motherweary

1. (SOUND) Reg. No. 2,442,140


2. (SOUND) Reg. No. 3,411,881


3. (SOUND) Reg. No. 2,471,345


4. (SOUND) Reg. No. 916,522


5. (SOUND) Reg. No. 2,519,203


6. (SOUND) Reg. No. 1,395,550


7. (SOUND) Reg. No. 2,000,732


8. (SOUND) Reg. No. 2,210,506


9. (SOUND) Reg. No. 2,450,525


10. (SOUND) Reg. No. 1,700,895

Links courtesy of the inestimable John Welch at The TTABlog

I worked with him for close to 40 years: hour by hour, I think I spent more time in his company than that of anyone else in my life.

Harris Zimmerman, respected Bay Area attorney and mediator, died on May 20, 2009, at Summit Hospital in Oakland, California, of complications from idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis. He was 89.

Mr. Zimmerman was born on November 29, 1919, in Omaha, Nebraska. When he was two, the family moved to Chicago.  Mr. Zimmerman graduated from Austin High School in 1936. He attended Illinois Institute of Technology, earning a B.S. in Civil Engineering while working part-time on Chicago subway and highway construction. He and two friends spent one summer surveying, in aid of which they pooled their money and, for $50.00, bought a Model T Ford which served them well, especially as they were soon capable of taking it to pieces and putting it together again, even after driving it into a lake.

He fell in love with flying at an early age and soon earned a pilot’s license. The love of flying led him, after his 1941 graduation from IIT, to work for Boeing Aircraft Company in Seattle, Washington, where he found that designing structural members for B-29s and B-17s did not satisfy his desire to fly. While in Seattle he married Laura Hexter, and was still an employee of Boeing when Pearl Harbor was bombed. Harris tried to enlist, but both the Army and Navy would not take him because his work was deemed too important to the war effort. The Marines had no such quibbles and in 1943 he joined the Corps, despite his slight stature. His drill instructor, a man of monumental temper but careful vocabulary, called him a “a blasted little feather merchant,” a sobriquet that he remembered with glee throughout his life. He enlisted as a private and, after Officers Training School at Quantico and numerous engineering and flight training courses, he procured a naval aviator qualification: the blasted little feather merchant flew dive bombers and torpedo bombers. He was honorably discharged as a Captain in 1945.

In 1946 he and Laura moved to the Bay Area, where he worked as a Mechanical Design Engineer. From 1947 through 1951 he attended Golden Gate University, while working days in Oakland for a patent attorney. He registered to practice before the U.S. Patent Office in 1948, passed the California Bar in 1951, and was licensed to practice in state and federal courts and before the U.S. Supreme Court. He prosecuted thousands of patent and trademark cases, served as trial counsel and expert witness both for litigants and for the Courts, was appointed Special Master for federal cases, and served as a private mediator as well as on Neutral Evaluation Panels and Mediation/Arbitration panels for the U.S. District Court.

He was a man of great patience and wisdom, slow to take offense and careful in his conclusions. Perhaps above all, he was a teacher, bringing his experience and the clarity of his thinking to everything from the conduct of the Passover Seder to lecturing on intellectual property law before magistrate judges, for legal continuing education seminars, the U.S. District Court Federal Practice Program, and classes at the Haas School of Business at U.C. Berkeley.

His sense of humor was warm, and wide, and at times tremendously silly; his friendships were strong and enduring, and his commitment to family and community unfailing. His interests included Democratic politics and the arts; Judaism and archaeology; the sciences and world affairs, and anything else that caught his intelligent attention. He was a tennis player and an avid golfer for as long as he could hold a club.

He is preceded in death by his beloved son-in-law Orhan Tozun, and leaves behind his wife Laura, daughters Diane Tozun and Bess Zimmerman and son Andrew Zimmerman, and his grandson Ned Tozun and Ned’s wife Dorcas. He also leaves behind a close, extended family and the many friends and colleagues who benefited from his generosity of spirit and unselfishly shared wisdom, from his serene world-view and his bone-deep determination to find, and do, the right thing.

He was of the Greatest Generation and embodied its virtues of loyalty, level-headedness, and humility. That spirit will stay with us, but his presence is, and always will be, sorely missed.

It's just not Christmas without Neiman Marcus, right? So this year, for a mere sixty thousand dollars (that's $60,000.00) each, you and your honey can have one of these, the His & Hers Life-Sized Replica in Lego Bricks.

This, from a footnote in an INTA publication:

I had a nightmare last night.

I dreamed that I was in a huge hall (as in banquet) that had a gallery running around the second floor looking down on the main floor (where I was) and there were zombies coming to get me unless someone managed to make a bona fide sale in interstate commerce so that I could file a Statement of Use and convert their (not the zombies's, the trademark owner's)  trademark application from 1(b) Intent-to-Use to 1(a)  but the zombies were almost there (I could see them, they looked like Heath Ledger playing the Joker) and my dad showed up to warn me about the zombies but he couldn't do anything else because he's dead so he was a zombie too but a good one (if there are such) and he said I should get myself up into the gallery and barricade the stairs in the hopes of fending off the zombies until the bona fide sale in interstate commerce was made and the ITU could be converted so I ran up the stairs but there wasn't anything to barricade the stairs with except a bunch of fancy French furniture that wouldn't even slow them up and then I woke myself up and drank some water and held on to C. and eventually went back to sleep.

And I'll bet you thought trademark law didn't get exciting.

This from CNN today:

(CNN) -- Some lawmakers lashed out at the CEOs of the Big Three auto companies Wednesday for flying private jets to Washington to request taxpayer bailout money.

"It's almost like seeing a guy show up at the soup kitchen in high hat and tuxedo. It kind of makes you a little bit suspicious."

He added, "couldn't you all have downgraded to first class or jet-pooled or something to get here? It would have at least sent a message that you do get it."

Rep. Brad Sherman, D-California, asked the three CEOs to "raise their hand if they flew here commercial. Let the record show, no hands went up. Second, I'm going to ask you to raise your hand if you are planning to sell your jet in place now and fly back commercial. Let the record show, no hands went up."

CNN goes on to report that the corporations say that their CEOs are forced to travel that way. Safety concerns. Sure they are. So it's not too surprising that they are headed back to Detroit today without the $25 billion bailout they came asking for.

I just wish my Dad were alive to see this day.

According to the BBC News, Chinese scientists have discovered the fossil of a feathered but flightless dinosaur, which has been named Epidexipteryx. It is believed that the four-foot long tail feathers were used for display. And of course it's important to remember that we can't have any idea what color(s) the thing sported.

I wonder if those tail feathers were really only a come-on: Epidexipteryx was the size of a pigeon so those feathers would be a distinct disadvantage in evading or hiding from anything looking for a pigeon-sized snack. If the tail feathers really were only for display, it seems likely that the creatures lived in a fairly safe place. Or maybe the feathers served as a sort of lure, to entice prey (rather like the angler fish today). Hide in bush, drape tail forward, use those long front arm-like appendages to snatch at prey, and rip apart with that fierce beak ... could happen.

Those tail feathers are the main reason I can't shake the feeling that this is an elaborate hoax, the Piltdown Man of Chinese palaeontology. If it is, I don't want to know. In this case, ignorance (if not bliss) at least leads to some pretty blissful speculation.

This, reported in the truly excellent blog Counterfeit Chic:

Essentially the Feds intend to take over the US Service Mark registration for the mark MONGOLS®, and anyone using the mark in connection with riding motorcycles would be guilty of trademark infringement. As the Counterfeit Chic blogger points out:

What I wonder is this: since goods sporting infringing marks can be seized, does this include tattoos?

Here's another good reason to avoid McDonald's, as reported by Salon Magazine:

So Hurricane Ike, the size of Texas, is bearing down on Texas and people in Galveston have been told to get the hell out or face certain death. But:

Catalog season is starting, so it's time for the First Annual Wretched Excess Compendium. This is the only time of year when I mourn the loss of Sharper Image, which would have been good for at least half a dozen entries, but Hammacher Schlemmer has, as always, stepped in to fill the gap. So here's the first entry in the Compendium: The Only Complete Swiss Army Knife.



The HS catalog (print and online) has achieved a kind of grammatical Wretched Excess all by itself: everything is headlined with the word "The," as if there is no other. THE Genuine Mahogany Glider Bench; THE Talking Wicked Witch of the West (the only item that actually tempts me, but Margaret Hamilton has long been a personal hero of mine), and yes, even THE Best Nose-Hair Trimmer.

The Compendium, by the way, is open to entries from all and sundry. No idiocy too large or too small! No limit on entries! Step right up and post!

T-Mobile rolled over and put its little electronic feet in the air and is giving me my rebate. Yes. We Win!!

On July 12, 2008, I'll be appearing as part of Writers with Drinks, which has won "Best Literary Night" from the SF Bay Guardian readers' poll four years in a row and was recently named "Best Literary Drinking" by the SF Weekly. The spoken word "variety show" mixes genres to raise money for other magazine, a national magazine for people who feel pigeonholed by mainstream media categories. I am sharing the stage with  Mistress Morgana,whose stories have appeared in the anthologies Politically Inspired and Sex For America: Politically Inspired Erotica; Ray Molina of the comedy show Oddly Americana, and (drum roll please) the eminent and humongously talented Ishmael Reed. I will try not to let this go to my head.

7:30 to 9:30pm, doors open at 7:00, at The Make Out Room, 3225 22nd Street between Mission and Valencia, San Francisco,. Admission is $3 to $5 on a sliding scale, all proceeds benefit local nonprofits.  Y'all come now.

---

T-Mobile Rebate Offer
PO Box 317197
El Paso TX 88531-7197

    re:    Tracking ID xxxxxxxxx

Gentlefolk:

I have been trying to figure out if your “T-Mobile BlackBerry Curve 8320 Rebate” offer is a classic bait-and-switch routine, or just an out and out lie. Perhaps you can help me.

On February 14, 2008, I bought a BlackBerry Curve for my daughter, together with a BlackBerry Minutes & Mail Enterprise Plan, which includes unlimited e-mail, unlimited Web browsing, unlimited domestic text/instant messaging, etc. I was told that I did not need to add anything to the BlackBerry plan as it already had everything necessary. T-Mobile also offered a rebate plan, available since I bought both the phone and the plan. The rebate is called the “T-Mobile BlackBerry Curve 8320 Rebate Program.” The humor in this title will become apparent.

I sent in the rebate application, receipt, etc., and a month later received a form letter denying the rebate because the offer only extended to a voice rate plan of over $34.99 (got that) plus an “eligible feature add on. (Examples: T-Mobile Hotspot or Internet or Email Add-on).” Which we don’t need. Because the BlackBerry Minutes & Mail etc. plan already includes that stuff.

I called the rebate “Customer Care” number and spoke to a number of unhelpful people, all of whom apparently are only allowed to recite the language of the refusal letter. Eventually I spoke to someone else in the company, who looked up the case and said that we should indeed qualify for the rebate because the plan we have already contains all the add-ons necessary for the BlackBerry. I was told to re-submit the rebate request. I did. On May 13, my rebate request was turned down again, with the same form letter I got the first time.

Apparently the only way to obtain the T-Mobile BlackBerry Curve 8320 Rebate is to sign up for an entirely unnecessary $9.99 monthly add-on to the BlackBerry Minutes & Mail Enterprise Plan, which doesn’t need to be added on to.

So you tell me: did you bait the offer of the cell phone and T-Mobile service with a rebate offer, then switch it to smoke and mirrors, or is the rebate offer an out-and-out lie?

I am enclosing copies of the background material in this matter, both for your entertainment and convenience and for that of the California Department of Consumer Affairs, Consumers Union, and T-Mobile’s own Customer Relations Department. Perhaps if you cannot help me figure out just what sort of scam I fell into, they can.

Yours, in exasperation,

It's the end of my job as I know it,
It's the end of my job as I know it,
It's the end of my job as I know it
And I feel FIIIIIIINE!

I did something nifty this afternoon, before lunch caught up with me (don't know if it was the Vietnamese spicy beef salad or the Thai iced coffee that has done me in but Southeast Asia is definitely out to get me today). Quite a few years ago I was given a big old trunk by an attorney who was moving out of the building in Oakland. In the trunk were wrapped packages of shares and coupons from a Realty syndicate in the 1910s -- I opened one, stashed the other on a shelf at work, and passed the trunk on to my son.

I came upon the wrapped package while clearing out my office today, and on an impulse I called the history department at the Oakland Museum, and ended up hustling the package down there. Wrapped in brown paper, bound with string, sealed with red wax -- the curator eyed this with a gleam in her eye, and happily accepted it. I wrote her a provenance and promised to send a few of the documents from the opened package, so that she didn't have to open the one she now has. She wants to display the package as is, with all the mystery of the string and sealing wax intact. The documents are worth nothing except for their historical interest, but as the curator said, nobody wraps things in brown paper, string, and red wax these days.

So someday I hope to visit the Museum and see my package in a display case -- I wonder what the write up will say.

I am delighted to report that as of April 15, and after thirty+ years, I will no longer be working in downtown Oakland.

These are some of the things I might miss:

• The people. I have been here so long that I feel embedded, and when I run an errand or go out to lunch, I always see at least three people I know. I'll miss exchanging greetings and gossip with them.
• The Vietnamese soup place next door.
• Being within a few blocks of Oakland Chinatown.
• The Friday Farmer's Market. This runs 12 months of the year and is always worth cruising for the Asian and Latino farmers, the piles of fresh produce, and the multicultural stew of shoppers.
• Lake Merritt, which is always lovely to walk around.

These are some of the things I won't miss:

• The people. Especially after three in the afternoons, September through June, it can be worth your sanity, your wallet, and/or your physical well-being to walk along the streets here. I also won't miss the begging crazies, the begging belligerents, or watching drivers blow through red lights while the cops turn their backs. Or the idiots who staff the registers at Walgreens or Rite-Aid ("The employment test has only one question: What's your name? And most of them got at least 80% of that one!")
• The Vietnamese soup place next door. Way too expensive for what you get.
• Being within a few blocks of Oakland Chinatown. Most of the restaurants have either only Cantonese food, or Cantonese and blandified Hunanese food. The pedestrians are, without exception, suicidal and none of the drivers comprehend the meanings of crosswalks, traffic signals, turn signals, or lane markers. Also they like to park in the middle of the street.
• The building itself. It opened in 1958 and has not been substantially remodeled since then (the Otis man told me that the elevators are the only ones in Oakland still operating on original machinery).
• The commute: morning and evening, in all seasons, it's close to one and a half hours of grinding, fume-breathing nastiness, a veritable thesaurus of bad behaviors, and the omnipresent possibility of being squashed by a truck. Actually, the truck drivers are okay -- it's the idiots in minivans or sports cars who seem to be oblivious to the concept of mass, and think they can cut off a semi with no consequences. The sad thing is that any consequences happen to other poor bastards, and not to them.
• The Friday Farmer's Market. It's getting too gentrified (too many people selling incense, beaded earrings, and rocks with cute sayings engraved on them), and I suspect that in five years the honest part of the market will be crowded into a corner, surrounded by stands selling sugared popcorn and t-shirts. Too bad.
• Lake Merritt -- once you make your way through the crazies to reach it, you can play hopscotch with the goose shit that covers the paths twice a year. The rest of the year, its pigeon shit.

Instead, I'll be working in downtown Santa Rosa, across from Santa Rosa Mall. Not all that alluring, but there's a new bike and walking trail within half a block of the office and I'm looking forward to dealing with a different, and with luck less belligerent, type of crazy on the streets. And the commute is only 15 miles, in the non-commute direction. Oh joy, oh happiness!

And, as god is my witness, I will never have to do bookkeeping again.

Well, I have to say that if not for knitting, I'd probably be gibbering in a corner somewhere. With knitting, I'm still gibbering in a corner but at least my hands are busy. I started to inventory the projects-in-progress: A glittery scarf for L; a lacy raglan for K (my first raglan and I'm sold on the ease of the pattern); another raglan of thick-n-thin lace weight cotton which has begun to bewilder me but won't be frogged, so I'll pick it up again sometime soon; a chenille scarf, almost done, interrupted by the first three; something in red so old I've forgotten what it was, but it's on waste yarn and waiting for me to remember, which I will any day now. Yeah, right. There are some others lurking in a bottom drawer, but I refuse to look.

Stitch 'n Bitch classifies knitters but I think they missed my type: I'm a serotonin knitter. I read that small, repetitive hand movements tend to release this splendid neurotransmitter into the bloodstream and I'm all about that, although the finished product really isn't beside the point. I like the stuff I make, although when I cruise some of the knitting blogs I am filled with admiration and despair.

So onward, four projects at a time, lots of practice in unknitting and with enough frogging to qualify me for the Penelope of the Year award.

I know, I get ridiculously excited, but ... it was dark when I woke this morning, and as I sat at the breakfast table the sun came up and I saw snow, great patches of snow on the top of Sonoma Mountain. Between the patches were stands of trees that looked black, and since the sky was still dark at first it seemed as if the snow patches were more clouds, lying low against the mountain. Very pretty.