Joe Nocera, the Times’ star business columnist—who is, inexplicably, banished to the less-read pages of the Saturday paper—wondered on July 14 if it was “cheating” to write a “grab bag” column on the eve of his summer vacation. Heck no, since the odds of finding something of note in his space are magnified if he rambles on.

Who could argue, for instance, with Nocera’s complaint that Apple differs from most companies in that it “has other priorities” than providing convenience for its customers. He’s writing specifically about the iPhone and its faulty policy for replacement batteries, and since that’s a gadget I won’t touch for at least a year—the protests of my younger son notwithstanding—there’s no beef here. But although I’ve used Macs for two decades now, and spent an incalculable amount on the products they roll out every couple of years, each one seemingly a more apt example of planned obsolescence than its predecessor, there’s nothing more frustrating than negotiating with a service expert at one of the sleek Apple stores. You’d think that a minor glitch in one’s hard drive might be solved in two or three hours, but no, in my experience it takes about a week.

So far, plus one for Joe. On the other hand, he’s in a stew from being “tired, oh-so-tired of waiting for the Bancroft family to make up its mind about Rupert Murdoch’s bid for Dow Jones.” Now, I understand that the media likes nothing better than to cover its own industry—that’s why 50 layoffs at a major daily newspaper is given precedence in column inches over far more severe economic troubles at a dull manufacturing plant—but why don’t journalists let the possible acquisition play out in all its protracted negotiations and then offer analysis and opinion?

Jack Shafer, Slate’s prolific and normally very smart and sensible “Press Box” columnist has trashed Murdoch—“the rotten old bastard”—at least half a dozen times by my current count, which is certainly excessive unless he’s angling for a book contract next year over the success or failure of the deal. Jack’s clearly having a ball with this ongoing story, which is evident by his end-of-column requests for comments from readers. “‘I call my cancer Rupert,’ said playwright Dennis Potter as he was dying. What would you call your cancer?” was the question on June 1.

Two weeks ago, the teaser ran: “How long do you reckon you’ll read the Murdoch Street Journal before you cancel your subscription?” As a longtime Journal reader I “reckon” my subscription will continue as long as the paper is printed, unless young James Murdoch—who, if his father is successful in buying Dow Jones, will be the sooner-rather-than-later boss—suddenly becomes enamored of Arthur Sulzberger Jr. editorial views or turns the broadsheet into a New Age/Green digest. Besides, despite all the huffing and puffing over Murdoch’s supposed perfidy from some Journal reporters, I imagine the daily’s workforce will be far more robust under News Corp. than if the deal falls apart and those Dow Jones shares drop back to pre-April levels.

Just two days later, July 13, Shafer went all Ted Rall on his Slate constituency, saying “Isn’t comparing Murdoch to Stalin unfair? I mean, unfair to Stalin?” It’s not churlish in the least to suggest that Shafer hooks up with Nocera and goes fishing or skydiving or wine tasting and let this drama resolve itself.

One more comment about Nocera’s “grab bag.” He asks “Don’t you think that tattoo removal is going to be one of the big growth industries 20 years from now?” Joe, Joe, Joe, you’ve missed the boat on this one, which is fairly unpardonable even for a middle-aged business columnist. Turn the clock back to 1990 and this would be a smart and accurate observation. But “20 years from now”? First, tattoo removal is already a growth, if niche, industry. Second, in 20 years a lot of those people who Nocera suggests will patronize such a reverse artist, might, thinking demographically, no longer be with us. (And Lord have mercy, here’s hoping Joe and I will be around to settle this one-sided bet.)

He probably ran out of room, or was in a hurry to catch a plane to a suitably quaint Greek island, but it would’ve been entirely fitting if Nocera gave his own spin on the utterly hysterical reaction to the news that the Los Angeles Times, among other papers, is going to place advertisements on its front pages. Why this is so upsetting to the arbiters of journalistic standards is beyond me: Haven’t these scolds ever seen a European newspaper?

I have a scattershot observation of my own. Last week the local daily here in Maryland unveiled a spruced-up website and ran a house ad on its home page. It reads: “We’ve redesigned baltimoresun.com. And it looks amazingly like you.” Let’s ignore, for the sake of brevity, the condescension of such a statement, and instead wonder what idiot came up with that tagline. The Sun, a very liberal newspaper that champions diversity, the no blood for oil crowd, restrictions on food companies who air 30-second television spots featuring sweet cereals and tax penalties for those who profit from hedge funds, says that all its shrinking number of readers look alike. My, and I thought it was excessive of Shafer to compare Murdoch to Stalin.