  Ten years ago this week ( I'm not sure of the actual day,  but I know it was mid- June)  I was discharged from the navy after serving for seven years.  A lot has changed.
 I'm not getting paid to travel to exotic locales anymore,  the government is no longer paying my bills,  and I can technically be fired for not doing my job well.  But other than that,  I think things are a lot better for me now.  I joined the navy in 1987,
 during the latter half of my senior year in high school,  when I was feeling particularly aimless and had no immediate plans to further my education beyond a high school diploma.  On a Saturday afternoon in February,  when my father suggested the service,  I have to admit that I laughed.  He couldn't be serious!
 But he wasn't smiling.  " Oh,  you really want me to do this?  I asked him ( although probably to myself)
 I have to admit,  the idea sounded interesting to me.  I honestly didn't feel any need to " serve my country"  and I was already a confirmed liberal and not interested in " killing commies.
 But in a rush of " here goes nothing"  nihilism,  I said sure.  There were a few conditions.  First of all,
 I was determined to enjoy my last summer of freedom first,  and wouldn't actually go to boot camp until at least mid- August.  Second,  I would choose a job field that would interest me.  I picked journalism.
 It's fun,  and hey -  something I can use on the outside when my time is up.  I hate to break it to you,  Popeye,  but there's not much call for a "
Botswain's Mate"  in 21st century America.  So in August 1987 I entered navy basic training at the Recruit Training Center in Great Lakes,  Illinois,  followed by 10 months at the amazingly challenging yet pleasantly alcohol- fueled Defense Information School (
in Indiana,  but since moved to Maryland)  then two surreal years at the Navy Broadcasting Service detachment in Diego Garcia ( a British island in the middle of the Indian Ocean -  you can see photos of the place on urlLink this nice unofficial site)  My final three-
and- a- half years of service were spent at the NBS detachment in Keflavik,  Iceland,  where I continued to subvert the radio airwaves,  be a dumb military TV news reporter,
 honed my videotape editing skills,  mastered the art of the public service announcement,  learned how to drive on black ice,  caught my girlfriend in bed with another guy,  directed the only one- take prerecorded TV newscast in the history of the station (
Marc Boyd said he did one shortly after me,  but I heard he cheated)  rode in a helicopter for the first time,  was the subject of a brief rumor that I was gay,  learned how to drive a stick shift,  got married (
and divorced several years later)  became a dad,  got a fancy certificate that proves I crossed the arctic circle,  and met a few of my best friends ever:  Jamie Salafia,  Terry Welch,
 and that lovable doofus,  Gerard Johnson ( does anyone know where he is these days?  My time in the navy was spent dealing with some pretty conservative,  middle- of-
the- road types with whom I tried to argue and realized it was pointless ( they were also pretty big Wrasslin' fans)  but I was also lucky enough to be in a little corner of the military where people often thought daring and original thoughts,  questioned authority and voted Democrat.  DINFOS grads will never let you down.
 I had a great time,  saw a lot of interesting things,  laughed my ass off,  and drank a lot of booze. but I got out when I'd had enough ( which is more than I can say for some people I knew)
 To paraphrase urlLink Mike Keneally,  1994 was a million years ago.
