It’s not just because I find them absolutely revolting that I started my Wednesday railing at finding stuffed peppers on the front page of my hometown paper. Bad enough to celebrate the most disgusting creation since potted meat. But to call them out in the prime real estate? WTF? Niman parting from Ranch was news to me, but I didn’t realize that had happened until I saw a blog link later — the nut graf was in goat’s clothing, and I thought we’d been down the cabrito trail. Big type never mentioned it. Little type farther back, though, did put Joe the Plumber in the forest. WTF? Drilling for mushrooms? At least there was the great relief of real writing in the secondary review. My new secondhand sources say the ratio of editors to reporters is now three to one, which explains why so much of the front page is so turgid (too many cursors spoil the flow). And I know from double experience that many writers need that many layers of rewriting. Too bad the paper can never figure out who should be what. But of course I will never learn when to shut up. I just remembered you should never point out spinach in the teeth of anyone who can bite. Hat or not hat. In real media, failure has many mothers. . . .