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Morning everyone. Today’s Tuesday, I believe it’s cold, and there’s a chance of rain.

In case you missed it, the Hirshhorn Museum received a new art installation last night–a patch of realism. Guess nakedness was already taken.

Prom dates are always such a fuss. Should you ask him? Should you wait for him to ask you? Will this shit matter in 20 years? What if you end up going alone?! In Elena Kagan’s case, that may have been the optimal. Who knew, shit like that would matter when you’re nominated for the Supreme Court? Of course, surviving Manhattan’s Upper West Side, she’s lucky she isn’t hustlin’. And we thought life in Southeast was hard.

So over at here at the City Paper, we have a resident mouse. Ever since we got that new vending machine though, haven’t really seen him come around getting drunk off soda.

Once Kagan lands that Supreme Court gig, it seems Yale and Harvard alums will officially run the world. Pinky and the Brain would grimace. They were trying to install Steve Jobs to finish up their work.

Over at Slate, David Bernstein says, “Are there no similarly talented individuals who attended other Ivy League schools, other private universities or (gasp!) even state law schools?”

Guess it’s hard out there–mediocre and sodden, without the Benjamins. Unless you’re Fannie Mae, who’s seeking another $8.4 billion in aid. They must know something I don’t about keeping a sugar daddy.

That’s all for this morning folks. Run off to Facebook, Twitter, Gchat–whatever your pleasure. Just note, this day and age, everyone’s a stalker.

Photo by 1Happysnapper. Creative Commons Attribution License.