Part I. Bankruptcy and Toys

1997, New South Wales, Australia.

After a train ride to the boondocks, I was tramping with some Aussie law student (discussing the comparative trans-hemispheric aspects of the Anglo common law tradition, naturally) through the swamps to give a first go at water-skiing. My attempt summarily failed; after watching my mates have better luck at the skis, we retired to a run down cottage to watch Mad Max, Mel Gibson's first foray into blood lust. It was the "real" Mad Max, of course, unstripped of its "Strine," the incoherent vernacular of Down Under. Your Blockbuster version may feature the Stateside edition, redubbed to innocuous "American" The point of this nonsense is that I lack in talent for sports that beg investment in adult "toys:" jet skis, ATV's, boats, paragliders, horses, hunting weapons, and jet packs (the latter, perhaps nonessential, but after dispatching a SPECTRE operative, they're good for a getaway). The dearth of pleasure craft has saved me money over the years.

Now, in bankruptcy, there is the rare case of sacrificial adult toys.

Upon first meeting a client, we assess assets of interest. The vast, vast majority of chapter 7 bankruptcies don't involve liquidation. Yet, you can't keep limitless luxuries (have your cake) and eliminate all debt (eat it too). There's the occasional client who inventories expensive sports inventory. In addition to normal household goods, attire, retirement accounts, and more, you can exempt (keep) up to $23,250 worth of just plain extras. Like Seadoos, which they tell me are a brand of jet skis. But if your stuff exceeds the above value, you may have to let something go. To illustrate: Scarlett's Seadoo would sell at $5K. She's exhausted her available exemptions for vital assets and savings. When she files chapter 7, we turn over the Seadoo to be sold at auction, the proceeds to benefit creditors. It's a $5K loss. Yet, Scarlett just happened to have $50,000 in debt, which she's just eliminated for 10 cents on the dollar.

Are there alternatives to liquidation? Must Scarlett's Seadoo be gone to the wind? She needn't lose it. She could buy it "back" from the trustee or bankruptcy "estate." Or, if she elects to file a chapter 13 bankruptcy (a payment plan), she need only ensure that her payments match at least what unsecured creditors would've received from the chapter 7 liquidation. The logic is sound; it's stated in the Bankruptcy Code at 11 USC §1325(a)(4). ["§," BTW means "section;" it's not on your keyboard, and begs more time for inputting. Its insertion conveys a writer's commitment. And BTW, BTW means By The Way. The shorthand begs less time for inputting. Its insertion conveys a writer's indifference. Hence, inputting into a sentence both "§" and "BTW" is a wash: I'm committed to this blog, yet ultimately I could take it or leave it. And with that last sentiment, you must certainly identify. Oh, and USC means United States Code, and not University of Southern California. The former has about 160,000 pages (source: none. I made it up erring on the low side); the latter has 160,000 in dollars you'll pay for a bachelor's degree, which is understandable: their 2009 endowment ultimately fell a bit short of $3 billion (source: U.S. News)].

What 11 USC §1325(a)(4) implies is that creditors cannot be worse off because you elected to file chapter 13 instead of chapter 7. Example: I had prospective clients with Seadoos and the accompanying dilemma: opt for chapter 7 and lose the jet skis or file chapter 13 and pay for them over time. I told them the alternatives and the implications. Now, a lawyer will refuse to do what is not feasible or advisable. But when reasonable alternatives exist, it is not a lawyer's job to make your life decisions. And don't get around that by asking me what I would do. I wouldn't know the psychological impact of Seadoo surrender. Initially I thought Seadoo must refer to an underwater Scooby Doo adventure. Thus, deprived of a directive, the "prospectives" went home to think about it prior to signing on. Then they came back and left me with 3 lbs. of paperwork I hadn't requested and begged again that I decide the Seadoo's fate. I wouldn't, so they went home to think about it some more, prior to signing on. Then they disappeared. I don't know where they went. Have you seen them?

The experience robbed undue time and resources. Thus, despite my non-subscription to adult-toys, they ultimately cost me money anyway.

Part II. Sex and Toys

2010, San Diego, California.

That's all about liquidation of adult toys. But as a young dad (wait, let me pull that gray strand out. Inteloper! ), I observe mainly kids and their toys. For want of blogatory direction, I revisit the trite study of nature vs. nurture in the context of sex and toys. Do boys prefer guns, and girls dolls of their own choosing, or do they merely accept that which we give them? My older son (knocking on 11's door) is all rambunctious roughness, from the invariably dirt-ingrained nails, to mud-caked pants cuffs, and sneakers with a 1-week half-life. He's a scrapper. The younger lad, all of 2 1/2 packs guns (with Nerf rounds) and boxes opponent Miis on the Wii. He lugs 20 lb. cat food, pours it, then commands the defiant cats to commence chewing on his schedule and not theirs (the cats might otherwise be attending to important tasks, like regurgitating hairballs and licking their coats. Though, not necessarily in that order). The boy's main train, Thomas the Tank Engine belongs to a mainly all-boys club of tough steam and diesel locomotives. At the same time, the lil' one has a strong affinity for the color purple, and his doggy, cleverly named, Doggy (a sort of raggedy generic hound, like Copper, from The Fox and the Hound) is under his arm, morning, day and night. He doesn't care if a girlfriend (he has girlfriends) has a pink electric Mustang convertible: he'll drive it anyway. So, really: at the toddler age of unisex soccer, do the sexes differ at all when it comes to taste in toys? Before we answer, we must suffer another recollection.

Not too long ago, in this very galaxy, my mother came to visit and delivered a shoebox to my kids. In it were not shoes, but a pile of my vintage Star Wars men (meaning the original cheap ones with inflexible joints and generic faces). My old, well-worn toys have apparently been preserved for posterity in my parents' home. They aren't particularly good toys. Yet, in slow succession, they are exhumed from their resting places, and carefully doled out to the new generation. When the figures came out of my box, my wife immediately questioned why I had played with dolls as a kid. With a condescending eye roll, I explained, they're action figures, honey. She returned my eye roll and raised me a pitying head shake. I took a closer look at the little men. All the fighting implements, the light sabers, the laser blasters, Chewbacca's crossbow, had long since disappeared into yesteryear's sofa cracks and shag carpet roots. Action figures stripped of action, disarmed from weapons of war for their Star-Wars wars, they're just... dolls. All that's left to do is appreciate the galactic fashion. The casual Jedi robes (the sci-fi equivalent of pajamas and a smoking jacket), the villains' fascist garb (lest you miss the Third Reich parallel), Han Solo's cowboy vest and boots (like Gary Cooper in High Noon), and Chewbacca's hairy chic. I asked my mom why she brought my boys dolls to play with?

Thus, I must conclude that divisions blur between boys' and girls' toys. And for whichever sex--boy or girl--the toy is destined, a grandparent--unlike a chapter 7 trustee, will never liquidate their child's toy. Well, not unless it were in its original packaging. That kind of thing is compelling to an affluent geek.