The big news: Barack Obama will announce Elena Kagan as his pick to succeed John Paul Stevens on the Supreme Court. If she’s confirmed, four of the nine Supreme Court justices will rep NYC.

Scalia: Queens. Ginsburg: Brooklyn. Sotomayor: The Bronx. Kagen: UWS Manhattan. Only Staten Island lacks supreme court love, a truly terrible oversight.

Can you say “Associate Justice Ghostface Killah“? He’s clearly not lacking for empathy:

Brings a whole new meaning to Supreme Clientele.

GAWKER: You down with OPiP(hones)?
US: Yes, you know me.

Here’s the story:

A little ways back, some dude at a German beer garden gets hammered and steals an early iPhone prototype from a blitzed Apple engineer. Couple weeks later, the enterprising thief sells said iPhone prototype to Gawker gadget blog Gizmodo for $5000. The story blows up, as the secret stolen merchandise proves irresistibly fascinating to Apple fanpeople worldwide. Flash forward to yesterday, as California police raid the home of Gizmodo editor Jason Chen, seizing a whole bunch of computers, alleging a criminal conspiracy.

File this under “is there any way this can possibly be true?” but civil liberty groups are now insisting yesterday’s search and seizure ran afoul of state and federal shield laws:

There are both federal and state laws here in California that protect reporters and journalists from search and seizure for their news gathering activities…But even if they are saying it was unlawful (to purchase the prototype iPhone), the statute appears to say it doesn’t matter. The crime that you’re investigating cannot be receipt of that information or materials.”

This would seem to be a fairly broad interpretation of journalistic shield law, granting any blogger with a modem and a LiveJournal account a 007-level license to to commit felonies in the service of amassing trivial information of limited public import. Which is to say…

MAKE THIS A MOVIE!

The dramatic potential here is HUGE; it’s Grisham meets Crichton by way of Wired magazine, the next mid-budget, high-grossing techno-legal-eagle-crime thriller. And there are bloggers involved. We LOVE bloggers. Topical.

Let’s Hollywood this effer up.

First note: iPhone prototype? Too everyday. Blah. Not sexy. Better? Steve Jobs’…children. Young children. But not too young. One is newly post-infancy. The boy. He’s four. The girl? She’s 13. Smart. Precocious. Like her dad.

They’ve been kidnapped from a San Francisco beer garden. By Germans! Nazis. Neo Nazis. The kids have vital inside information on Jobs’ next high tech venture. But it can’t be a next-gen iPhone. It’s something bigger:

Rogue nuclear weaponry. Multitasking. Portable. With stunning minimalist industrial design.

THE HERO

Cut to a slovenly, over dedicated veteran reporter, Cal. Writes for a blog. Gruff, uninviting, but with a reluctant heart of gold. He’s hot on the story, gradually infiltrating the Neo Nazi terrorpod cell. He has an in with one of the guards. He purchases Jobs’ kids. But not for $5000. Who is he, Dr. Evil? For like…$500,000,000. Does he return the kidnapped kids? No. He keeps them. They have vital information he needs for this mind blowing story. It will change lives/drive a shitload of traffic. Shield law, baby!

He’s running from Jobs, running from the Nazis, running from the cops. Just on the edge, all in service of the greater good, a paragon of journalistic integrity.

This is good, this is it, we’re hitting three quadrants here.

CASTING

This thing casts itself: For Jobs we need…Mel Gibson. He’s perfect, a natural. And due for a comeback. GIVE ME BACK MY IPHONE SON.

Jason Chen? Either that dude from The Hangover with the tiny penis or Rachel McAdams. Depending on which way we go.

Gawker CEO Nick Denton? Graham Norton. Or Steve Coogan. Or Eddie Izzard. Anyone, really.

Lastly: the grizzled journalist who purchases the kidnapped kids? Gotta be Russell Crowe. Brilliant. Blunt. Bearded. He can throw an iPhone at a hotel bellhop. Referential.

Greenlight this fucker.

For those neither living in nor descended from the holy six that is New England, Bill Belichik is some kid of monster. A loathsome ruthless win machine, desecrating the shield in a cold-blooded quest to squeeze any last possible competitive advantage out of an otherwise noble game. Man you effing hate that guy.

Unless, of course, you’re a Pats fan, in which case Bill Belichick is the Brawny Man studmuffin hero of all your athletic wants, hopes and dreams, a guy who may have long ago stopped being polite but started getting real real good at winning you football games. If he’s a total asshole, he’s our kind of total asshole.

Nancy Pelosi is the same dude, just a chick who does politics.

When your political instincts run counter to her ambitions, she’s a brutal botoxed witch, hell-bent on greedily violating the very fabric of American human existence. Ooohgrrr you hate her!

When she’s on your side, though, she’s queen Nancy the Hammer. For those pretty amped and excited over passage of health care reform, Pelosi today is basically Bill Belichick circa February 7th, 2005. You can’t get enough of that hooded sweatshirt tight skinned forehead and bad dye job.

UPDATE: Relatedly, I’m now hoping these two have an elicit, freewheeling, Woodsian affair. Pelosichick, maybe. Mmmm, wrinkly.

For the rest of the month, Outback Steakhouse will generously provide all veterans and active military with a free Bloomin’ Onion.

This promotion seems so painfully obvious, so clearly motivating for both service member and plain citizen alike, I’m surprised neither Presidents Bush nor Obama developed a similar deal when attempting to sell a souring public on their unpopular war plans.

What better way to inspire our men and women in uniform, while further promoting solidarity with their protectorates back home, than the far-off possibility of a limited time offer of an Australian recipe ripoff of Chili’s classic American Awesome Blossom?

These are the times that try men’s souls! He that stands by his country now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman, and a large, sliced onion, breaded, deep fried and arranged to look like a flower.*

Lucky for freedom, the savvy folks at Outback Steakhouse and OSI Restaurant Partners had the foresight to develop this promotion, thus circumventing what I am sure to be President Obama’s natural instincts toward a socialist Bloomin’ Onion handout; the free market saw a need and fulfilled it most efficiently.

Semper Fibloomin’ Onion.

* (Offer only available for the month of March at participating locations. Let’s not get too ridiculous.)

I bet if Bach showed up in the present Bill & Ted-style and was like, “Yo, show me some music” we’d probably put on Lady Gaga “Telephone” and he’d be like, “Woa, wait, seriously?”

But then we’d show him some orchestral arrangements of Super Mario Bros. themes and he’d be all, “Ok, alright, I see what you guys are up to.”

Conditions in Factory Farms are universally deplorable and a lot of people are starting to figure it out. You can tell this is true by the recent spike in references to Food Inc. in your Facebook newsfeed and the number of Colbert Report appearances by Michael Pollan and Jonathan Safran Foer.

Luckily scientists are hot on the trend and may have a solution, one ingeniously dependent on genetic modification of animal brains:

Recently, scientists have learned to genetically engineer animals so that they lack certain proteins that are important to the [sensation of pain.] When these mice encounter a painful stimulus, they withdraw their paws normally, but they do not become hypersensitive to a subsequent painful stimulus, as ordinary mice do.

I love science so much but this is one of those fundamentally flawed, fundamentally American approaches to problem solving:

AMERICANS: Man, I feel really bad about the horrible conditions for animals in factory farms.
COMMON SENSE: Yeah man, I feel you. Maybe we should stop eating them.
AMERICANS: Ehhhhhhh, I dunno. What if we spend millions of dollars genetically modifying their brains such that they’re physically incapable of sensing pain?
COMMON SENSE: Dude, seriously?
AMERICANS: SCIENCE!

Why solve problems elegantly with simple and responsible changes to our own behavior when we can use well funded science and comic book dreams to dramatically refashion sentient brains?

Its Public Enemy? Its Basquiat?

It’s a well-told story: On January 11th 1992, Nirvana Nevermind replaced Michael Jackson’s Dangerous as the number one album on the Billboard 200. In the previous year, that top spot had been held by the likes of Vanilla Ice, Michael Bolton, Paula Abdul and Van Halen. Kurt Cobain stomped that mess, albeit temporarily, with his cut jeans, dingy flannel and lady’s deodorant.

Men’s figure skating is in need of a similar figure. I love the sport, the athleticism, the artistry. But it’s been stuck in a stale sequined glamrocked routine for as long as I’ve known it. That same rote footwork, musty jazz hands, predictably unpredictable Vera Wang trimmed decadent on-ice outfits.

Maybe it’ll never break out of its mold; it’s a sport driven by tradition and elderly judges. There’s margins in playing it safe. But times should evolve. I’m waiting for a Brooklyn skater in high tops and a hoodie to throw down triple axels to DJ Logic. Less Vera Wang, more DIY Dapper Dan.

Alpine skiing has its Bode Miller. Snowboarding has its Shaun White (a guy so counter counter culture he’s made loving your country and respecting your parents cool again.) I love me some Evan Lysacek. But what’s next?

We are men! And so we value our tires more than our wives. We will put up with the pain of listening to their opinions so long as we can still drive our Dodge Chargers.

We will reveal them naked in the shower after finally developing the confidence to use soap to clean ourselves.

Yes, we are men. We will steal our wives’ beer and hijack their bookclubs with harassing sex jokes that make light of our illiteracy. We will pray they do not catch us cheating on them with our milkaholic baby mistresses.

We’ll take off our skirts! Which is to say, we’ll no longer attempt to spend time with our wives without ready access to a handheld television named after their periods.

We are men! We will rock blocking shots on guys with dreadlocks.

(That last one isn’t misogynistic, just amazing.)

Relevant section at 3:32:

Like a Thelonious Monk, I travel in peace
Left on right on black man from the east

We don’t quit
We don’t quit, uh uh
We don’t quit
Nah we don’t quit

Life for nothing but beats and cheese

Last line might be a stretch. Nevertheless, full text of actual speech right here.

UPDATE: Wikipedia’s concise history of the actual May 4th Movement anti-imperialist uprising is well worth a read. Thrice times for the Brooklyn dimes.

                    Black spider spins 140 character thoughts
over the slacked mouth of a broken t-shirt cannon

announcing lo calorie diets,
and proto-apocalyptic mortgage gate refinancing.

Don’t plagiarize the hype, young spider;
yours is an office delicate, bent off spin, threadbare
          in a Chinese factory,
          wrapped in the finest silks quite known
                    to the round fat bottoms
                    of popular Pundits.

New web stretched wonders over wide to the world,
          patient hasty lies forging continuous
clock time coverage of new spider time narratives;

                    Barack Obama’s rented Kenyan childhood,
proto-Nazaiian sprinkler head, broken, bent, ripped into soil
scraping up dead bunnies and cat hair wrapped in spit and dust,
     minor clumps of skunked pew research cross-tabs
     and the Politico, printed.

*(
We are heading to be, now,
     only too too honey for the morning;

Dotted mt. dew forming frosty over steamed mourning rose petals,
               on: there: been: that: done.

You’ve lost me, Spider.
     Casting caffeine AmEx dreams over teabagged boats,
like a sack of pet pickles to the forehead.

Early last week, Quentin Tarrantino graced the internet with his list of the Best 20 Movies Since 1992, the year he himself first began making movies:

I wanted to do something similar, but I don’t really make movies. In fact, since this past June, I’ve ostensibly been predominantly unemployed. Meaning: I don’t make much of anything.

I do, however, watch a lot of episodes of Gilmore Girls on DVD.

In the spirit of Tarantino, here is my list of the Top 20 Gilmore Girls Episodes I Have Watched Since Becoming Unemployed.

Like Tarantino, the list is unordered, with one exception: Keg! Max! is clearly the best episode of Gilmore Girls I have seen since June, standing high above anything else. The rest are ordered chronologically by air date.

• Keg! Max! Season 3 Episode 19
  Lane drunk dials her mom. High comedy, intense Korean Christian drama.
• Kiss and Tell Season 1 Episode 7
  Rory’s first kiss! The whole town is buzzing but she doesn’t tell Lorelai!
• Christopher Returns Season 1 Episode 15
• Nick and Nora/Sid and Nancy Season 2 Episode 5
  Paris craziness and the introduction of Jess. Swoon.
• The Bracebridge Dinner Season 2 Episode 10
• A-Tisket, A-Tasket Season 2 Episode 13
  The essence of Stars Hollow distilled to a fine 22 minutes, charming small town rituals and picnic basket zany mania.
• I Can’t Get Started Season 2 Episode 22
• Haunted Leg Season 3 Episode 2
• Eight O’clock at the Oasis Season 3 Episode 5
  A special appearance by a young Jon Hamm!
• Ballrooms and Biscotti Season 4 Episode 1
• Raincoats and Recipes Season 4 Episode 22
  The Season 4 finale, in which Dean and Rory doooooo it. Double swoon!
• Written in the Stars Season 5 Episode 3
• But Not As Cute As Pushkin Season 5 Episode 10
• So…Good Talk Season 5 Episode 16
• Fight Face Season 6 Episode 2
  The first appearance of Paul Anka. Marvelous.
• The Prodigal Daughter Returns Season 6 Episode 9
• Friday Night’s Alright for Fighting Season 6 Episode 13
  Wonderul Gilmore fight montage.
• Merry Fisticuffs Season 7 Episode 10
• I’d Rather Be In Philadelphia Season 7 Episode 13
• Unto The Breach Season 7 Episode 24
  Logan proposes!! Anti-swoon!

There it is.

Up next: Top 20 Jelly Donuts I Have Purchased Since They Finished Remodeling Our Local DuDos.

Food Inc. is a movie I have seen. And it was good!: a heroic tale of Joe The Humble Organic Lima Bean Farmer fighting the noble fight against Goliath The Earth Raping Multinational Cattle Rancher Food Conglomerate Inc.

And you know Goliath is bad, because he’s…multinational.

DUH DUH DUHNNNN!!!!!

Corporations have operated in multiple nations for a long time. Which is apparently self-evidently horrifying.

FOR EXAMPLE:

District 9 is a movie I will go see this week:

The evil corporation at the heart of the film is MNU, or, Multi-National United. Corporate terror distilled to its essence.

It’s Multinational! That’s scary! There are evil things in multiple nations! Evil multination satanic corporate multiple nations corporations!

ANOTHER GOOD ONE:

The International is a movie I have not seen. The big evil multinational (pants: shitted) corporation Clive Owen is up against there? The International Bank of Business and Credit. Not bad, though it lacks the clear narrative punch of something more simplistically terrifying. Maybe: International Bank of Banking.

That’s suspense!