Blisters for your Birthday

Everyone tells me I should write a book about being in the Army and what it's like to go to war but there's a part of me that feels that most of those stories have been told. Every story has been told, really. So if I were to do it, I'd have to make the most compelling and thrilling book ever written about the War in Iraq. I'd have to lie. But before that I'd have to start from the beginning, right? I'd need to write about basic training and how strange military customs are and why I thought it would be a good idea to join the Ranger Regiment (damn you Blackhawk Down). And I'd have to give it a catchy name worthy of the New York Times Bestseller list.

I've come up with a few different potential names for this potential book and my most recent and current favorite is "Blisters for Your Birthday" not only because it's a pleasing phonic phrase but because it simply sums up how the Army takes everything that could be fun and ruins it. Shouldn't shooting things and jumping out of airplanes and living in what amounts to a giant frat house be fun? Shouldn't I have not had to ruck march at 6:30 in the morning on my 26th birthday? It's not all bad truthfully. But soldiers love to bitch.