In Which Debt Stalks the Oilfields Like Some Kind of Stalking Thing

Sometimes journalists try too hard.  Here is the lede from an article in today's Times about the debt load being carried by many oil companies:

MIDLAND, Tex. — On the 15th floor of an office tower in Midland looms a five-foot-long trophy black bear, shot by the son of an executive at Caza Oil & Gas.

But it is Caza that has recently fallen prey to a different kind of predator stalking the Texas oil patch: too much debt.

First of all, if the bear is "looming," shouldn't it be five feet tall?  Not that a five-foot tall creature can loom over much of anything. . . unless the reporter is a primordial dwarf. . . . (NOTE TO SELF: Check whether the New York Times employs a primordial dwarf reporter.)

But still, doesn't this opening seem like a bit much?  What did the rejected versions look like. . .

The morning sun gleamed on Caza Oil & Gas' oil derricks standing idle in the Texas scrubland.

Bur it is a different celestial body that will crash like a meteor into Caza, wiping out the company's profits as if they were so many ill-fated dinosaurs: too much debt.

Or maybe,

On the desk of Caza Oil & Gas's CFO, a Nolan Ryan bobblehead doll welcomes visitors with a Parkinsonian wobble.

But it is Caza that will be struck out by a different kind of fireballer tossing a no-hitter at the firm's balance sheet: too much debt. 

What Shall It Profit a Newspaper If It Shall Gain Multiple Pulitzer Prizes, and Lose a Subscriber?

When I wake up on Sunday mornings and ponder whether to get up or burrow back under the covers, what pushes me toward the former is the thought of my New York Times, neatly folded in its blue plastic wrapper, waiting for me down on my doorstep.  As I wrestle out of bed--into which I often find myself stapled by a bevy of cats weighing down the corners of my blanket--I eagerly anticipate pouring myself a cup of coffee and separating the Times' sections for the day's reading: first sports, then the front page, then the Sunday Review, and, time permitting, Arts and Leisure.  Ah, Sundays!

All of which is to say, when I open the door and do not see the familiar blue wrapper, I feel more than a little peeved!  And so I have felt for roughly the last four weeks!  For some reason, the paper has not been delivered, and I am reduced to reading the paper off of my computer screen like an animal!

In the grand scheme of things, I realize this hardly qualifies as a tragedy.  Indeed, I come out ahead on the deal: I get a credit for the undelivered paper, but, as a subscriber in good standing, I have access to the online edition--access for which I am effectively not paying, as I keep getting credits for undelivered papers.  Still, the little rituals of life can be among life's greatest pleasures.  And the small deprivation of an undelivered Sunday paper starts the week off on a sour note.