Don't make me hurt you New York Times

The Times, in it's never ending quest to drive me insane, has another story about poor, hardworking, Americans, struggling to get by in this harsh new economy. Just kidding, it's another story about the pampered rich elite, gnashing their teeth and beating their breast because it isn't Crystal enemas and snorting lines of caviar anymore.

The poor victims this time? Rich people who have to pick up the check at expensive "power lunches" and people who have had to suffer the indignity of having the restaurant quality of their "power lunch" downgraded. The most downtrodden victim? The producer of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, who looks to have a terminal case of surgery face and probably has only a month or two left to live.

ON a recent Monday night, Christine Peters, a producer of “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days,” tucked into a corner booth in the Polo Lounge at the Beverly Hills Hotel with a fellow producer and an actress. They chattered about a possible film for an hour or so before Ms. Peters excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. When she returned, she noticed a thin leather case sitting on the table, with the check inside.

“Did anybody get this?” she asked. Both women stared blankly, first at her, then the check. “We didn’t see it,” one finally said. When neither offered to pay the tab, nearly $100, Ms. Peters did what she has found herself doing more and more these days: she fished out her wallet and paid the check herself.

“They were polite,” she said. “But neither wanted to pay. It’s like you almost want to put them out of their misery.”

It used to be a common sight from Sparks to Spago — the boisterous scrum as diners wielding corporate cards dove for the lunch bill, crying “I’ll get it!” But since the economic downturn, the delicate social rituals of the bull market era, when executives tried to outdo one another in expense-account one-upmanship, have been upended.

Dear sweet Jesus, NYT, find a goddamned poor family and do a story about them not affording heat, food, and medicine. Write it up with the same tone you reserve for the "poor little rich" stories you seem to run three of every day. Savagely beat the next "journalist" who comes to you with a plan to scam a power lunch, free meal, or high society meeting out of writing out the moaning and whining of rich people. Quickly, before I burn down your building or you go bankrupt. It's only a five hour drive to NY, so there's no telling which would happen first.