Monday, June 27, 2011
Back by popular demand...
A post dedicated entirely to the awesome (and slightly egotistical :P Just kiddin') Drill Sergeants of Charlie Company. I adore them all and their smart mouths already.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
"HYDRATE FREDDY, CADET!"
“Hey PAO you look like shit…”
See, I knew I’d drop the ball on blogging eventually. This week, to say the least, was crazy busy. I spent two full days back to back at the indoor pool desperately trying to snap the perfect shot for the two stories I was covering in there. I even pulled another photog in for assistance and it became a little competition, which he won.
I ordered a new lens, to have it in my possession for the full first day of Charlie’s arrival (didn’t use it) and had to return it do to needing the funds for my 200 zoom’s replacement as it has decided it can no longer reach past 70. (For those of you who don’t speak Camera, this is vair bad.) I managed to find a sweet deal on an upgrade from the original 55-200 4-5.6 to a 70-300 4-5.6 for only about $60 more than simply replacing the previous one would have been, so I have something to be happy about today.
As for the past couple of days, I’ve spent it circling rooms seeking out new angles and different bored faces as the Charlie Copperheads went through lines upon lines upon lines of loooooong boring in-processing. The most emotion I saw was on the faces of the Drill Sergeants, who get free rein during the first three days to be as mean as they please. I’ve made fast friends with most of the Cadre. A few shuffle over to me as soon as I arrive at an event, asking if I have anything good of them yet. There are two who glare poison-tipped daggers at me every time I walk past, but that’s just part of the job.
I’m afraid this blog isn’t even close to reflecting how excited I am to finally have my company here, but I’m so exhausted, and today was just a horribly dull, disastrous, stretch of a Sunday. I’m longing to get to sleep, and wake up nice and early for the Educator’s visit (bleck) and finally my Cadets’ first day in the field.
"Hydrate Freddy!" I won't ruin the story, as it will be posted on the LTC website next week, but I got a couple shots of a Cadet whose little brother sabotaged his rucksack. You guys will have to pay attention and read the story, and I'll try to remember to give you the gory details once it's published.
See, I knew I’d drop the ball on blogging eventually. This week, to say the least, was crazy busy. I spent two full days back to back at the indoor pool desperately trying to snap the perfect shot for the two stories I was covering in there. I even pulled another photog in for assistance and it became a little competition, which he won.
I ordered a new lens, to have it in my possession for the full first day of Charlie’s arrival (didn’t use it) and had to return it do to needing the funds for my 200 zoom’s replacement as it has decided it can no longer reach past 70. (For those of you who don’t speak Camera, this is vair bad.) I managed to find a sweet deal on an upgrade from the original 55-200 4-5.6 to a 70-300 4-5.6 for only about $60 more than simply replacing the previous one would have been, so I have something to be happy about today.
As for the past couple of days, I’ve spent it circling rooms seeking out new angles and different bored faces as the Charlie Copperheads went through lines upon lines upon lines of loooooong boring in-processing. The most emotion I saw was on the faces of the Drill Sergeants, who get free rein during the first three days to be as mean as they please. I’ve made fast friends with most of the Cadre. A few shuffle over to me as soon as I arrive at an event, asking if I have anything good of them yet. There are two who glare poison-tipped daggers at me every time I walk past, but that’s just part of the job.
I’m afraid this blog isn’t even close to reflecting how excited I am to finally have my company here, but I’m so exhausted, and today was just a horribly dull, disastrous, stretch of a Sunday. I’m longing to get to sleep, and wake up nice and early for the Educator’s visit (bleck) and finally my Cadets’ first day in the field.
"Hydrate Freddy!" I won't ruin the story, as it will be posted on the LTC website next week, but I got a couple shots of a Cadet whose little brother sabotaged his rucksack. You guys will have to pay attention and read the story, and I'll try to remember to give you the gory details once it's published.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Days 13-14: "True or False: Are you presently wrapped in a tamale?" - Caitlin -
Day 13-14: “True or False: Are you presently wrapped in a tamale?” - Caitlin
Friday was in-processing for Bravo Company, covered by writer Tom, photog Dorothy, and vid Desirae. The latter of the two were bombarded upon exiting the bus with the cadets Friday morning on their roadtrip back from the airport by overzealous Drill Sergeants, screaming in their faces to do something or other cadet-y. They said they were so scared they didn’t know what to do, and it makes me wonder how I would react in the same situation. I wonder if I’ll find out…
Not a lot to chat about today, fun little cookout with the PAOs on Saturday evening, after a full day of procrastinating doing my free lance work via cleaning and gymming - a productive day nonetheless. We wondered around wal-mart before reporting to the man-made lake overpopulated with geese and underpopulated with grills for dinner. LT Nicholson, whom we are not supposed to call “LT” but we do anyway, kept teasingly muttering to his fellow LT about how unorganized civilians are. “They don’t plan, they just execute.” I thought about telling him how many miles of military guys I know who can’t plan worth a piss, but instead I decided to seek out charcoal (which I failed to find). We joked around, hanging out while we waited for the LTs to cook our food (they think they outrank us - oh silly boys). Afterward, we took two hours to venture the forty minute drive to Louisville, wandering about aimlessly (there’s that execution thing again), looking for places that would allow 18+ in while the rest of us could still drink. We finally settled on an abandoned Italian bistro, where Nicholson convinced the staff to play Master P and we pushed the tables aside to frolic around to “Two Step” - both the “hip hop” version and the country. It was a fun night, and I’m looking forward to going back with them again.
Here’s a few extra shots that didn’t make publication from TDC and the DS story. Actually, I’m throwing in a few that got in too. Why? Because I can, dammit.
Friday was in-processing for Bravo Company, covered by writer Tom, photog Dorothy, and vid Desirae. The latter of the two were bombarded upon exiting the bus with the cadets Friday morning on their roadtrip back from the airport by overzealous Drill Sergeants, screaming in their faces to do something or other cadet-y. They said they were so scared they didn’t know what to do, and it makes me wonder how I would react in the same situation. I wonder if I’ll find out…
Not a lot to chat about today, fun little cookout with the PAOs on Saturday evening, after a full day of procrastinating doing my free lance work via cleaning and gymming - a productive day nonetheless. We wondered around wal-mart before reporting to the man-made lake overpopulated with geese and underpopulated with grills for dinner. LT Nicholson, whom we are not supposed to call “LT” but we do anyway, kept teasingly muttering to his fellow LT about how unorganized civilians are. “They don’t plan, they just execute.” I thought about telling him how many miles of military guys I know who can’t plan worth a piss, but instead I decided to seek out charcoal (which I failed to find). We joked around, hanging out while we waited for the LTs to cook our food (they think they outrank us - oh silly boys). Afterward, we took two hours to venture the forty minute drive to Louisville, wandering about aimlessly (there’s that execution thing again), looking for places that would allow 18+ in while the rest of us could still drink. We finally settled on an abandoned Italian bistro, where Nicholson convinced the staff to play Master P and we pushed the tables aside to frolic around to “Two Step” - both the “hip hop” version and the country. It was a fun night, and I’m looking forward to going back with them again.
Here’s a few extra shots that didn’t make publication from TDC and the DS story. Actually, I’m throwing in a few that got in too. Why? Because I can, dammit.
Day 12: "But I WANT to look mean and scary!" - DS Salinas -
Day 12: “I WANT to look mean and scary!” - DS Salinas
*My unit - Charlie Company - arrives in one week!*
I wish I could find a source online that doesn’t drain the quality of my pictures. They look excellent on my screen, better on Steve’s, and then on Flickr and Facebook it looks like shit… Anywho. I got a lot of great shots at TDC today, our second day in the field. Alpha Cadre (the company’s leaders, who are all officially army soldiers) have learned to recognize most of the PAO’s, particularly the writers and photographers. They pick and tease us constantly, poking fun that PAOs never do anything, they have the best job, the easiest job, etc. I can’t imagine how Bobby’s days have been going, but I’ve barely gotten a second to breathe. Today is the third day in a row I thought I might get off work early and now I’m squeezing in a quick type/dinner break before another assignment. The hours stretch out across the whole day. Steve was right - some days I work 9-5, others I’m up at 4 and working until 2100 - 9pm. I must admit though, sometimes, I make the work for myself.
The story I was covering today, for example, didn’t require my writer, Sara, and I to stick around for the entire event. Grab some quotes, get an idea of what it is, snap a couple shots, leave, deadline finished by lunch. Instead, we both elected to stay and watch the Cadets heave and ho their way through the obstacle course, directing and appointing and delegating - and epicly failing - at every portion of the course. We enjoyed it, seeing the Cadets struggle and fall off the balancing beams, barking inappropriate instructions to one another. (The article, by the way, should be running at the website tonight - check it out http://leadertrainingcourse.com/)
This afternoon and evening, as well, I probably could have kicked back and relaxed. Alas, I elected to accompany a Drill Sergeant that is helping Sara and I with a story to his evening formation to chow. And was invited back to witness (and shoot) smoking his Cadets in the barracks tonight before downtime. This kind of access and coverage would NOT be extended to civilians anywhere else. I guess it’s because this isn’t real OCS or BCT (Officer Candidacy School, or Basic Combat Training - both the first training steps toward being an officer or enlisted in the Army), but who cares? I get to be in the barracks while Drill Sergeants scream their heads off at crying cadets. That’s a good day.
*My unit - Charlie Company - arrives in one week!*
I wish I could find a source online that doesn’t drain the quality of my pictures. They look excellent on my screen, better on Steve’s, and then on Flickr and Facebook it looks like shit… Anywho. I got a lot of great shots at TDC today, our second day in the field. Alpha Cadre (the company’s leaders, who are all officially army soldiers) have learned to recognize most of the PAO’s, particularly the writers and photographers. They pick and tease us constantly, poking fun that PAOs never do anything, they have the best job, the easiest job, etc. I can’t imagine how Bobby’s days have been going, but I’ve barely gotten a second to breathe. Today is the third day in a row I thought I might get off work early and now I’m squeezing in a quick type/dinner break before another assignment. The hours stretch out across the whole day. Steve was right - some days I work 9-5, others I’m up at 4 and working until 2100 - 9pm. I must admit though, sometimes, I make the work for myself.
The story I was covering today, for example, didn’t require my writer, Sara, and I to stick around for the entire event. Grab some quotes, get an idea of what it is, snap a couple shots, leave, deadline finished by lunch. Instead, we both elected to stay and watch the Cadets heave and ho their way through the obstacle course, directing and appointing and delegating - and epicly failing - at every portion of the course. We enjoyed it, seeing the Cadets struggle and fall off the balancing beams, barking inappropriate instructions to one another. (The article, by the way, should be running at the website tonight - check it out http://leadertrainingcourse.com/)
This afternoon and evening, as well, I probably could have kicked back and relaxed. Alas, I elected to accompany a Drill Sergeant that is helping Sara and I with a story to his evening formation to chow. And was invited back to witness (and shoot) smoking his Cadets in the barracks tonight before downtime. This kind of access and coverage would NOT be extended to civilians anywhere else. I guess it’s because this isn’t real OCS or BCT (Officer Candidacy School, or Basic Combat Training - both the first training steps toward being an officer or enlisted in the Army), but who cares? I get to be in the barracks while Drill Sergeants scream their heads off at crying cadets. That’s a good day.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Day 8-9: Let Them Eat Cake!
Back to the grind of going to bed at 11 and waking up at 3am. Though I did sleep in one day this week - all the way to 6:45! It’s strange, but I’m still not that tired. My brain is functioning a stop or two below normal, but my body isn’t going to be admitted for scientific research on the topic of the undead anytime soon. Well. Maybe once my unit arrives, but it’ll be worth it then.
Is this a photography class?
This week has been a bit of a blur so far, with only one of the photog interns on the highway of stress, covering the sole unit currently operating at LTC. The rest of us float around with cameras in hand, overlapping and pinching each other’s elbows in the tiny corners of cake-cutting rooms packed with Alpha Company Cadets like sardines. Granted, all four of us were on various assignments, tagged by three writers and a videographer (he was bored). Eight of the eleven PAO interns, all celebrating the 236th birthday of the Army with a slew of glaring Drill Sergeants and grinning Cadre, all stylishly sporting the various hues of nylon-blended t-shirts graciously gifted by the PAO office, the photogs clunking around in our squeaky stiff combat boots, two Nikons and two Canons casually swinging at our respective sides, the writers hunkered over their notepads, scribbling down quotes here and there. We’re all dying for the pace to pick up in the sense of action shots and quippy beats, and continuously being reminded that we should enjoy this time while it lasts.
Personally, if I’m going to mosey around like a target of Woody Harrelson’s, waking at o’ dark thirty, my downtime piled with freelance work, I’d rather be spending my long hours shlepping around in mud, climbing through rope ladders, getting a good angle in the sparkling sun of a crying cadet rather than impatiently scanning the crowds for a name tag that doesn’t exist with my belligerently underexposed 200, stuffed in the corner of the barrack’s company room, waiting for the CO to finish his inspiring pep talk so I can get a mug shot of a smiley cadet. I still love it - this is exactly where I want to be, surrounded by uniforms and the bright, shining, angry faces of Drill Sergeants who hate us on sight. I can’t say I much enjoy the tinkling bells of my alarm at 3am, or the rope burn the shoelaces of the combat boots leave on my fingers as I lace up every morning, but I do enjoy listening to a DS hardass explain the meaning of leadership, influence, fatherhood, and fondly recount a story of how they delicately shove a cadet or private’s face into a situation to teach them a hard-earned lesson, with a tone of godly authority, and the tug of an affectionate smile at the corner of their mouths.
I can’t wait to meet and get to know my own cadets, to become a subconscious part of the unit, sweeping along the outer links of a formation like a second thought. With my bank account a little loftier, and a new lens on the way, I’m looking forward to early pre-dawn mornings with them, seeing them grow physically and mentally tough, into soldiers of the US Army, independent, focused, passionate citizens of adulthood. And on graduation day, when their families embrace this new stranger, blown away by the pride and strength in their loved one - that’s my favorite part
Is this a photography class?
This week has been a bit of a blur so far, with only one of the photog interns on the highway of stress, covering the sole unit currently operating at LTC. The rest of us float around with cameras in hand, overlapping and pinching each other’s elbows in the tiny corners of cake-cutting rooms packed with Alpha Company Cadets like sardines. Granted, all four of us were on various assignments, tagged by three writers and a videographer (he was bored). Eight of the eleven PAO interns, all celebrating the 236th birthday of the Army with a slew of glaring Drill Sergeants and grinning Cadre, all stylishly sporting the various hues of nylon-blended t-shirts graciously gifted by the PAO office, the photogs clunking around in our squeaky stiff combat boots, two Nikons and two Canons casually swinging at our respective sides, the writers hunkered over their notepads, scribbling down quotes here and there. We’re all dying for the pace to pick up in the sense of action shots and quippy beats, and continuously being reminded that we should enjoy this time while it lasts.
Personally, if I’m going to mosey around like a target of Woody Harrelson’s, waking at o’ dark thirty, my downtime piled with freelance work, I’d rather be spending my long hours shlepping around in mud, climbing through rope ladders, getting a good angle in the sparkling sun of a crying cadet rather than impatiently scanning the crowds for a name tag that doesn’t exist with my belligerently underexposed 200, stuffed in the corner of the barrack’s company room, waiting for the CO to finish his inspiring pep talk so I can get a mug shot of a smiley cadet. I still love it - this is exactly where I want to be, surrounded by uniforms and the bright, shining, angry faces of Drill Sergeants who hate us on sight. I can’t say I much enjoy the tinkling bells of my alarm at 3am, or the rope burn the shoelaces of the combat boots leave on my fingers as I lace up every morning, but I do enjoy listening to a DS hardass explain the meaning of leadership, influence, fatherhood, and fondly recount a story of how they delicately shove a cadet or private’s face into a situation to teach them a hard-earned lesson, with a tone of godly authority, and the tug of an affectionate smile at the corner of their mouths.
I can’t wait to meet and get to know my own cadets, to become a subconscious part of the unit, sweeping along the outer links of a formation like a second thought. With my bank account a little loftier, and a new lens on the way, I’m looking forward to early pre-dawn mornings with them, seeing them grow physically and mentally tough, into soldiers of the US Army, independent, focused, passionate citizens of adulthood. And on graduation day, when their families embrace this new stranger, blown away by the pride and strength in their loved one - that’s my favorite part
 |
| Waiting to go to the barracks for an assignment, playing with the AF-settings. |
Monday, June 13, 2011
Weekend 1: There's a tree in my face!
Steve (the boss): Heather, do you need any days free?
Me: Nope, I'm good, sir.
Steve: Well, that makes things easy... I'd go ahead and take as much time off as you can now. You're going to need it later.
*****
Friday was my first assignment. Steve asked for 10-15 images from both me and my co-intern, Dorothy to cover the Change of Responsibility/ Retirement Ceremony for the Cadet Command head-honchos. The vivacious and beloved Command Sergeant Major Green stepped aside and retired his Army career to make way for the new equally personable Sergeant Major Thompson in the sticky-hot newly furnished auditorium on base. A video commemorating the life and career of CSM Green was played for his family and friends, while he watched, fighting tears.
When I walked into the PAO office to upload, tone, and turn in my photos for the deadline covering the event, SGM had already rushed up the office to begin his duties. He caught me outside the building, yelling "PAO! PAO! PAO!" I had been flipping through the settings on my camera, frustrated with some of the exposure-struggles I'd had during the event, and was startled by SGM Thompson's call. I looked around me, trying to find who he was yelling for, and had a bit of a "dar-huc" moment when I realized he was addressing me. He asked me to take a quick shot of him in front of the shiny new nameplate on the sign out front, so, still stuck on the White Balance settings I'd in the fluorescent lighting from the auditorium, I caught the grinning SGM in an anything but Kodak, off-color shot. Bada-boom, Bada-bing, I'm suddenly friends with the Command of 1st Battalion. This morning, as I marched, bored, from the office, he caught me on the stairs, asked how my day was going and if Steve was keeping me busy enough.
Well, if nothing else, at least I can say that, for some strange reason, high-ranking soldiers like me. Cue bad jokes with Adjutant General Livingston back home.
Anywho, here's a few of the shots I took. When they uploaded to Flickr, they look really washed out, so I'm working on finding the right balance to eliminate that.
The weekend began shortly after I dropped my harddrive onto Steve's desk for feedback and upload. "That's good," he said, and I was released for my first weekend in Kentucky. The interns and I mosied - yes mosied - our way over to the base bowling alley for some intern-bonding. I didn't lose. I tied for last place. So HA! The next morning I teamed up with fellow interns Becka (PR and Social Media) and Noelle (writer) for a day discovering Louisville. We spent a few hours wandering (quite literally - we were SO lost) around Churchill Downs looking for a cafe that ended up being abandoned, over-priced, and completely not worth it. Noelle and Becka had a Mint Julep (with an entire sprig of mint sticking out of the cup) and we instead dined at the equally over-priced dining area outside of general admission. Churchill Downs - for those who don't know, much like myself - is the location for the Kentucky Derby - the biggest horse race of the year, every May. After a couple races, I then discovered the wonderful world of Meijer (pronounced "my-er"). It's like Wal-mart, but - get this - it's BETTER. The set-up is pretty much the same, but the place is bigger, with a hell of a lot more variety. Noelle got some kind of strange spiky fruit I'm sure Wal-mart wouldn't carry in a million years, and they had four kinds of patterned duct tape (including zebra-stripe). As well as a myriad of happy rainbow-y colors otherwise. I couldn't tell you how many people I know that would get the giggly-shits from that isle alone (I might have reason to re-think my social unit from that statement...) Top that off with a delicious shephard's pie dinner in the glass-topped outdoor minimall in downtown Louisville (random Lonestar concert included free of charge), and I'm thinking "Well. Kentucky isn't so bad...."
Me: Nope, I'm good, sir.
Steve: Well, that makes things easy... I'd go ahead and take as much time off as you can now. You're going to need it later.
*****
Friday was my first assignment. Steve asked for 10-15 images from both me and my co-intern, Dorothy to cover the Change of Responsibility/ Retirement Ceremony for the Cadet Command head-honchos. The vivacious and beloved Command Sergeant Major Green stepped aside and retired his Army career to make way for the new equally personable Sergeant Major Thompson in the sticky-hot newly furnished auditorium on base. A video commemorating the life and career of CSM Green was played for his family and friends, while he watched, fighting tears.
When I walked into the PAO office to upload, tone, and turn in my photos for the deadline covering the event, SGM had already rushed up the office to begin his duties. He caught me outside the building, yelling "PAO! PAO! PAO!" I had been flipping through the settings on my camera, frustrated with some of the exposure-struggles I'd had during the event, and was startled by SGM Thompson's call. I looked around me, trying to find who he was yelling for, and had a bit of a "dar-huc" moment when I realized he was addressing me. He asked me to take a quick shot of him in front of the shiny new nameplate on the sign out front, so, still stuck on the White Balance settings I'd in the fluorescent lighting from the auditorium, I caught the grinning SGM in an anything but Kodak, off-color shot. Bada-boom, Bada-bing, I'm suddenly friends with the Command of 1st Battalion. This morning, as I marched, bored, from the office, he caught me on the stairs, asked how my day was going and if Steve was keeping me busy enough.
Well, if nothing else, at least I can say that, for some strange reason, high-ranking soldiers like me. Cue bad jokes with Adjutant General Livingston back home.
Anywho, here's a few of the shots I took. When they uploaded to Flickr, they look really washed out, so I'm working on finding the right balance to eliminate that.
The weekend began shortly after I dropped my harddrive onto Steve's desk for feedback and upload. "That's good," he said, and I was released for my first weekend in Kentucky. The interns and I mosied - yes mosied - our way over to the base bowling alley for some intern-bonding. I didn't lose. I tied for last place. So HA! The next morning I teamed up with fellow interns Becka (PR and Social Media) and Noelle (writer) for a day discovering Louisville. We spent a few hours wandering (quite literally - we were SO lost) around Churchill Downs looking for a cafe that ended up being abandoned, over-priced, and completely not worth it. Noelle and Becka had a Mint Julep (with an entire sprig of mint sticking out of the cup) and we instead dined at the equally over-priced dining area outside of general admission. Churchill Downs - for those who don't know, much like myself - is the location for the Kentucky Derby - the biggest horse race of the year, every May. After a couple races, I then discovered the wonderful world of Meijer (pronounced "my-er"). It's like Wal-mart, but - get this - it's BETTER. The set-up is pretty much the same, but the place is bigger, with a hell of a lot more variety. Noelle got some kind of strange spiky fruit I'm sure Wal-mart wouldn't carry in a million years, and they had four kinds of patterned duct tape (including zebra-stripe). As well as a myriad of happy rainbow-y colors otherwise. I couldn't tell you how many people I know that would get the giggly-shits from that isle alone (I might have reason to re-think my social unit from that statement...) Top that off with a delicious shephard's pie dinner in the glass-topped outdoor minimall in downtown Louisville (random Lonestar concert included free of charge), and I'm thinking "Well. Kentucky isn't so bad...."
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Day 4: Combat Boots? Hooah.
No matter how early I go to bed, I’m still tired by 11AM the next morning. And as the days go by chatting with my fellow interns, I discover I have more and more to toss and turn about.
I’m a young photographer, and not just in the sense of “Hey there youngin’ turn down your music!” but also in the sense that I’ve only been shooting for about two years. I came in clueless, and I’ve slowly been taking a little here and there to build my knowledge. I have one SLR- a starter Nikon, three lenses, one strobe flash, and one filter. Now, I’ll grant that I have more experience in Military Media than anyone else here. Today the newsroom was populated by a couple writers a little nervous about interviewing a cadre whose fiance was killed in Iraq last year. I probably would have strangled someone for the chance at that story. So I guess perhaps that’s why I’m on staff here. I speak civilian, primarily, but I can, sometimes, translate the military jargon into the stupid simple. But I am getting more and more nervous about my skills behind the camera.
At USC, VisCom is kind of an umbrella of sorts. A company would hire me if they want someone on hand as a jack of all trades. I can do graphic design, animation, layout design, video editing, multimedia projects, photography, informational graphics, and I can even do a little reporting and copy-writing. Western Kentucky University, however, offers every photography class imaginable to their photog students. Lighting, multimedia, photo story (which, evidently, is different from photo essays), and god knows what else. One of their classmates has graduated to become the photo editor at the New York Daily News. They speak in K-balance versus white balance, 30D vs D500, Manual vs Program, those two strobes vs these three pocket flashes. I don’t have all of this crap. I’m not even sure what a pocket flash IS. I've taken three photography classes, grand total. Most of what I know has been self-taught.
I feel about three inches tall right now. I feel like I don't know squat about cameras.
I do know that standing directly behind a drill sergeant is how you get the best access to a good shot on a recruit. I also know that military, on the job, want to be treated somewhere between a regular person and a highly-efficient machine. I know to expect to be hated, and to respect the officers and NCOs despite being treated like shit. Don’t act like a civilian and ask dumb questions, but don’t act like you’re high and mighty military either. You will stick out like a sore thumb, people will stare at you, and no one is really going to want to help you that much. These things I know. I’ve learned how to work with them and how to bond with military to gain their very slow and hesitant respect. And I have no idea if any of that will help when it comes time to publish galleries.
BUT I have been issued my combat boots and I’ve got socks to the knees on my Wal-mart list. I’m here to network, expand my portfolio, and spend some time with the type of people I love - focused, passionate, loyal. I'm here to learn about photography, my limits, and as much about the military life that I can. And learn I shall. Though I can’t say that I’m going to invest time in absorbing how to sit there and take thirty shots setting the perfect K balance. I’ve never had the patience for it, and I doubt I ever will. This is why I only plan on photographing until I decide to settle down, then I’ll go back into graphic design. I am not a studio photographer, nor a fashion photographer, nor am I a commercial photographer. I’m a journalist, dammit.
I’m a young photographer, and not just in the sense of “Hey there youngin’ turn down your music!” but also in the sense that I’ve only been shooting for about two years. I came in clueless, and I’ve slowly been taking a little here and there to build my knowledge. I have one SLR- a starter Nikon, three lenses, one strobe flash, and one filter. Now, I’ll grant that I have more experience in Military Media than anyone else here. Today the newsroom was populated by a couple writers a little nervous about interviewing a cadre whose fiance was killed in Iraq last year. I probably would have strangled someone for the chance at that story. So I guess perhaps that’s why I’m on staff here. I speak civilian, primarily, but I can, sometimes, translate the military jargon into the stupid simple. But I am getting more and more nervous about my skills behind the camera.
At USC, VisCom is kind of an umbrella of sorts. A company would hire me if they want someone on hand as a jack of all trades. I can do graphic design, animation, layout design, video editing, multimedia projects, photography, informational graphics, and I can even do a little reporting and copy-writing. Western Kentucky University, however, offers every photography class imaginable to their photog students. Lighting, multimedia, photo story (which, evidently, is different from photo essays), and god knows what else. One of their classmates has graduated to become the photo editor at the New York Daily News. They speak in K-balance versus white balance, 30D vs D500, Manual vs Program, those two strobes vs these three pocket flashes. I don’t have all of this crap. I’m not even sure what a pocket flash IS. I've taken three photography classes, grand total. Most of what I know has been self-taught.
I feel about three inches tall right now. I feel like I don't know squat about cameras.
I do know that standing directly behind a drill sergeant is how you get the best access to a good shot on a recruit. I also know that military, on the job, want to be treated somewhere between a regular person and a highly-efficient machine. I know to expect to be hated, and to respect the officers and NCOs despite being treated like shit. Don’t act like a civilian and ask dumb questions, but don’t act like you’re high and mighty military either. You will stick out like a sore thumb, people will stare at you, and no one is really going to want to help you that much. These things I know. I’ve learned how to work with them and how to bond with military to gain their very slow and hesitant respect. And I have no idea if any of that will help when it comes time to publish galleries.
BUT I have been issued my combat boots and I’ve got socks to the knees on my Wal-mart list. I’m here to network, expand my portfolio, and spend some time with the type of people I love - focused, passionate, loyal. I'm here to learn about photography, my limits, and as much about the military life that I can. And learn I shall. Though I can’t say that I’m going to invest time in absorbing how to sit there and take thirty shots setting the perfect K balance. I’ve never had the patience for it, and I doubt I ever will. This is why I only plan on photographing until I decide to settle down, then I’ll go back into graphic design. I am not a studio photographer, nor a fashion photographer, nor am I a commercial photographer. I’m a journalist, dammit.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
The Short and The Long of it
It’s long so I’ve headlined it with what might interest you to skim so you don’t have to read the whole thing. I’m considerate. But seriously, I’m not kidding. Aside from my parents, I will not e-mail you or call you individually to tell you anything. I got shit to do.
9:45pm Monday June 6, 2011
The Trip: The short - It was good, then it wasn’t.
The long - I have no energy to battle with the hotel clerk on what the 26 digits of numbers and letters she handed me sharpied onto printer paper means to work out wi-fi. I’m only here at the Wickham Inn for one night, the lone soldier from the Knox PA Interns widdled out of the crowd to be set up in the suite-style hotel until the “complications” at the Inn across the street from the PA office get sorted out (they cancelled my reservation. The one intern who is furthest away). After 10.5 hours in the car, thirty minutes sighing at security at the gate to get a temporary pass, and a loooooooooooong wait to work out the hotel reservations, I really do not care. I have a bed, a pillow, and half of a cable channel. With my alarm set to wake up for a morning work-out (maybe) and meeting the other interns before our full day of death-by-power point (our director’s words, not mine), I’m blogging about today and I’m going into hibernation.
I embarked on my voyage at 6am, having woken confused and disoriented to the twinkly alarm on the new phone at 3:30am. I shuffled around in the tiny daybed I grew up in, frustrated and trying to remember why the hell I wanted to be up so early. Oh yea. That whole have a career thing. Whose idea was that, anyway? Thus, after breakfast, packing several snacks, trying desperately to get my brain to remember the millions of numbers spewing out of my father’s mouth as he attempted (in vain) to teach me how to get to 26 from Simpsonville, I flipped to the GPS app on the new phone and took a deep breath, hugged the parental units, and rumbled down the road in the light rays of dawn.
The first six hours weren’t that bad. Perused through a few local talk shows, day dreamed, tagged along in a family caravan for a spell, counted 38 sightings of roadkill, 28 busted tires, and four trucks I wasn’t sure were going to make it home. Once I rolled around the south side of Louisville at the slightly tardy time of 1:50pm (thenceforth known as 13:50), I started to get excited. I had yet to get lost, with my trusty three different versions of maps, and my automated voice-over GPS-Android plugged into the battery. Easy peasy lemon-squeazy. Oh contraire. This is Fort Knox, dammit! Not only do they lack signs here, but the GPS will PURPOSEFULLY steer you wrong. Understandably so, yes, but there is only ONE road that feeds into Fort Knox. Three gates, sure. But all of them are on one road. And only one of those gates is for civilians.
Arrival: The short - Security on base is kinda like electrocuting yourself while sucking on a jolly rancher.
The long - Long story short, the following four and a half hours were not a happy time for Heather. The first I spent aching to just get here already and the subsequent three I spent circling - yes CIRCLING - the Army base known as Ft Knox. Maybe if I take 60 this way - nope that didn’t work. How bout back North. Crap there’s 65 again. What if I get back on… no that’ll be backtracking again. Where the hell is 31W? … Wait I’ve definitely seen that creepy half-standing gas station before… Aaaand then another half hour waiting in line for a temporary two-month vehicle pass. Which I didn’t get. Why? Because my boss faxed me the order. Yea. Apparently that means it’s as good as fake. And my car is in my dad’s name. So evidently I stole it (Where'd you get the bike?). It took every bless-your-heart ounce of patience I had left not to rip up my papers and say “FINE I GIVE UP!” in the face of the security clerk as he looked at me straight in the eye and asked me what color my hair is. While he held my driver’s license in his palm. REALLY?
I took several deep breaths and told myself I better get used to the bull crap if I want to do this for a living. I wasn’t late for the meeting. My target arrival of 2pm with three hours to unpack, clean-up and do research, widdled down to running into the meeting at 4:58pm, to find my reservation had been cancelled, and the newspaper no longer exists, and some number of the potential interns dropped out. I felt like the base of Knox was whispering ever so eloquently - "Gotcha, bitch!"
The Staff: The short - I like them.
The long - On a happier note, I am one of two true southerners in this crew - only one comrade of the confederacy. And he’s not really southern, either, I can tell he’s a military brat. His demeanor just screams it. Plus he has a military id. A handful of the crew are like me - newbies, but probably roughly half are not only from Kentucky, but they’ve already been here for two weeks. Luckily none of them are photographers, so my competition isn’t so completely unraveled. I am one of four photographers. There are three strictly writing reporters, one reporter slash social media slash iPad 2 expert, one social media PR intern (poor soul), and four videographers, one of whom is doubling as our copy-editor (weird). Our work will be published solely in the online newspaper and photo gallery. If we do a good job, Steve (our director) might push our work to the Turret, the base newspaper, or the Cadet, the national ROTC magazine. The Leader ROTC Newspaper print version, however, fell victim to budget cuts and re-organization of employment.
When we first arrived, our meeting to hash out dumb details (like a place to sleep, for example), was dispersed with some of the PAOs poking fun and getting to know us. One riled up the reporters, saying they had it rough while we of the visual variety were on a cake walk. For a spell, I was concerned his teasing wasn’t really teasing. I came here for a reason - to build my career, to network, to expand my portfolio, and to grow as a person. I thought it out and started to build a back-up - “I still plan to accomplish these tasks, whether it be through finding challenges for myself, or by annoying the hell out of my PAOs. Knowing me, it’ll be both…”
Cue today’s actual blog…
5:52pm Tuesday June 7 2011
All Squared Away for a Relaxing Summer… Kinda: The short - Not really. Thank God.
The long - First real day on the job. Supposedly. It was just training today. The Cadets (the ROTC trainees) haven’t arrived yet, though there are Cadre (the trainers) taking over my hotel reservations everywhere you look. It’s all ok now, I’m set up in my permanent residence for my stay here. Its one room, minifridge, microwave, wifi, and half of a stove (I didn’t know they existed either, but that’s saving me some serious dough - I can smell it!). Not too shabby. I got a guy to help me move in by letting him borrow my wrench to fix a flat tire. It was a little awkward, I was just striking up conversation and I guess he ended up thinking I was hitting on him (ummmmm no). Ok, sir, give me my wrench back, you just made things weird. Just brings up that thought that frequently crosses my mind - people need to learn how to be friends with the opposite sex. And learn that flirting does not consist of "Hey can I have my wrench back?" Grow up.
Anywho. The point is that I’m where I’m supposed to be. And now I am enjoying what will be a rare commodity - an evening of TV and free lance work. The LTC (Leadership Training Course) Cadets will arrive on Sunday, which will be my first day of shooting. The impression we were given of weekends off is false. With so few of us, we will be working any of the seven days a week. Very likely all of them. The only guaranteed day off is July 4th, if there’s no graduations that day. It all depends (a military term they leave out of the books, I’m learning) on the training schedule, the cadre, the weather, and whether or not you brushed your teeth this morning. My hours could be anywhere from a regular 9-5 (unlikely for photographers) to the more frequented 5am-7pm or later. I will be in the field 80% of the time, in my room editing photos 15% of the time, and the remaining 5% in the office waiting on a writer or wrapped up in budget meetings. I will be on the wall during repelling, in the water during boat training, in the woods covered in mud during obstacles and team-building, on the tarmac during PT, and in the barracks during reaming. This is quite literally an all-access pass. I can be as close as I want, where I want, when I want, as long as I don’t sustain an injury. Then it’s on me. Hooah. I will be assigned to one company, and I will follow those 200 men and women through to the end of July, publishing an average of 40 photos a day to the online gallery, with a couple being donated by my good graces (and an Army paycheck) to the online publication.
The Program: Boring Stuff for People who REALLY Care. IE: My dad. Who will read it so there is no short.
LTC isn’t your general ROTC course. It’s for late starters and early risers. Those who joined ROTC behind the times get a crash course in the first two years of Military Science (the classes ROTC have to take at University for credit) that they missed. That’s why they’re training 15 hours a day 7 days a week. These guys haven’t signed any contracts yet, they’re just getting a feel for it before they lay their life on the dotted line. The others are in Junior College, getting a head start on ROTC programs while their academic career catches up to move on to a four year school. Those guys will come out as 2nd Lieutenants, one step ahead in the game of scissors, paper, rank (can’t take credit for that one, heard it from a USMC PAO). It used to be bigger, with about 1,800 cadets at one time. With budget cuts this year, they’ve only brought 800 here, and shoveled others to bases overseas (no idea how that’s cheaper).
Now The Leader has been in function for almost as long as the program, which started in 1965. It used to be mailed out to Cadets' families as well as potential Cadets, to give them an idea of what goes on here. Now, the website is crawling with parents and recruits. And, I’ll be happy to tell you, the biggest hits are on the photo galleries. Over 3.5 million hits on the galleries last year. Granted, most were probably family revisiting in the hopes of seeing the sweaty, muddy, dirty, joyous face of their young hero, but it means my stuff will be seen, which isn’t something I could really say before. Love you guys, but I know most of you don’t give a crap about flipping through my photos on Facebook. It’s ok, I forgive you. I might still cut you a discount when I’m … well, better known…
The Rest of My First Week: It is short, quit being lazy.
Wednesday: more Powerpoint torture, and a tour of the base
Thursday: budget meeting
Friday: Photogs/Vids meeting
Saturday: off
Sunday: Louisville to shoot In-Processing.
And then the J-School said, "Go forth and Free Lance!"
9:45pm Monday June 6, 2011
The Trip: The short - It was good, then it wasn’t.
The long - I have no energy to battle with the hotel clerk on what the 26 digits of numbers and letters she handed me sharpied onto printer paper means to work out wi-fi. I’m only here at the Wickham Inn for one night, the lone soldier from the Knox PA Interns widdled out of the crowd to be set up in the suite-style hotel until the “complications” at the Inn across the street from the PA office get sorted out (they cancelled my reservation. The one intern who is furthest away). After 10.5 hours in the car, thirty minutes sighing at security at the gate to get a temporary pass, and a loooooooooooong wait to work out the hotel reservations, I really do not care. I have a bed, a pillow, and half of a cable channel. With my alarm set to wake up for a morning work-out (maybe) and meeting the other interns before our full day of death-by-power point (our director’s words, not mine), I’m blogging about today and I’m going into hibernation.
I embarked on my voyage at 6am, having woken confused and disoriented to the twinkly alarm on the new phone at 3:30am. I shuffled around in the tiny daybed I grew up in, frustrated and trying to remember why the hell I wanted to be up so early. Oh yea. That whole have a career thing. Whose idea was that, anyway? Thus, after breakfast, packing several snacks, trying desperately to get my brain to remember the millions of numbers spewing out of my father’s mouth as he attempted (in vain) to teach me how to get to 26 from Simpsonville, I flipped to the GPS app on the new phone and took a deep breath, hugged the parental units, and rumbled down the road in the light rays of dawn.
The first six hours weren’t that bad. Perused through a few local talk shows, day dreamed, tagged along in a family caravan for a spell, counted 38 sightings of roadkill, 28 busted tires, and four trucks I wasn’t sure were going to make it home. Once I rolled around the south side of Louisville at the slightly tardy time of 1:50pm (thenceforth known as 13:50), I started to get excited. I had yet to get lost, with my trusty three different versions of maps, and my automated voice-over GPS-Android plugged into the battery. Easy peasy lemon-squeazy. Oh contraire. This is Fort Knox, dammit! Not only do they lack signs here, but the GPS will PURPOSEFULLY steer you wrong. Understandably so, yes, but there is only ONE road that feeds into Fort Knox. Three gates, sure. But all of them are on one road. And only one of those gates is for civilians.
Arrival: The short - Security on base is kinda like electrocuting yourself while sucking on a jolly rancher.
The long - Long story short, the following four and a half hours were not a happy time for Heather. The first I spent aching to just get here already and the subsequent three I spent circling - yes CIRCLING - the Army base known as Ft Knox. Maybe if I take 60 this way - nope that didn’t work. How bout back North. Crap there’s 65 again. What if I get back on… no that’ll be backtracking again. Where the hell is 31W? … Wait I’ve definitely seen that creepy half-standing gas station before… Aaaand then another half hour waiting in line for a temporary two-month vehicle pass. Which I didn’t get. Why? Because my boss faxed me the order. Yea. Apparently that means it’s as good as fake. And my car is in my dad’s name. So evidently I stole it (Where'd you get the bike?). It took every bless-your-heart ounce of patience I had left not to rip up my papers and say “FINE I GIVE UP!” in the face of the security clerk as he looked at me straight in the eye and asked me what color my hair is. While he held my driver’s license in his palm. REALLY?
I took several deep breaths and told myself I better get used to the bull crap if I want to do this for a living. I wasn’t late for the meeting. My target arrival of 2pm with three hours to unpack, clean-up and do research, widdled down to running into the meeting at 4:58pm, to find my reservation had been cancelled, and the newspaper no longer exists, and some number of the potential interns dropped out. I felt like the base of Knox was whispering ever so eloquently - "Gotcha, bitch!"
The Staff: The short - I like them.
The long - On a happier note, I am one of two true southerners in this crew - only one comrade of the confederacy. And he’s not really southern, either, I can tell he’s a military brat. His demeanor just screams it. Plus he has a military id. A handful of the crew are like me - newbies, but probably roughly half are not only from Kentucky, but they’ve already been here for two weeks. Luckily none of them are photographers, so my competition isn’t so completely unraveled. I am one of four photographers. There are three strictly writing reporters, one reporter slash social media slash iPad 2 expert, one social media PR intern (poor soul), and four videographers, one of whom is doubling as our copy-editor (weird). Our work will be published solely in the online newspaper and photo gallery. If we do a good job, Steve (our director) might push our work to the Turret, the base newspaper, or the Cadet, the national ROTC magazine. The Leader ROTC Newspaper print version, however, fell victim to budget cuts and re-organization of employment.
When we first arrived, our meeting to hash out dumb details (like a place to sleep, for example), was dispersed with some of the PAOs poking fun and getting to know us. One riled up the reporters, saying they had it rough while we of the visual variety were on a cake walk. For a spell, I was concerned his teasing wasn’t really teasing. I came here for a reason - to build my career, to network, to expand my portfolio, and to grow as a person. I thought it out and started to build a back-up - “I still plan to accomplish these tasks, whether it be through finding challenges for myself, or by annoying the hell out of my PAOs. Knowing me, it’ll be both…”
Cue today’s actual blog…
5:52pm Tuesday June 7 2011
All Squared Away for a Relaxing Summer… Kinda: The short - Not really. Thank God.
The long - First real day on the job. Supposedly. It was just training today. The Cadets (the ROTC trainees) haven’t arrived yet, though there are Cadre (the trainers) taking over my hotel reservations everywhere you look. It’s all ok now, I’m set up in my permanent residence for my stay here. Its one room, minifridge, microwave, wifi, and half of a stove (I didn’t know they existed either, but that’s saving me some serious dough - I can smell it!). Not too shabby. I got a guy to help me move in by letting him borrow my wrench to fix a flat tire. It was a little awkward, I was just striking up conversation and I guess he ended up thinking I was hitting on him (ummmmm no). Ok, sir, give me my wrench back, you just made things weird. Just brings up that thought that frequently crosses my mind - people need to learn how to be friends with the opposite sex. And learn that flirting does not consist of "Hey can I have my wrench back?" Grow up.
Anywho. The point is that I’m where I’m supposed to be. And now I am enjoying what will be a rare commodity - an evening of TV and free lance work. The LTC (Leadership Training Course) Cadets will arrive on Sunday, which will be my first day of shooting. The impression we were given of weekends off is false. With so few of us, we will be working any of the seven days a week. Very likely all of them. The only guaranteed day off is July 4th, if there’s no graduations that day. It all depends (a military term they leave out of the books, I’m learning) on the training schedule, the cadre, the weather, and whether or not you brushed your teeth this morning. My hours could be anywhere from a regular 9-5 (unlikely for photographers) to the more frequented 5am-7pm or later. I will be in the field 80% of the time, in my room editing photos 15% of the time, and the remaining 5% in the office waiting on a writer or wrapped up in budget meetings. I will be on the wall during repelling, in the water during boat training, in the woods covered in mud during obstacles and team-building, on the tarmac during PT, and in the barracks during reaming. This is quite literally an all-access pass. I can be as close as I want, where I want, when I want, as long as I don’t sustain an injury. Then it’s on me. Hooah. I will be assigned to one company, and I will follow those 200 men and women through to the end of July, publishing an average of 40 photos a day to the online gallery, with a couple being donated by my good graces (and an Army paycheck) to the online publication.
The Program: Boring Stuff for People who REALLY Care. IE: My dad. Who will read it so there is no short.
LTC isn’t your general ROTC course. It’s for late starters and early risers. Those who joined ROTC behind the times get a crash course in the first two years of Military Science (the classes ROTC have to take at University for credit) that they missed. That’s why they’re training 15 hours a day 7 days a week. These guys haven’t signed any contracts yet, they’re just getting a feel for it before they lay their life on the dotted line. The others are in Junior College, getting a head start on ROTC programs while their academic career catches up to move on to a four year school. Those guys will come out as 2nd Lieutenants, one step ahead in the game of scissors, paper, rank (can’t take credit for that one, heard it from a USMC PAO). It used to be bigger, with about 1,800 cadets at one time. With budget cuts this year, they’ve only brought 800 here, and shoveled others to bases overseas (no idea how that’s cheaper).
Now The Leader has been in function for almost as long as the program, which started in 1965. It used to be mailed out to Cadets' families as well as potential Cadets, to give them an idea of what goes on here. Now, the website is crawling with parents and recruits. And, I’ll be happy to tell you, the biggest hits are on the photo galleries. Over 3.5 million hits on the galleries last year. Granted, most were probably family revisiting in the hopes of seeing the sweaty, muddy, dirty, joyous face of their young hero, but it means my stuff will be seen, which isn’t something I could really say before. Love you guys, but I know most of you don’t give a crap about flipping through my photos on Facebook. It’s ok, I forgive you. I might still cut you a discount when I’m … well, better known…
The Rest of My First Week: It is short, quit being lazy.
Wednesday: more Powerpoint torture, and a tour of the base
Thursday: budget meeting
Friday: Photogs/Vids meeting
Saturday: off
Sunday: Louisville to shoot In-Processing.
And then the J-School said, "Go forth and Free Lance!"
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Chapter Close - Cya Cola
I'm not always like this...
I am officially no longer a resident at Riverside, once known as Riverside Estates, once ridden with worn carpets and white walls, decorated with nylon-fitted furniture that Martha Stewart would have covered within half a breath and one falsified check. I can't even remember what it looked like then, with the TV stand the complex provided below my ten-ton 1990-something television (which was a real bitch to carry down to the car), the red couch, the strange stains, the empty corners... I have strategically packed, unpacked, repacked, overpacked, underpacked, and finally perfected the two boxes, plastic drawers, two suitcases, desk drawers that I'm lugging out the KY and the box of memories, bag of goodwill-bound, and plastic container of textbooks I couldn't sell back into the shiny Aveira, my sole companion on this grand adventure. Just like mom and pop taught me, I used every square inch of her. She awaits downstairs while I procrastinate departure.
I am sitting here watching my roommate of four years, best friend of at least twice that, sweep the wood-looking linoleum and scrub the empty counters, perusing the bare cabinets. I've already packed up all of my worldly possessions to be abandoned in the armpit of SC, tucked away in the condo where a friend is letting me crash this fall while he fights bad guys across the Atlantic. My key is turned in, my rent paid up through July, and the bright blue plastic of my mattress is reflecting in the broken closet door Riverside doesn't seem to care I tore down for a bit of college-age fun. It's dauntingly quiet in here, which I'm sure will be rectified in the next twenty minutes, with three marines barreling through the door, hungry for BBQ, and probably 100% vacant of the fact that today is my get-gone Wednesday.
I'm learning the same thing I learned after high school graduation - I truly suck at good-byes. Among the mile-high cornucopia of crap I've had on my plate the last six months, what has made it worse slash better slash most confusing is the reality that I might not be in Columbia much longer. This will be the first time I've left and ventured out into the world on my own, headed where I know no one. It seems most of my friends dole out a hug and say "see you in a couple months," but reality is sinking in of how very slim the possibility is that I will find and accept a job in Columbia. Virginia, Texas, D.C., New York, one of the million bases in NC, all of these are much more likely. And I'm still eyeing that internship in Europe as well. It's still very exciting, and I can't wait to start seeing the world through my lens, but sometimes I wonder if that same reality is floating around in their heads, or if they really are that convinced that Columbia, SC is in desperate need of a photojournalist who could count her assignments on her fallangies (do toes count as fallangies?). However that's spelled. Either way, I leave for a long weekend with the parents and friends from high school tonight before the nine hour drive to Louisville, KY on Sunday, along with the next chapter of my life.
 |
| My empty closet. |
I am sitting here watching my roommate of four years, best friend of at least twice that, sweep the wood-looking linoleum and scrub the empty counters, perusing the bare cabinets. I've already packed up all of my worldly possessions to be abandoned in the armpit of SC, tucked away in the condo where a friend is letting me crash this fall while he fights bad guys across the Atlantic. My key is turned in, my rent paid up through July, and the bright blue plastic of my mattress is reflecting in the broken closet door Riverside doesn't seem to care I tore down for a bit of college-age fun. It's dauntingly quiet in here, which I'm sure will be rectified in the next twenty minutes, with three marines barreling through the door, hungry for BBQ, and probably 100% vacant of the fact that today is my get-gone Wednesday.
 |
| Sitting on the mattress of my empty room where I lived for two years of my college career. |
 |
| The blinds covering the window that was my link to hear every pin drop that occurred in the stair well of our apartment complex. |
 |
| The backseat of my car. Absolutely NO room for passengers. |
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