One Month of Pandemic Without So Much Rat In It Later....

I know, I'm always complaining.

As we turn the calendar over into July, the good news is that the days are now getting shorter, and each day now finds us closer to the end of 2020 than we are to its beginning.  These can only help with the usual assortment of idiots out there. Latest to return to prominence among imbeciles is famed Houston hairdresser Martyr Luther Queen, who is now joining in protests aimed at those wicked Deep State leaders (all Republican) who closed bars once the state's COVID levels spiked like a TO touchown.

And their slogan? Just what you'd expect.

Fortunately, the state capital sits in Austin, a relative oasis of sane, and they got their Ken and Karen feelings hurted:(  As did America's favorite couple of ammosexual personal injury lawyers, whose armed response to a protest on their Very Private Street has led to endless shames and parodies:





And this one, in response to "___ would be a good name for a band" Dave Barry trope.  My fill-in-the-blank?



Gunny and Cher.

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I was supposed to have returned to the gym for my first workout since the first week of March yesterday, but Phase Four has left such places out and I had to get my cardio and lifting elsewhere:



Hey, at least it's still Orange!  Those are the next batch of the 3½x3½s, which came from Home Depot yesterday morning on their way to framing our next patio area here.  We've all but abandoned hope of being able to use the current one with the noise and other distractions from 10 feet away, so the frame is here, the pavers that will make its base have been dug up from various abandoned wallways in the back, and there will be much turning of soil and such over this weird fourish-day weekend. 

(Nobody can figure out when to take off. Some courts and offices are closed Friday, at least one other court is holding off closing until Monday, and Saturday, the 4th itself, will be the no mail day.)  I'm counting on brief office appearances both Friday and Monday but mostly being on call to get this done.

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Other casualties of pandemic have been evident in the retail field.  Between my home and office is a plaza containing a couple of national chains- or at least until recently it did.  Here's how one announced its departure a couple of weeks ago:



(Close to WHAT, we're not exactly sure. Not reopening; the sign's still there, as are the overnight hangtags.)


Then there's the local rathole of the national Chuckie Cheese chain, which announced its Chapter 11 filing last week.  Their video games and rubber ball pits have been shut down since March, but they were pimping themselves out as “Pasqually’s Pizza” on Grubhub trying to get people to order takeout from them. We are not strangers at the liquor store next to it, and the drivers were driving them crazy coming in looking for the nonexistent pizzeria.

That sign on the door says they are “currently” closed. The absence of the giant rodent above the door suggests that "current" may be a long time.  It will also come as some relief to the local constabulary; that place actually has an on-premise wine and beer license, and the police blotter was often full on Mondays with tales of parents getting into fistfights outside the door over Super Mario cheating and birthday cake slices being dropped in the beer pitchers.

Speaking of pitchers: word finally came down yesterday that minor league baseball has decided to hang up the spikes for the rest of 2020, even as major leaguers are beginning to report to their home stadiums for a targeted August reopening and a 60-game season.  The Red Wings should be fine, with years of tradition, stable community ownership and 7 figures in the bank. The Bisons, likewise. Syracuse's Mets outpost is probably also safe within the Wilpons' foul ball netting (but watch out for foul balls). It's the lower minors of Binghamton and Batavia who may have seen their last out.

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Quiet week for me inside the office. Just a couple of phone conferences with courts, a new referral from a colleague and some started bankruptcies to try and finish.    I also got pondering the different standards of professions when reading this piece about the dangers of police culture, highlighted by the hissy thrown by a goon squad of officers right here in Buffalo when one of their brethren knocked a 75-year-old protester to the ground.   (I've since heard that the po-pos have continued their protests by covering their names on their uniforms while on duty.)

I don't carry a gun or a badge like these officers do, but I am also a sworn Constitutional officer of the State of New York and there is no Thin Blue Bar in my profession. In fact, under Rule 8.3 of our applicable standards of professional conduct, if we know of another lawyer's misconduct, we have an affirmative obligation, which we can be disbarred for ignoring, to "report such knowledge to a tribunal or other authority empowered to investigate or act upon such violation." Or, as it was put far pithier during our ethics review for the bar exam, "Rat on your friends and be available to testify."

Fortunately, I've never needed to do so or been reported, either. I'm blessed with a cadre of colleagues with not so much rat in it.