And I realize one of the things boring the mierda out of me about the fud world lately is that it has, apparently, become a place where even bitching has to be done by slideshow/listicle. What could be bleaker than seeing newish media reduced to chasing after the same ad crumbs the old hos do, with content no less fatigued? Just as bad is the Groundhog Day feel to even the long-form stuff. I formally parted ways with hostage-situation tasting menus the year Sydney newspapers were showing the worn-out soles of dead Iraqi soldiers’ shoes after our country decided to invade. Maybe the time to trash Charlie Trotter was back then. Or at least before he closed?