother of a former classmate of mine. (She's in intensive care in another town now, after being helicoptered out of town; Mom said her odds stand at 50-50 for the moment.) And people wonder why small-town America is losing population? If you don't clear out on your own, the medical care will take you down.

Boy, there's one I didn't see coming: Charlotte Bronte handed me my ass today. Villette? Why was I not previously informed? Who authorized this? I'm going to have read a bunch of it again, amn't I? One might say I should have expected trouble from anyone who'd gone to the trouble of authoring Jane Eyre, but someone might get a sock in the jaw for their effort in doing so. Terribly un-Lucy Snowe of me, perhaps, but I am vexed. Damn these towering literary achievements. Didn't the woman know I'm a very serious and overworked blogger with no time to be floored?

What's your best tax tip?

Got two tips. First, as folks have said, hire a damn accountant. Seriously. Especially if your situation is the least bit complicated by freelance income, inheritance, or the like. I retained my accountant back when it took me the better part of a year to scrape together the $500 to pay the man -- and trust me, he *saved* me more than that on my taxes, as he has every year since then. A good accountant is much, much more knowledgable about this stuff than any civilian should have to be; mine has a lot of publishing folk as clients and keeps a close watch on the sort of arcane changes that apply to us. (I have friends that still use those software packages; every year they seem to miss a ton of stuff my guy knows about.) And when you're ready to expand your financial picture, s/he is going to be a great resource for helping you see things clearly.

Otherwise? (See, my accountant's so good I can afford to give you *two* tips! :-D ) If you're itemizing, invest in the following as early in the year as possible:

- Monthly calendar with a pocket (your bank may offer this, or they're easy to make -- just make sure it's smallish, not large)
- Latched 21-section filing box
- Adding machine (the kind that prints on a roll of paper).

Label the tabs according to category of expenses -- I do A for auto-related, B for moving-related, C for credit cards, and so on through XYZ for Miscellaneous stuff (specifically, stuff I doubt I can deduct but hey, I have the paper -- full list on request). Make a key for your categories, note the year on the key, and tape that to the top of the box.

As the year goes on, throw EVERY receipt, bill, invoice, whatever into the envelope. It will fill up fast -- that's a feature not a bug! As it fills, or at the end of each month when you want to turn the calendar, file it all in your box. At year's end, you'll be contemplating not a shoebox/envelope full of random scraps, but sorted collections of exactly the stuff you'll need to tabulate -- all you'll need to do is fire up the adding machine and wait for your 1099s / W-2s.

After it's all good to go, print a copy of your return(s) and put it/them in the box with your adding-machine tapes. Move on to the next year's new box.

Keeping the sorting process and the tabulation process separate makes a surprising difference in how you'll perceive the filing process (since you're simply tabulating, not attempting to bring order to chaos), and ensures that even the smallest expenses are noted. As the years go by, your particular category system will become ingrained in your mind, so keeping on top of the sorting will be a super-simple task you can do while you're on the phone or watching TV. In addition, the labeled boxes are easy to store for the required seven years; if heaven forbid you're audited, you'll be GREATLY relieved not to have to re-create whatever it was you thought you were doing five or six years ago.

I have *got* to knock off this disgusting Top Chef-watching habit. Seriously embarrassing. Soon as they knock off Marcel, swear to God, I'm gone.

I know this sentiment has been echoed by every working-class kid who got into publishing, but too bad: Ugly Betty is the greatest documentary in the history of network television. I just needed to get that out there. And yeah, some of the details may be not entirely accurate, but focus on that and you'll miss the deeper truth, which is that Ugly Betty is the greatest documentary in the history of network television. If they ever send that character to Radcliffe's publishing course I swear I'm gonna have my DVR bronzed. I would pay to see Miss Betty take that useless mess on. (And you just know some of her office antagonists went through the course, so there's potential for big fun there.) (ETA 15 Jan to add: And if you saw that Best Comedy Series acceptance at the Golden Globes and did not fall in love with this cast, you are dead to me.)

Good news: My DVR has delivered unto me a bunch of Hee Haw episodes. Just the thing for a homesick Nebraskan as we brace for whatever the New Year's Day bowl games bring. Hurray for Buck Owens and/or Roy Clark singing...

Bad news: ...and boo on watching white folks clap along in the background. God help me, these are entertainment professionals on a musical variety show and ain't one of them can follow a 4/4 beat. It makes me sad.