While looking through the CBS jobs list today, I came across the post for Social Media Manager. I am passionate about social media, I happen to be very good at it, and was fascinated by the section in which you list the PHYSICAL REQUIREMENTS for the post. Let’s go through them.
If people start pretending to be people they are not, where does that leave us as a society? It’s like telling someone they have license to be a chameleon, casting a spell over the lives of others to help them suspend their disbelief. What sort of a world would it be, if everyone went around kicking reality in the teeth?
The cat’s funeral is an altogether more sombre affair. I don’t like cats, but felt I had to support Chrissy, a fellow journalist, in her hour of need. “Mr Love” had been one of her feline companions for 14 years (“Slut”, his mother, lives on, and is very unperturbed by her son’s passing), and had been kept alive by his owner’s adoration and acupuncture, which is big pet business here. The decision to have him put down was a tough one.
Having planned to return to the UK tomorrow for my summer holiday, I have had to cancel it all and stay resting. I can’t open the refrigerator door without experiencing pain and have been advised that carrying or lifting anything is out of the question until the ribs heal (I’m making an exception for wine glasses, but even they are not plain sailing).
He was the first thing I remember seeing and thinking Wow! The confidence, the physicality, the verbal dexterity. Obviously, I didn’t express it in those terms as a kid, but the huge impact he made on me was the belief that yes, it’s ok to acknowledge when you have a talent – but you have to put in the groundwork to maintain it: only then can you be proud of your success.
Manufacturers destroy entire personal histories when they re-design our sweeties. Remember when Cadbury, without any warning, dropped the Orange Crème from Milk Tray? The Orange Truffle tried to sneak its way in, hoping that no one would notice, but the interloper was soon exposed, and national outcry ensued.
As someone who has been getting her tits out for the lads for decades (I promise you: I really have stopped now), I know that the words pot, kettle and black will spring to mind; but I still think that a 150 minute movie of a giant tit doesn’t make for great viewing. I could barely keep my ham and cheese toastie down.