Fat Tuesday Trial

"An American has not seen the United States until he has seen Mardi-Gras in New Orleans."

-Mark Twain

A gray, cool Shrove Tuesday in Manhattan.

Not getting up to take the photo because I'm in the middle of eleventh-hour trial prep, and my knee is absolutely throbbing nearly four weeks post-surgery. My constant pain and immobility has sort of put a damper on this adventure. Poor P--she has so many things she'd like to see and do, and she's shackled to a guy who can barely walk. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

The client in this trial didn't feel like getting on a call or Zoom for trial prep yesterday, and this morning I'm getting bombarded with texts asking about things that should have been discussed a long time ago. I'm planning a pretty spare presentation today, because I've sort of had to go it alone on this one.

Meanwhile, in the course of my preparation I reviewed a transcript of what was noticed as a deposition in aid of execution of a co-defendant back in the fall. Those basically entail asking questions about the witness's financial situation, given here that the co-defendant had already been found liable in the case and had a judgment against him, so I didn't attend because there was no reason to spend the attorneys' fees. Instead, the other lawyer turned it into a lengthy, free wheeling interrogation about the merits of our defenses. This is dirty pool, and I plan to object when he offers the transcript into evidence (this is a bench trial, so you can do that). The judge will probably let it in anyway, but it stinks to high heaven.

Yet another example of why I'm going to tax school. This stuff is sandpaper to the soul.

Time to get cleaned up, slip on a tie, and knock out this trial. I'll be happy to enjoy a Fat Tuesday night with the beautiful P, before leaning into our Lenten walk. Or maybe Lenten limp, in my case.