Great piece from the WSJ on job descriptions. The help-wanted ad, the job itself, and what one says about it on one’s resume: Which of these things is not like the other? (What, you think anyone would work for me if the truth be told? Please. I’d be down to convict labor.)
In tribute to this reporter’s beautifully articulated reasons for feeling more kinship with the alt-press than with corporate journalism, I have but two heartful words of praise: Fucking right.
Here’s a phrase that’s not what the family intended, but possibly more accurate. From an obit in my hometown paper: A certain woman died “after a long and tiresome battle against falling heart and lungs. ” As do we all, more or less.
I am praying for Steve Bartman, and I am laughing very, very, very hard at Boston for their insolence.
Okay, now Boston totally has to go to the Series, because the Cubbies are going to the Series (memo to my nine-year-old self: no, really, you lived to see it!) and we might as well get on with the full apocalypse jacket. Maybe it was simply timing? God already had Royko on hand for commentary from the Forces Of Good, but Satan was one pedophiliac priest short of a hometown broadcast booth. Good to go now. Set it off. Sorry, Bernie and Jeter.
Figure of speech my ass. She meant it, and if I were talking about domestic violence and contemplating the chippie who made her career with a song with a refrain that goes “Hit me, baby, one more time,” I’d be thinking firearms msyelf. Fortunately the Tina Fey prophecy is well on its way to fruition so it’s all kind of moot, but…
Oh, aren’t Boston fans classy. Almost makes you want to see them go to the Series… as long as we get to see the Cubs turn the BoSox fans out like the bitches they are. (Nevermind that a Boston-Cubs series is mentioned in the Bible as a sign of the Apocalypse; I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t care, as I’d be busy waiting for Mike Royko to rise from the dead.)