I Am Exposure's Editor-In-Chief, and the Publisher Told Me To Write This

By Warren Bujol | 12/04/2014


Chapter I: Introduction

Being that we just met, I figure, I might as well explain a little about myself, and why I feel I have the right to be here. Don't worry, this will only happen once; I probably like hearing me speak about myself less than you do. But really, I'll be speaking more about life than myself. You see, funny thing about life is; it has a fetish for throwing curve-balls. The minute you think you've figured it out; it reminds you just how dumb you really are. Don't beat yourself up about it though; life kicks everyone in the crotch, even Stephen Hawking...especially Stephen Hawking (life hates him).

Most of us stumble through life, briefly clinging to our arbitrary beliefs and ideals. As humans, we want to understand things. When we realize that some things are beyond our comprehension, we will jump to (often hilarious) conclusions. We don't even need to jump to our own conclusions, we just climb on the socially-acceptable bandwagon and call it a day. This is pretty dangerous considering society's sketchy track-record. But conformity doesn't stop there! It's not satisfied with just having your morals in a vice-grip, it wants everything you have.

You watched a lot of wrestling as a kid? I bet you thought you'd be pinning some sweaty, middle-aged man to a mat with your marbles dangerously close to his face when you grew up (it's okay to admit it, just don't say it out-loud). So why aren't you lubing up to go roll around with strangers in speedos right now? I'll bet it is because you didn't know that "reality" is just your inherent need to conform; that or you are horribly uncoordinated. It's a tragedy. It really is. Think of all the people who rationalize themselves out of their dreams everyday. It's not until you have the luxury of retrospect (too late) that you realize just how little you've accomplished.  

This isn't me.

This isn't me.

I'm no better than you, if you were to have asked me when I was five what I would be doing at 31, I would have, without hesitation, replied, "I'll be on the damn International Space Station, flying space ships and whatnot". Well, I'm 31 now, and even though I am literally on an airplane as I type this; I have yet to leave the stratosphere. Tough break, little Warren; maybe you should have a more reasonable outlook on life. Look at you now, trying to hide your tears from a plane full of strangers. Pitiful.

Turns out, conformity and "reality" aren't the only things holding you back; in my case, I may have lacked the intellectual capacity to poop in outer space. Luckily, I always have a back-up plan. Plan B: become a United States Marine. Turns out, I had all the "Right Stuff" to be a killing-machine, and the Marines are much more likely to look at your resume.

I'm the guy looking at the camera..the straight shooter.

I'm the guy looking at the camera..the straight shooter.

I spent eight years romping and stomping all over the globe. I was good at it; with the right amount of convincing, anyone can be. Hell, I even planned to retire from the Corps. Aside from the whole "war" aspect, life in the "combat arms" is a lot like that of a rock-star...with a lot more running...and cleaning...and punching. Didn't quite make it to retirement, but I did enroll in college (no big deal); it seemed like it would be much more fun than police academy...not the movies, that would've been great.


Chapter II: Writes?

I was never a writer; still don't consider myself to be one. Before college, I hadn't written much of anything other than "Jack Gamble loves horseback riding" on every bathroom stall I visited. But I would soon discover that writing could be a valuable and entertaining skill. It provided me with a means to organize my words, which was great because I usually just haphazardly slapped them together into verbal sound patterns.

I'm what you would call "hyperactive", and my conversations can be confusing to say the least. I found that "hunting-and-pecking" on a keyboard slows my mind down just enough for me to make logical arguments. When you are able to articulate your point, you are much less likely to look stupid. The crucible of my writing occurred when I was instructed by my English professor to have one of my papers reviewed by the tutors at the McNeese Write to Excellence Center.

The Writing Center is, in my experience, filled with highly dedicated, and intelligent staff members; but I am a grunt, and it was obvious that we saw the world through very different points of view. As I waited to be seen, I started to realize that my paper might not be very well-received by my new friends. I had crossed the point of no return and when my name was called, I sat down across from, what I am certain is the most powerful woman in the world, Dr. Delma Porter. The English Inquisition had begun.

She asked what the topic of my assignment was, to which I replied, "it's an argumentative essay about the recent lifting of the 'don't ask, don't tell' policy" (ban on open homosexuality in the military)*. I noticed that this had prompted a surge of interest in my inquisitor...it was apparent that she had a strong opinion on this matter and possibly began to rehearse the verbal assault she was soon to unleash upon me. But before Dr Porter reached the second page (she probably read the whole thing, but it sounds better this way), she looked up at me, almost confused, and asked if I'd like a job. It caught me off-guard to say the least; I had prepared myself to be verbally abused, not encouraged. Who would've thought some ground-pounder would walk into a den of Grammar Wolves and be offered a job? I sure didn't. I took the it, but I'll never understand why it was ever offered to me.  


Chapter 3: Destiny Did Some Destiny-ing

Graduation was sneaking up on me. I had several ideas in my head of how I would continue to pay my mortgage and provide for my family after college. All of them were intriguing, but most would not translate into practical business opportunities. I had all but given up on the prospect of putting my entrepreneurship minor to good use, and reluctantly began drafting a resume. Little did I know, I was living out the plot to a 1980's underdog film.

By chance, or perhaps destiny (certainly the latter), I was approached by my good friend Calvin with an opportunity for adventure. Calvin has always been a writer, but more importantly, he has a unique ability to find and expose talent in the people around him. Calvin had an idea, far-fetched at the time, but an idea none-the-less. He wanted to create a magazine, a real one, and he wanted me to be a part of it. It was an almost adolescent dream, free of realistic constraints or metaphorical roadblocks. Perhaps years of tragedy had made me pessimistic and unable to comprehend the possibility of good fortune, but for some reason...I couldn't dismiss his plan.

For the next week or so, I began to digest this proposal. Initially, I tried to think of every way it would fail. But when I ran out of entrepreneurial-doomsday scenarios, I started thinking of how to make it a plausible operation. The thought was intriguing; what if I could be the one kicking life in the crotch this time? It would certainly be more enjoyable than being the one getting kicked. Besides, I'm a relatively bold person- it would almost be irresponsible for me to shy away from such risk- so here I am; writing articles about how we made a magazine. 


Chapter IV: The Moral of the Story Is...

The moral of this story is; never judge a book by it's cover, especially if the book is about you. All too often, we sell ourselves short, and settle for socially-mandated ambition. Never convince yourself that you have limited options; your limitations are only real if you let them be. There is a great need for creativity in this world, find yourself an outlet and blow our minds. The great Jimmy Pop once said, "life is short and hard, like a little bodybuilding elf". Now go oil-up and kick some elf-nards, Tiger. We believe in you.


*I have no opinion concerning the moral perspective of homosexuality; my argument was limited to the logistics, timing, and sincerity of the decision. Who you cuddle with is none of my business.


YOU CAN GET PAID TO WORK

FOR EXPOSURE, TODAY.

 

As you may have noticed, our website does not have a lot of content at the moment...well, that's because we, Calvin and I, refuse to force-feed our readers the same articles, by the same authors, month after month.

Don't get us wrong, we are awesome writers (probably), but we designed this boat to be sailed by you. We have broken our magazine into several sections: Local, Culture, Business, Interest, Science and Technology. Write whatever you want. Don't get too wrapped up in the details; if you have something worth writing about, we'll find a way to fit it in. Hell, we'll even pay you real, American dinero* for your efforts (if they aren't horrible). 


*"dinero" refers to USD