So, you may be out of work, or worried about losing your job, or worried about losing your home because you've lost your job (or may do so soon), or are otherwise preoccupied with the myriad life-mutilating threats before us in the world today. Or, you may actually have things pretty well, but just don't have time to waste on fucking idiots banging on about non-topics that some micro-community of people who don't really have any relation to anything worth mentioning. Yet that hasn't stopped the editors at the New York Times from stopping the world from spinning in order to provide you with the untold World Cup story that will change the course of history for all time:
If you haven't read this story, don't bother: I made it about 70% through before the obvious became just too huge to ignore: that this was a privileged journalist with an incredibly cushy job and fat assignment writing about other privileged journalists with incredibly cushy jobs and the same fat assignment bitching about how annoying the current World Cup is because they can't do whatever they want. Of course, we give a shit.
Next up: a New York Times reporter writes about the banal details of his family, just because.