The Gray Lady is a tramp

I got the New York Times re-started and it's infected my apartment again after a long remission. It blossoms and spreads uncontrollably if I try opening or otherwise tampering with it. In the way a cockroach or spider might just release its hundred of eggs if you mess with it, the paper shouldn't be touched. If opened, it releases several sections, each one looking as big as the paper in its whole appeared at first. Once opened, a section will never revert to its original size when refolded.
I've found that the subscription has a particularly vicious effect on apartments that have not been broken in yet. Eventually the photos and the general layout find themselves on the wall -- the wall papers complement the floor papers and the table papers and the bathroom papers and the ashtray papers.
Some of the paper though is regional enough in temperament that I read it for the novelty effect. And novelty effects make stereotypes funny. If I travel through the midwest I'd like to stop by the Corn Festival, and when I read strongly worded opinion pieces on the negative effects that refrigeration regulations have had on the tragically lost art of pork curing, I can see a sweater-vested wasp in Connecticut, passionately (but not too passionately) arguing that the decline in appreciation for the now under-appreciated hidden flavors in pork-wine interactions parallels a fall in institutions of society. Then I laugh 'cause I don't have salmonella.