Flexing the Blogging Bicep

Cortright Creations Clads Camo... or Cams Camo...?
Mentally hyping my sleep-deprived gray cells up for the eight millionth presentation of the month, I was groggily dragging myself out to Aveera, faithful Corolla - the color of sacrifice... or cherry jelly beans.  The Thursday noon sun beaming down could have been the excuse for my wandering mind, jumping track on a logical development as a regular habit these days.  But a more realistic excuse would be the weight of sixteen years of school coming to a slow, torturous end.  So they say the culmination is a piece of paper, stamped with the curly gothic prints of a job well done, my claim to fame that I'm all edumicated up to conquer the world.  I haven't seen it yet, but hopefully the state's tax dollars have been well spent on what is realistically flattened tree pulp representing thousands of buckaroos missing from my parent's savings accounts, as well as thousands upon thousands of sleepless projects, papers, tests, and self-righteous instructors on my part.  No worries, I'm sure I'm the only university graduate who is slightly bitter about the transaction of higher education.  Though I must say that from the 133 hours banked, I did have a few classes that stubbornly put my nose to the grindstone prepping me for this theoretical "Real World" I'll be working in from here on out.

Mugshot at Ft Jackson Weapons Training Field, taken by my PAO escort Veran Hill.

      One such class would be J463E - Media & the Military, taught by the one and only Miron Varouhakis, military reporter and visiting professor at USC.  The course was at fault for at least 45% of my senior semester stress, and paid off 100%.  Focused on teaching journalism students how to interact, understand, and report on military affairs, Varouhakis partnered up with the South Carolina National Guard to instill knowledge - and contacts - from the source of military public affairs.  The two switched off teaching classes, varying from how to interview Prisoners of War to understanding the demands of deployment, along with additionally providing a military mentor for students to pursue their six required projects to complete the course.  Like every other 22-year-old American, I have at least a half-dozen close friends enlisted with some form of armed forces or another, and had diligently followed the reports and blogs of both uniformed and civilian embeds alike during their deployments to Afghanistan last year.  The process peaked my interest in the affairs of Military Media, motivating  enrollment in the USC course last semester.  Well, enrollment might be an understatement. I threw myself into it. I was obsessed.  Practically daily correspondence with my mentor gained me access to observe (and photograph) a myriad of events featuring my beloved armed forces, including perching on the back seats of a BlackHawk, opposite the South Carolina Adjuctant General, during Gunnery Training.  I ran through ditches and forestry after a platoon of Army Basic Combat Training Soldiers on a team-building obstacles exercise, crouched on the yellow footprints of Marine Depot Parris Island, listened to the raspy stories of USMC Drill Instructors, and had the front-row opportunity to view the reunion of BCT graduates with their families.  I woke at 2am, researched until O-dark-thirty, and snapped the shutter til eye was bruised.
     I was hooked.  Military photography gave me the front-and-center opportunity to make a difference to these camo-clad heroes, to contribute some kind of understanding to their cause, and communicate to the civilian world the hardships of being in the military.  Not to mention I wouldn't have to drool behind a computer all day.
     Which is why my phone buzzing away, scaring the crap out of me in my half-conscious run-through of my final presentation for J463C - Superbowl Advertising, became my first big career move.  Sergeant Forrest Berkshire didn't skip a beat as I hesitated on my "Hello?"  We'd been playing phone tag for over a week at that point, and I was sure the Fort Knox ROTC Public Affairs Officer was just calling to decline my application for the undergraduate summer internship working for The Leader, their base newspaper.  False.  He offered me the high-competition position, not generally accepting of post-grads, and after an undisclosed period of hyperventilating, I accepted.

Bloggity Blog Blog
     And this, oh patient readers, is how I come to write this blog.  I have had vain efforts in the past of pursuing a blog, but had no purpose - and no readers.  Now that I am committed to spending two months adventuring my way through the woods of Ft Knox, clamoring after the United States future Army Officers through mud, dirt, logs, grit, and attitude, perhaps I might have a curious friend or two.  Plus I know my dad will read it.  So there's one guaranteed reader.  No promises though.  I also won't venture to say that I'll write every day.  To be quite honest, I'm sure I'll have better things to do with my time... though being aware of the internship's salary, I probably won't be able to afford pursuing them. I will, however, grant myself a commitment to at least one or two posts a week.  Maybe.
     Perhaps I might need some motivating to stick to that contract.  So, avid reader Padre, hold me to that.