Dear diary: You are now worth $6,000.

That’s what James Bell, a junior officer aboard the good ship Planter, could jot down in his diary if he still kept one. Bell, though, would be close to 200 years old now, so he would likely instead write, “Yep, still not dead. I can’t believe it, either.“

Dear Emily: My grandfather passed away recently, and left me his car. He loved that classic car and I know it would mean a lot to him for me to have it. The problem is that I am not into cars.

Vehicle recall notices aren’t as detailed or action-packed as I imagined.

Dear Emily: I have had more blind dates in the last year than I care to admit, and I never seem to get to third date, and rarely a second, with a guy. So I think it’s safe to assume that I am a lousy date. I am single and lonely.
— Looking for Love

I don’t boogie much.

Nor do I shake my tail feathers, groove thing or money maker with any degree of frequency. In that regard, I’m much like students who follow the rules at Union Grove High School in Wisconsin.

This week, I could not help but turn serious for a moment and weigh in on the Supreme Court’s landmark decision to allow giant multi-national corporations to spend unlimited dollars on political commercials, a move that many free-speech experts and constitutional scholars say will —

The state sold a giant chicken and, unfortunately, I didn’t buy it.

In case you were wondering, the pony worked when we plugged it in.

Dear Emily: Do you think a guy would like a spa gift certificate for an anniversary present? My boyfriend and I are about to reach the one-year mark, and I thought getting him a massage or something like that would be fun. But my girlfriends say guys hate that kind of thing.
— Going Girly

I recall The Great Blizzard of ‘09 as if it were last week or maybe the week before. There we were, huddled in our home, no electricity, snow falling, wind howling, wolves at the door.

Readers who did not overly indulge in Uncle Fred’s eggnog or trip over the tail-end of their new Snuggies and smash their skulls on coffee tables may recall last week’s column, Scott’s Trance-Induced 2010 Year in Preview, Part I, a guide to what will happen in the coming year.

In the end, South Carolina lawmakers said Gov. Mark Sanford may be a lying sack of toe jam, but that doesn’t disqualify him from holding the state’s highest office.

Whatever the gentleman came to talk about was suddenly unimportant.

Dear Emily: I am about to take a 12-hour road trip with my two best friends for a vacation.

I don’t like to use my widely read newspaper column (eight loyal readers, if Uncle Vern recovers from what doctors have now labeled “swine gout”) for personal gain, unless it’s to lure people into my latest money-making scheme or further my political ambitions, which is also my latest money-making scheme.

It was a good day at work. I wasn’t eaten by a lion.

Dear Emily: My husband tells me I embarrass him in public when I talk too much. I have a nervous habit of babbling, and when I get around his friends I’m so paranoid that they won’t like me that I sometimes say stupid things. Is there any way I can break this habit, besides giving everyone the silent treatment?
— Too Chatty

The Walt Disney Co. is offering parents who bought Baby Einstein videos for their youngsters a refund because, as it turns out, moms and dads can’t park Junior’s high chair in front of the flat screen and return an hour later to find him piecing together the great American novel from leftover alphabet soup.

Last week’s column, in which I described in vivid detail the theft of one our newspaper racks, my comically heroic efforts to recover it from behind a grocery store and the debilitating back injury I suffered while loading its remains onto a truck, drew much sympathy from readers.

I’ve got a new plan.

And if this were a movie, and you were in the movie and I explained my new plan, you would say, “That’s just crazy enough to work.“

Parents lie to kids.

Dear Emily: My brother-in-law “Drew” and I always have weird conversations. He is always telling me some strange or interesting facts he’s recently read about, and I have to pretend I’m interested. How can I politely avoid these awkward situations?

It was the first day of autumn — the early evening, actually — when I was called home to investigate a disturbance.

Dear Emily: Hi. I am in the eighth-grade. My best friend has been my best friend since we were really little. Now it’s like she is so obsessed with being popular. The girls she is trying to be friends with are not nice at all

Many of you watched and listened to President Obama’s speech.

Dear Emily: My wife and I are expecting our first child in a few months, and I am concerned about my wife’s messiness. She has always been beyond disorganized, and I’m worried that she’ll leave things around that could be hazardous to our baby (like small objects or pills the baby could swallow). My wife is extremely emotional (and hormonal) right now, and I don’t want to offend her.
— Baby-Proofing It

Pharmaceutical giant Pfizer will pay fines totaling $3.2 billion for, among other irregularities, plying doctors with golf outings, massages and lavish vacations to encourage them to prescribe medications for uses other than intended, which may explain why I received a Viagra prescription for post-nasal drip.

It’s enough to give Kermit road rage.

Dear Emily: Some guys at work, including my boss, got together and started playing flag football on the weekends. They won’t let me play though — because I am not a guy.

I got cash for my first clunker, but it wasn’t a government rebate.