“A man who is his own lawyer has a fool for a client.” The origin of that proverb is unclear, but may have been first uttered by an attorney. It may be true in complex cases, but in simple matters there's no reason a person of average intelligence can't prosecute his own case or defend himself if he can compile the evidence, present a persuasive argument, and follow the basic protocols of court procedure.
Remember when Plano was famous for being the headquarters of Frito-Lay, Dr. Pepper, J.C. Penny, and Pizza Hut? Those were the good old days, and folks were proud of the hometown. Then, something happened. Alien creatures began to descend from outer space, or other states, and things started to change.
Told by his grade school teacher that he needed to present a note from his mother to explain the previous day's absence, little Ronnie obliged – with an excuse written on lined paper in crayon in big block letters and signed “Mom.” Needless to say, the teacher's suspicions were aroused and she proceeded to question the authenticity of the dubious document presented to her by the wily child. Fast forward a couple of decades and we have Houston attorney Ronald Tigner, Esq., trying to get on an airplane with an illegible boarding pass and meeting resistance from skeptical airline employees.
“The High Court put a dent in plaintiffs' long-established freedom to shop for the venue of their choosing when pressing patent infringement claims – potentially dealing a blow to the Eastern District of Texas’s prominence in hearing patent cases.” That's the assessment made of a recent U.S. Supreme Court decision by intellectual property firm Morrison & Foerster, and we hope it proves accurate. An end to our prominence in these dubious endeavors would be a good thing and might prompt us to find some more acceptable kind of distinction.
You walk past a BBQ joint, look in the window, and see a happy guy with some sauce on the front of his shirt devouring a rack of ribs, and it makes you feel good. There might be a tinge of envy, but you can tell he's enjoying those juicy ribs and you can't help smiling. That’s called vicarious pleasure.
“Nine out of ten doctors agree . . .” That was a classic claim made in pharmaceutical advertising, and the assertion of a consensus of alleged authorities sounds impressive, but what does it really mean? The claim raises many obvious questions, such as: Were thousands of doctors surveyed and 90 percent of them in agreement, or was it just ten doctors total? Do the doctors have actual expertise in the use of the product they've endorsed, or do their specialties lie elsewhere? Were they paid for their opinions? Perhaps most important, why does one out of ten doctors disagree?