Tomorrow's the day!
Finally, after all these frou frou so-called "sports," we get a chance to see some real athletic prowess on display.
Dressage, baby!
The Sport of Princesses! When everyone, from tiny tots to great despots can unleash their inner 14-year-old girl and embrace the one, true sport.
And what a year! Finally, we can root for a real champion, a hyper-bred, torture-trained powerhouse owned by a man who Understands the Olympics Better than Anyone Alive! This is sport!
But is it a business?
I mean, I know Rafalca costs more to maintain than your family, and the buying and selling of dressage horseflesh can get fairly heady--heck, I couldn't even afford the dope--but other than the capital gains netted upon the sale of a choice equine junkie, how does this qualify as a business?
Win or lose, it's highly unlikely you're going to see Mitt and Ann's prize on the cover of a Wheaties box, and I doubt Nike has a line of endorsed leggings to cover leg damage. Other than bragging rights, what does ownership of a champion horse get you?
Oh, that's right. A tax deduction worth more than the value of every vehicle I have ever owned--including maintenance--all of which were decidedly used for actual business.
Because, you see, in my actual businesses, I've had to haul (and lift) stuff, to transport people and equipment to sites where we do things and make things. You know, jobs.
And, like an idiot, I've never used those expenses as a tax write-off. Nor do I deduct as a business expense the audio production gear I buy, because, sadly, I don't make enough money year-to-year to legitimately (to my mind) call them "business" expenses.
Oh, I could. I do get a small sliver of my income stream from my personal musical endeavors, but I agree with the revenue code that a "business" that shows consistent losses over time is better defined as something else: a hobby.
Yes, I am an idiot. And, like George Romney, not qualified to be president, because I pay more in taxes than I could get away with if I were to exploit every possible dodge.
Mind you, my taxes aren't that high and I don't pay the nominal rate for my bracket (though I do shell out more than 0-13%, like some people). And I don't feel quite right about that. I don't like the idea that I'm not always pitching in to the collective effort that keeps my food non-lethal and pays for my mom's prescriptions. It seems... small of me.
And to make the rest of you shoulder a greater burden to inspect my food and keep my mom healthy because I can get away with charging you the expenses for what is, sadly, little more than a personal pastime just doesn't sit well.
So I guess I can't be president. But that's okay, Mitt Romney can't sing, so I guess it all evens out.