Good news for all you hungry fans (hungry for my WORDS--if you need food, you should go get a snack, I can only provide intellectual sustenance): my part-time temporary office job may turn into a full-time temporary but for the whole summer office job. In which case, I imagine between commuting to Toledo, living off of Diet Coke and granola bars, and copying and pasting shit into spreadsheets all day, I may begin blogging more regularly, what with the being stuck a computer for eight hours in a row-ness. In other news, I graduate next week (finally). I suppose I'm going to do the whole walking thing; I think Isaac has a cap and gown I can borrow. If for some reason you would like to download the PDF full text of my thesis, "Raising a Monster Army: Energy Drinks, Masculinity, and Militarized Consumption," you can do so here. Totes related, via Emily, I saw this cool collection of soda packaging at Web Urbanist.
In light of an alternative energies documentary we watched recently on NOVA (slightly less depressing than the "American Experience" on My Lai the other night), I dug this photo collection from Chernobyl then and now at Sociological Images. There is a bar in Chernobyl where disaster tourists and occasional residents can get drunk on vodka AND lingering radiation poisoning!
A poignant (and I mean that sincerely) piece on girl-on-girl middle school bullying: The Lessons My Bullies Taught Me at No Points for Style (I read it first re-published at Jezebel). It just reminded me of how bitchy I was to one particularly friend of mine in the seventh grade. I thought she acted really young and got sick of having every class together and being compared to her all the time (we were both in advanced classes and went to church together and did all the same after school activities), so I basically did my best to ditch her and get our other friends to do the same. Eventually her mom called my mom and my mom gave me shit, igniting the ol' Mormon guilt, and I started to repair the friendship, which lasted a few more years, though we were never particularly close again. I never did know how to say I was sorry (and I genuinely was and am). I never really knew why I would do something like that when I had been ditched by girl friends before and spent a huge chunk of my time talking trash about all the mean "popular" girls who were doing the same thing I was. It's not an excuse, but in some ways I think thirteen year-olds are some of the least well-adjusted humans on earth. I thought I knew some shit, was smarter and more mature than the other kids my age, but it turns out I was just as big of an asshole as they were.