Nothing to see here, move along.

So I injured myself in the dumbest way possible.  I was taking my dogs out yesterday morning, in the rain, wearing my top coat, my pajamas, and a pair of house slippers.  This is the morning ritual, where I take them out into my nice, open back yard, hook them to their leads, and then go inside to clean up piddle pads (they’re old and, much like me after a bottle of whiskey, lack bladder control), fix breakfast, and get ready for the day.

One of my dogs is the sweetest, but dumbest, dog I’ve ever owned, a lab/pit mix with three legs that has never lost his puppy-like exuberance. The other is an elderly beagle that I at times nudge with my foot to make sure she’s alive.  The way this works every morning is I walk downstairs, take out the big dumb dog, then coax the beagle from hiding.  Because he’s big, dumb, and strong, I have to take Tres (because yes, Virginia, I’m the type of asshole that names a three-legged dog Tres) by the collar to take him out to his lead, lest some random leaf threaten him and he bolt from the yard and into the alley.  I’ve learned these lessons over time.

Yesterday he decided, as we were walking over slick grass, to bolt.  With a fatherly death grip that comes only from raising children, I held onto his collar…and was rewarded by promptly having all of his forward momentum transferred to me.  Physics was not my strong suit in school.  As may be predicted, I went down.  Hard.  Hard enough that my knee did an impression of Rice Krispies through an amplifier and I cursed loud enough to be heard three states away.  After picking myself up, I realized there was definitely something wrong.  Maybe it was because I was dizzy, or maybe because putting weight on my knee resulted in a blinding pain.

Hurt or not, I had settlement conferences yesterday, so no sick day for me.

After a trip to a doctor last night, it’s been decided that I may have torn a ligament when I took the dog out in my slippers and pajamas.  Because injuring myself in a manly way apparently stopped happening about a decade ago.  That’s something to look forward to, kids:  As you get older, the ways in which you injure yourself will getting progressively more embarrassing until, eventually, you pick up stuffed animals with apprehension of some unlikely but inevitable injury.

With that said, please understand that between muscling through my day yesterday while in incredible pain and unable to bend my leg, and the fact that I’m popping Advil and desperately trying to find a knee brace, I didn’t have time to get a post together.  However, you guys got one on Monday, right?  I thought so.  So I’m ahead of the game here.

I’ll be back tomorrow with something more substantive than this.  Today, however, I’m going to go to the hospital.


Walking the Line: Keeping My Soul.

Certainly, when I was a boy, people liked to believe that lawyers were kind of pillars of goodness of the likes of Atticus Finch in ‘To Kill a Mockingbird.’

-Scott Turow

Today I found out a client died over the weekend.  I was at his house about two weeks ago to do a will signing.  He had just gotten out of the hospital, but seemed pretty healthy.  This morning, as soon as the office opened, the phone rang.  It was his wife, telling me he died.

Because I’m not a monster, I immediately expressed my condolences.  Once we got off the phone, I checked the fire safe, making sure his will was in it.  Seeing it there, and seeing it was the original he gave us for safekeeping, I breathed a sigh of relief.

If we had the will, chances were the widow would use us for the estate.  But that meant I’d probably have to go to the funeral Wednesday, which…well, to be frank, I got other shit to do.

I’m a monster.

Continue reading “Walking the Line: Keeping My Soul.”

Weekend Round-up, 11/21/2016

What happened this weekend?  Well, Trump supported safe spaces, people decided that forcing baristas to say Trump’s name was somehow a punishment, Ted Cruz still looks like Cousin Eddie, and, because even in the fever dream that is 2016 we need some hope, I watched Band of Brothers for the 18th time.

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Probationary Actions: Charlotte-an School of Law

This morning came with the news from Andrew Dunn on breaking out the news that Charlotte School of Law , much like Delta Tau Chi, has found itself placed on probation by the American Bar Association.  In a statement released by the American Bar Association,  it’s clear that the probation is not “super secret double probation” that can be resolved with a rousing party and the crashing of the homecoming parade.  Instead, the school’s probation follows a decision letter from the accreditation committee regarding Charlotte Law’s allegedly low standards and the appeal therefrom, and essentially upholds the determination letter by stating:

[T]he Council affirmed the Committee’s conclusions that the Law School is not in compliance with Standards 301(a), 501(a), and 501(b).

Maybe this shouldn’t surprise the Charlotte School of Law community, though, as for the last four administrations of the bar exam the first-time passage rate has been less than 50%, dipping as low as 34.7% this past February.  Of course, even the bar passage rate shouldn’t be a surprise, considering in 2015 their LSAT score range was from a 25% percentile score of 140 all the way to the blistering high LSAT score in the 75% percentile of 145, and GPA’s ranging from a low of 2.51 to a sky-high average of 3.17.  Notably, these statements are from Charlotte School of Law’s own 509 Disclosure.

Well, isn’t that just comforting.

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