Boxes

Many little boxes.

Marital Status? Loan-only applicant? Filing taxes in 2003? Preferred dorm for the lottery?

Plbbbt!

Then there's the box for parental marital status. Huh. Kinda personal, ain't it? Well, if you really want to know, though, how about giving me a page or two to describe my parents' relationship? I might be able to give you the gist of it then.

And then there are the fill ins. Permanent address? Okaaaay. Do you want my Seoul address, which'll change in five months to a Cambridge address? No? Well, then, do you want my DC address, which I still use to forward mail, but which will be -- again -- invalid in five months? What's that? My parents' address? My dad moves about as frequently as I do, and my mother lives in a long-term residence hotel -- out of which she plans to move soon.

So which is it? Do you actually want to reach me, or do you want something that approximates a "permanent" address? If it's the latter, honey, just email me. That address is more permanent than anything I could give you.

Oooh, and now you wanna piece of me too, Mr. Taxman? Okay, then answer me this: how the hell am I supposed to know what the exchange rate was at the time I received each of my monthly paychecks in 2003? It's not like I was keeping track, you know. I was freakin' living in Korea. So it's not like I cared how much the paycheck was worth in U.S. dollars. Hence, no calculations from that time! You're just gonna have to deal with an exchange rate that's 4 to 16 months later than the one from the time I actually received the check!

And now that I'm on the topic, how about considering the possibility that not all Americans working and living abroad are doing so through multinational corporations? I'm not handing the whole tax mess over to the bean counter in the basement, I'm actually doing it on my own. So, like, do you think you could possibly give an example of someone like me instead of instructional stories about Mr. Smith and his wife Jane who move to London at the behest of Mr. Smith's company and buy a car and find schools for their kids and shit? I'd be ever so grateful. Cause I don't fit into your little boxes, Mr. Man. And it's mighty uncomfortable trying to squeeze into them.

That goes for you too, Harvard. Double plbbbt!