And the crowd goes wild!
God loves me.
Probably best.
I'm now a paid reporter at my radio station. That's right, people are now giving me money for reporting the news. Further proof of my unapproachable awesome continues to surface. It's still part-time (amounting to less than 20 hours per week) but I mean come on. I'm not sure these shoes can support so much majesty.
I've taken the liberty of outlining the upcoming steps in this career path.
1. Graduate with journalism degree.
2. Flounder around more mundane areas of employment as the world economy tanks.
3. Get paid to report local news.
4. Cover some relatively-major story that just happens to take place locally, drawing national attention.
5. Use these fifteen minutes of fame to make rounds on interview circuit, then land a job as a major war correspondent's assistant reporter.
6. Rise to fame once again by taking over for my mentor, who has been shot in the right hip, during a major development (engineered by myself and a small band of ragtag dissidents) in a Third World warzone.
7. Become the nation's most recognizable correspondent, whose name is practically synonymous with adventure and getting shot at.
8. Suffer from some major personal trauma, probably the tragic death of a beloved coworker while on the job.
9. Descend into anonymity and, possibly, depression with borderline alcoholism.
10. Perform a miraculous recovery, beginning a career as a feature writer for an adventure travel magazine in Seattle.
11. Use my legendary (nearly mystical) status to get tenure at a major university, where I finish my years as an adored journalism and political science professor. Obtain doctorate/s. Enjoy frequent comparisons to Indiana Jones.
12. Die awesome. Probably to the blade of the last remaining assassin of a squad sent to finally eliminate the threat of my greatness. Said assassin would die in the attempt, like his cohorts, and both of us will be remembered as heroes by our respective peers.
I'll keep this list updated as the weeks go by. A lot can happen in a couple of months.
Probably best.
I'm now a paid reporter at my radio station. That's right, people are now giving me money for reporting the news. Further proof of my unapproachable awesome continues to surface. It's still part-time (amounting to less than 20 hours per week) but I mean come on. I'm not sure these shoes can support so much majesty.
I've taken the liberty of outlining the upcoming steps in this career path.
1. Graduate with journalism degree.
2. Flounder around more mundane areas of employment as the world economy tanks.
3. Get paid to report local news.
4. Cover some relatively-major story that just happens to take place locally, drawing national attention.
5. Use these fifteen minutes of fame to make rounds on interview circuit, then land a job as a major war correspondent's assistant reporter.
6. Rise to fame once again by taking over for my mentor, who has been shot in the right hip, during a major development (engineered by myself and a small band of ragtag dissidents) in a Third World warzone.
7. Become the nation's most recognizable correspondent, whose name is practically synonymous with adventure and getting shot at.
8. Suffer from some major personal trauma, probably the tragic death of a beloved coworker while on the job.
9. Descend into anonymity and, possibly, depression with borderline alcoholism.
10. Perform a miraculous recovery, beginning a career as a feature writer for an adventure travel magazine in Seattle.
11. Use my legendary (nearly mystical) status to get tenure at a major university, where I finish my years as an adored journalism and political science professor. Obtain doctorate/s. Enjoy frequent comparisons to Indiana Jones.
12. Die awesome. Probably to the blade of the last remaining assassin of a squad sent to finally eliminate the threat of my greatness. Said assassin would die in the attempt, like his cohorts, and both of us will be remembered as heroes by our respective peers.
I'll keep this list updated as the weeks go by. A lot can happen in a couple of months.