And There Are Days

There are days when the life of a blogger is a land of milk and cliché, when surfeit becomes embarras de richesses, as Sinaiatical full-dress T. C.s and no less weighty T. C. Memo.s vie with designated hitters. The cornucopia overflows with “somber reasoning and copious citation of precedent,” combined with literary skill, and gravitas without over-portentousness.

And then there are days. Usually Fridays, more often than not before three-day weekends, but not necessarily.

I remember a super-efficient office manager three (or was it four?) law firms ago, whose word was law. Offending her meant being sent to a real estate closing of unendurable length, at the outermost reaches of public transport, on a Friday afternoon, before a three-day weekend, in a snowstorm.

Fortunately, such is no longer my fate, but today is a day of drought. No opinions, no designated hitters, only Judge Holmes again dissing the partitive genitive and Ch J Foley correcting a caption to show reports of petitioner’s death were greatly exaggerated.

Enough. See y’all Monday.