There are certain privileges that come with being a judge on the D.C. Superior Court. You get a parking space, a courtroom, a law clerk and a secretary, upwards of $150,000 a year, and the job security of a 15-year presidential appointment. But it’s still a job for mortals. Judges have to pay for their own robes, and, unlike diplomats and juveniles, public records documenting their legal entanglements are well, still public. Except in the case of Judge Erik P. Christian.

Christian seems to think his personal business is none of your business, and he’s convinced another judge to keep it that way. In July, Judge Jerry Byrd approved a motion to seal the records in a domestic relations case filed by Christian’s ex-wife, Assistant U.S. Attorney Julieanne Himelstein.

According to Leah Gurowitz, a spokesperson for the Superior Court, domestic relations cases are rarely sealed. Gurowitz said reasons had to be given for sealing such records, but once the envelope is sealed, those reasons aren’t public either.

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WaMu fails. JP Morgan picks up the scraps (”43,000 employees, more than 2,200 branch offices in 15 states and $188.3 billion in deposits”). It’s the largest bank failure in the country’s history, but still not the story of the day.

That would be, the flailing Republican plan to write a blank check to big business, thus derailing progress on a bailout plan.

And Sarah Palin’s bizarre interview with Katie Couric. This is not the transcript.

And McCain’s campaign “suspension” that wasn’t.

Meanwhile, Europe is starting to feel the heat from our economic meltdown.

New Japanese subway platforms have suicide prevention barriers. Perhaps we should install these in trains near Wall Street.

Living in the snug enclave of the coastal media, it’s easy to forget that in some not-so-distant realms, Americans still face a massive cultural stigma against coming out as gay. A reminder of this reality comes from Crisis, a new book published by Mitchell Gold, one half of the high-end furniture retailer Mitchell Gold + Bob Williams. The book collects stories about growing up gay written by a few dozen ordinary and prominent Americans. Gold managed to gather an impressive group of contributors, including James McGreevey, Martina Navratilova and Gene Robinson (the first openly gay Episcopal bishop). The stories aren’t great examples of memoir–they’re simple essays with very personal messages. Candace Gingrich (Newt’s sister)  writes about the moment when a reporter’s discovery of her sexuality thrust her into her own political career. She nudged her brother behind the scenes, while her mother urged her not to drag his name “through the mud.” An EMS tech from South Carolina writes about coming out to his family after his step brother was murdered in  their hometown because he had been openly gay.

Gold had a party for the book at his 14th Street store last week, and brought out several of the contributors, and a few other notables, like Tipper Gore (beautiful in a blue and green peacock dress). He said he wanted Crisis to change minds, and that the minds in need of changing belonged to good people. “My factory [in North Carolina] is surrounded by those good people,” he said. “I don’t want anyone to hate them.” He told the audience to send the book to Wasilla.

Salon reports on how Sarah Palin’s development initiatives in Wasilla fouled her own nest. And on Obama’s need for Hispanic voters.

An autopsy confirms that the prisoner found dead in a PG county jail–after allegedly killing a cop–was the victim of homicide. Strangulation, to be exact, “possibly with a sheet, a towel or the “crux of the elbow.”" Still no word into the investigation.

From Politico: Palin gets dissed by anit-Iran rally organizers.

From the list-serves: Local Guardian Angels want to force stores to stop selling the “get money hoody,” a sweatshirt with a hood that zips all the way over the face. Good luck with that.

Wired tries to make sense of the new Microsoft ads. Conclusion: too much money for not enough pizzazz. And dump Jerry.

Ben Kingsley does Ian MacKaye. OMG.

Damien Ober made it onto the ballot. He’s soliciting contributions on a spiffy new website.

The Nation’s Gun Show took place this past weekend in Chantilly, Va. I attended looking to meet a few members of armed America and, hopefully, D.C. residents shopping for revolvers—so far the only handguns they can buy.

First things first. After spending several hours trolling “one and a half miles of guns, knives and accessories,” I meet only two D.C. residents: two young men in khakis and oxford shirts who blanch as soon as I say I’m a reporter. When I ask if they’re shopping, one replies, “We’re being cynical, I guess.” Then they both scurry off, without buying the brand new Smith & Wesson commemorative Heller decision revolver. (If they had bought the gun, it wouldn’t have gone home with them. The seller would have to ship it to Charles W. Sykes Jr., the only federally-licensed dealer in D.C.)

More, plus photos after the jump.

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The Smoking Gun has documentation on a baggy pants crackdown in Florida. Police reports detail the damning evidence: “black male” in “tan baggy shorts with blue and white boxer style undergarment below his waste.” We continue on to hell in a hand basket with news that a priest in Illinois was dealing coke out of the rectory.

As if I’m not in hate enough with my stupid iPhone, it’s spying on me, so says a hacker.

It’s Mushroom Month!

Oh, phew! Juicy Campus is publishing a Georgetown version after all. But perhaps Georgetown isnt’ juicy enough to produce content. C’mon guys, get with it!

The Post explores Cindy McCain’s Tangled Story of Addiction, which began after her husband’s stressful entanglement with the Charles Keating scandal. She used her own charity to get prescriptions, cost one doctor his license, and only attracted her husband’s attention when she attracted the attention of investigators at the DEA.

“Cool mom” who let kids ride in the trunk of her Volvo three years ago headed back to court for buying booze for teens. She served the kids, whom she didn’t know, screwdrivers with cheap vodka in the woods behind a school.

And when the drummer drums with a garbage can on his head, in the middle of the audience.

And when the singer sings with a girl in jeans in his arms.

Crazy-haired Israelis who call themselves Monotonix, last night at the Cat.

On a recent visit to the National Gallery of Art, I made a pit stop at the mezzanine bathroom. Only two people stood ahead of me in line, but I still had a long wait: there were just two bathrooms and both were occupied. By the time I finished, the other bathroom was still occupied. My fellow waiters confirmed that no one had come in or out for a long time, at least fifteen minutes. I knocked on the door and got a grunt in response. A man made some noise about being fine, but his slurred sing-song voice sounded far from “OK” and more like really high or really sick. I was concerned enough to mention the matter to a guard, who told me checking on sick folks in the bathroom was “not in my job description.” I mentioned it to another member of the museum staff, who, horrified, sent someone to check in on the situation right away. I never noticed EMTs running through the galleries, so I was probably just being a worry-wort. But still. The museum guards must be pretty disgruntled to refuse to see if the back up in the bathroom line is caused by a dying grandpa.

The New York Times spends 60 hours with Spore, the new and much hyped video game from the creator of SimCity, and declares that while the product is a “scintillating, empowering toy,” it is not a great game.

The Prince George’s County sheriff’s office has released a report showing, they say, that officers were justified in shooting to death two dogs when they raided the home of the Berwyn Heights Mayor Cheye Calvo (who was not the intentional recipient of the package of drugs FedExed to his home). Calvo doesn’t buy it. For one, he says the sheriff’s office never asked him for his account of what happened.

Michael Moore will release his next movie, “Slacker Uprising,” as a free download and then send it to the theaters. It’s been almost 20 years since “Roger and Me”, so I guess he wanted to throw a bone to his fans.

Slate considers Palin’s chances in her first press conference.

Wanted to go camping this weekend? Fat chance.

I’m not quite sure I like the resurgence of Africa-themed patterns in hipsterwear.

Chris Rockwell, editor of the new blog, Sansconnie: DC on Schoolnights, says his site offers the city’s only unbiased nightlife agenda. “Our authors are only the truly depraved and will exploit a bar, restaurant, golf course etc. to the limits of it’s decency and legality,” he wrote in an email. Indeed! Rockwell himself, apparently on a date, dutifully reported on the prospects of picking up chicks at a gay bar. The site is looking for contributors: “We are looking for new contributors who can exhibit depraved judgment and a rapist wit. If you’ve got a murderboner then you’re perfect.” Don’t hold back!

Everyone who chooses to become a journalist has to wonder from time to time whether they ought to have chosen a more lucrative career, or at least one with better prospects for stability. For many of us, this is one of those times. On top of that, like many journalists, I regard the rest of the working world as something of a mystery. What do all those people in offices do all day, other than not return my calls for comment?

So … I have always liked reading help wanted ads. Not that I’m looking, or anything, but I recently pulled up the classifieds at New York Social Diary, a blog about the New York elite, which occasionally deigns to feature a party or celebrity interview from lowly DC. I expected to find requests for personal assistants or gardening coaches. Instead, I found a bunch of nannies looking for work. Could it be that the hard times have forced wealthy house wives to take their own children to the park? Since nannying for the rich is one career other than journalism I have experience in, I’m glad that field looks pinched as well. I would want the temptation.

The UK Guardian has sent an artist to sketch his observations of the American political conventions. With the slow going in Minnesota, he’s been left to contemplate the prairie, Wall Drug and the Badlands. And farmers’ asses.

Photo: Steve Bell

Just Asking: Which local journo cornered Sarah Silverman in Denver and asked if she wanted a job in an Obama administration, then asked “what position” (heh, heh)? The funny lady replied with two playful “love slaps” on the reporter’s cheek.

Yes, Obama delivered a great speech, direct, passionate, not at all hifalutin or snobby. But the biographical video that came first was even more amazing. It felt as earnest as the best American documentary–and it was made by “An Inconvenient Truth” director Davis Guggenheim–but at base it was artful propaganda. I could barely tell.

We’re all waiting for McCain to choose his pardner. It won’t be Minnesota Gov. Tim Pawlenty.

As PJ reported yesterday, the Million DJ March comes to DC this weekend.

Police say Bloods and Crips are making their way into local crime. I’ve heard this for some time and I’m not sure it’s as scary as they say. Are these just expats working under their old flags or, as police suggest, a new franchise with ties to larger organizations? I don’t think police have that much info.

From the listserves: The kids collecting money for the Boys & Girls Club at the Tenleytown Metro don’t have any connection to the youth organization. Donate only if you support video games and 40 ounces for the young entrepreneurs.

Mad Magazine is squeezing a few more giggles, and dollars, from eight years with Bush.