The Rom Baro and Me: Be Good to Your Clients

You know the cool thing about my job? I get to know people. I get to know people pretty damn well. Look, when you’ve sat in my conference room crying because your vindictive ex is low-key blackmailing you with pictures of you in frilly pink panties and an oversized lollipop (not that there’s anything wrong with that shit), we have a bond. That burly biker or truck driver who, to the rest of the world is a real man’s man, can feel cool to break down in front of their lawyer because they know that I can’t say shit, and because they know that my job is to help them. It’s neat to get to know my clients on a level that they only reveal to their priest and their bartender.

This means that for a lot of my clients who are actual people,  they view me as some strange mixture between legal counsel and a damn good friend, and it isn’t uncommon for my clients to just drop by or call to see how I’m doing.  Be it the retired NYPD detective who called my house (despite not ever having been given my home number) while I was laid up to see if he could swing by and do anything,  the older couple that I helped two years ago who came by my hospital room with a huge homecooked meal for my family, or, my personal favorite, the Gypsy King and his wife who not only bring me chocolate and little treats randomly, but send a hell of a lot of business my way.

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InkedFur’s Furry Friday: Hewwo Copywighted Wowks! – Who owns your commission, Part 1

Hey everyone, it’s time for an early InkedFur’s Furry Friday, due to the fact that last month I was a crippled mess of sobbing pain when it was time to actually get this thing up. So this month, as promised last month, we’re going to look at something everyone keeps asking about as they wag their tails expectantly and keep demanding I take their side in some dispute with an artist. Namely, we’re going to look at the concept of copyright when it comes down to who owns what in a commissioning relationship in two separate Furry Friday posts, the first of which we’ll talk about today!

And allow me to be blunt when I tell you some of you are going to want to walk into the vet’s office to have yourselves put to sleep when I inform you of the law surrounding this shit. Namely, the assumption that most people have regarding the ownership of anything related to their fursona or any other fluffy character they may create.  But to discuss THIS, we first need to talk about a few basics of copyright so…you know…we fucking know what we’re talking about here.

But first, a disclaimer!

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Guest Post: Most People Are Fuzzy on IP – An Intellectual Property Primer

 

[BOOZY’S NOTE:  There is a certain class of readers out there for my site that seem to, well, be really interested in the concepts that underlie intellectual property. These readers also tend to be creative type folks who may or may note make their living doing stuff like drawing characters and making costumes and crap. And then there are the readers that are the customers for those types, and they have a lot of questions. Which I don’t answer. Because, by and large, I’m not an intellectual property attorney and have only a general working knowledge of intellectual property.

You know who is an intellectual property attorney, though? Who has an in-depth knowledge of that shit and can tell you what the general four classes of intellectual property are, and then give you an idea of what each means, so that people can stop saying shit like “I’m gonna patent my drawing?” Marc Whipple, also known on Twitter as @legalinspire .  

And, because I somewhat know Marc, I’ve shanghaied him into writing a guest post for all those folks who keep sending me 2 A.M. direct messages and emails about what an intellectual property term means, and he graciously agreed. So, because he’s smarter than me, I’ll shut up now and let him tell you guys all about the classes of intellectual property.]

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No Time To Die: Lawyers and Sick Time

Hey! I’m back! Sort of. To describe the current situation, let me put it like this: Tony Bennett may have left his heart in San Francisco, but I left a piece of my hip on the roadside, my cognizance of situations in a bottle of painkillers, and my snark and wit in a goddamn bedside commode chair. So bear with me today as I shift uncomfortably from side to side and start talking about a recent realization that shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone in the business of being legal: Namely, even when you’re ill, injured, or dying there’s no such thing as a day off in the life of a lawyer.

And that, folks, can fucking suck. Because, in the past, I’ve written about how the work-life balance for attorneys is a thing that we talk about, normally somewhere around the time we discuss our belief in fairies and how the government is turning the frogs gay. This is the sort of shit people search through law libraries for, hoping to take a blurry photograph of the attorney that somehow found a way to preserve his sanity and health while being reasonably successful at his job. Frankly, as my good friend Jeremy Richter pointed out yesterday, we simply are not a profession that rewards people for deciding they want to take a vacation, spend time with family, unwind with a movie, or enjoy the fucking holidays without worrying about what others may think.

And we are definitely not a profession that believes in the concept of being sick or injured and needing to recuperate.

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Freaky Friday: The Curse of Johnny Frank Garrett

 “I’d like to thank my family for loving me and taking care of me. And the rest of the world can kiss my everloving ass, because I’m innocent.”

Welcome to Freaky Friday here on Lawyers & Liquor, where we crack open the crypt doors to discuss the supernatural, paranormal, unsettling, unbelievable, or just plain morbid aspects and stories from the practice of law. I’m you obese crypt keeper, the BOOzy Barrister, and we’re about to take another midnight stroll through the darkness to discuss this month’s macabre tale of an allegedly innocent man that went to his execution defiant…and took with him pretty much every lawyer, judge, and spectre of the legal system that sentenced him.

So without further ado, huddle in around the campfire as we spin out the tale of the Curse of Johnny Frank Garrett.

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