Piling On

It's a painful exercise, making fun of the Globe in its hour of doom. Some days, I wonder if there is any point in doing so. For the record, in case anybody is confused: I'd like the paper to live, breathe, thrive, kick ass and take names all over Boston.

But they're not helping themselves with running stuff like "Where the boys (over 35) are."

Trees died to bring you this vital news. Pulitzer-finalist photographers were laid off so it could continue to run. City Weekly was killed so that...I'll stop now, I can feel the earnestness coming on. Nobody wants to see that.

Meredith Goldstein, Call Your Lawyer

When I founded this blog scarcely two weeks ago, I resolved to stay on message, and not to get my knickers in a twist over the off-topic antics of Meredith Goldstein, the Globe's High Priestess of Inanity. Whoops! So much for that.

Today's sticky little bonbon concerns people who found Twue Wuv on the campaign trail this year. My favorite passage:

One soon-to-be-married couple who couldn't go on the record with their names (he now works for Obama, who apparently likes to keep love on the down low) told me they met while campaigning in New Hampshire. It was a match made in heaven - or, actually, a match made in Manchester.

Does she have any idea what she's implying?

Just so this post will have something to do with Women Do, please enjoy the sensible words of tech columnist Don Reisinger. Glad to have you aboard, Don. We shall overcome someday.