And now, another episode of "Unclear on the Concept"

I filed a routine claim for a routine client in a routine bankruptcy last month. I now get notified through the electronic filing system whenever anybody else files one. Since other creditors' claims can affect how much my client gets paid in a fixed-pot case, I frequently look at the others that get filed.

Here's one.

Since this shit gets put out on the Internet, the rules require redaction- of social security numbers, birthdates, account numbers and anything that would identify a minor beyond his or her initials.

( But not, apparently, the poor schnook's entire freakin medical history: )

There's more, but it's kinda icky. And the date of birth and other personal identifying information was redacted by hand about as crappily as that line at the top there was.

And so, I put it to you: if I tip this guy off to this abysmal HIPAA violation by the hospital he owes money to, can my client claim part of the damages?

The Perfect Accompaniment to the Perfect Afternoon!

Thanks to some related material from Kate, I've picked the movie I'm going to spend my afternoon of de-whatevering with:

"Bugs Bunny - Diabolical Sabotage" (Watch on YouTube)

MITCHELL!

So. What's left?

Me, barely. Been up since 5, surprisingly busy with just work stuff for a day that had "nothing" firmly yellow-crime-scene-taped across my calendar, plus, you know,.... tomorrow.

I'm ready, in the medical sense of the word. Appointment's actually been moved up an hour (possibly a half hour- not sure whether procedure or arrival is now 10:30, so I'm gonna be there at 10).

Emily's car passed inspection today. At a cost of about 46 times what I expected the job would cost. My car, four years newer but with almost as many miles on it, goes in Saturday. At this rate, I'm going to shove the undrunk portion of my gallon of bicarbonate down its gullet and seek if THAT cleans it out as well as I've been cleaned.

LJ comment notifications have been wonky tonight. Possibly related to yet another of their late-weekday-afternoon server updates. Also possibly related to the shameless promos they now have bannered across your (or at least my) userinfo page about their new Not Farmville But It Plays It On The Internet game they're trying to pimp.

Finally, a few odd pictures to share. (No, not those; you'll have to wait until at least tomorrow;)

One of the legal assistants in our office is a breast cancer survivor; she ended her last round of treatments on my birthday last November.  While I was mailing out a buttload of W-2s for a bankrupt client, I saw this on her desk:



All's I can think is, it's their way of keeping the mammogram experience fresh and lovely in everyones' minds the whole year round:P

Then, from Sunday, one I'd promised urbpan, who'd posted a similar Sartre-torial sign from some of his travels. In our sanctuary's case, the "No Exit" is downright metaphysical, considering where the door does lead:


Dontcha just expect Michael C. Hall to come bopping out of there- preferably in his David Fisher role?

(That's the only remote connection to the Claire icon, other than, I suppose, just loving Claire;)