Showing posts with label Northeastern. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Northeastern. Show all posts
Friday, January 6, 2012
WOOF Magazine - Issue 1
It's out, it's printed, it's full of mistakes (I used "shared oxygen" twice in the same paragraph, and somehow my self-deprecating humor comes off more like a snobby know-it-all), but I DON'T CARE!! Ladies and gents, the first issue of WOOF Magazine is printed, disbursed on campus and live on the Internet. I couldn't be more proud or more exhausted.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
And the Winner Is...
I mentioned before that I was on the search for my January co-op. As I said before, I applied to numerous positions and have since followed-through and heard back from many, as well. I haven't yet been declined by any companies, but did opt not to interview with some that I thought I might not fit well with. During this co-op round, I opted to only pursue companies that I thought I would genuinely enjoy working at. After some disenchanted experiences at my last co-op, I wanted to make this one a 100% positive experience. I am confident that every single one of the following would have been that for me.
But now for the exciting news...I received offers from (in alphabetical order):
And the winner is... (drumroll, please)...
But now for the exciting news...I received offers from (in alphabetical order):
- The Boston Globe
- Farm Aid
- Jill's List
- The San Diego Union-Tribune
- TheStreet.com
And the winner is... (drumroll, please)...
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
I'ma Let the Dogs Out
Ladies and gents and four-legged friends…
The cat (or dog) is out of the bag. I just sent out an email to various writers, friends and colleagues announcing my new magazine. A while back, I mentioned that I had an idea about what to name it, and I’ve moved forward with that idea. The email is out, the positions are open and I’m set to have a Skype meeting with Northeastern’s Student Involvement Board a week from tomorrow.
I’ve already been working closely with someone on SIB and have cranked out a constitution and bylaws. But then I went ahead and made T-shirts… because that’s how I roll. So, my fellow huskies, be sure to keep your eyes peeled this fall (fingers crossed!) for the first edition of…
Here you go, Daddy. I may have written Ma a poem, but I named a magazine after you (so stop complaining). For those of you readers who aren’t my dad (there are more? Say what??), “woof” has some very deep roots in my family. So yes, we NU students are huskies and huskies woof. But the four letter word (one of the only ones I like) has much more meaning.
When my dad was growing up, he and his buddies used to call “wolf” to find one another. If it sounds silly, give it up; you know you had secret handshakes and the like. Anyway, somehow “wolf” morphed into woof. Even now, nearly half a decade later, it still stuck.
And it’s contagious. As those boys grew up and moved all over the state, woof spread from the core group to siblings, spouses and families. Somewhere in the morphing mix of things, it also became my dad’s nickname. Hence the shout out.
When I am walking around a public place—say, the grocery store—and need to find my mom (I always get lost in the cookie aisle), I’ll “woof,” rather than say “Mom.” After all, in Suburbia like PQ, there are tons of “Moms” in the grocery store.
I woof. And she woofs back. It’s inbred, instinctual. Even 3,000 miles from home, sometimes I hear something like “woof” and have to consciously stop myself from shouting. My childhood friends (especially Bo) are used to woof, and sometimes even use it to get my attention. But people here think I’m a little cuckoo. And there you have it: the real reasoning behind the name.
This magazine is quickly becoming my baby. But I’m thrilled to get the ball rolling. I have my mother’s habit of throwing myself into new and exciting adventures and this is no different. Stomach ulcers are all the rage this season, no?
So yes. Woof Magazine. Out this fall (**insert girly scream**).
###
The cat (or dog) is out of the bag. I just sent out an email to various writers, friends and colleagues announcing my new magazine. A while back, I mentioned that I had an idea about what to name it, and I’ve moved forward with that idea. The email is out, the positions are open and I’m set to have a Skype meeting with Northeastern’s Student Involvement Board a week from tomorrow.
I’ve already been working closely with someone on SIB and have cranked out a constitution and bylaws. But then I went ahead and made T-shirts… because that’s how I roll. So, my fellow huskies, be sure to keep your eyes peeled this fall (fingers crossed!) for the first edition of…
Here you go, Daddy. I may have written Ma a poem, but I named a magazine after you (so stop complaining). For those of you readers who aren’t my dad (there are more? Say what??), “woof” has some very deep roots in my family. So yes, we NU students are huskies and huskies woof. But the four letter word (one of the only ones I like) has much more meaning.
When my dad was growing up, he and his buddies used to call “wolf” to find one another. If it sounds silly, give it up; you know you had secret handshakes and the like. Anyway, somehow “wolf” morphed into woof. Even now, nearly half a decade later, it still stuck.
And it’s contagious. As those boys grew up and moved all over the state, woof spread from the core group to siblings, spouses and families. Somewhere in the morphing mix of things, it also became my dad’s nickname. Hence the shout out.
When I am walking around a public place—say, the grocery store—and need to find my mom (I always get lost in the cookie aisle), I’ll “woof,” rather than say “Mom.” After all, in Suburbia like PQ, there are tons of “Moms” in the grocery store.
I woof. And she woofs back. It’s inbred, instinctual. Even 3,000 miles from home, sometimes I hear something like “woof” and have to consciously stop myself from shouting. My childhood friends (especially Bo) are used to woof, and sometimes even use it to get my attention. But people here think I’m a little cuckoo. And there you have it: the real reasoning behind the name.
This magazine is quickly becoming my baby. But I’m thrilled to get the ball rolling. I have my mother’s habit of throwing myself into new and exciting adventures and this is no different. Stomach ulcers are all the rage this season, no?
So yes. Woof Magazine. Out this fall (**insert girly scream**).
###
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
So Remember that Little Post...
...about photography and how much I wanted to get into the class? Well I got a call from the administrative assistant in the fine arts department at Northeastern this morning, who made a space for me in a photo class. As it turns out, I'll be taking the photo class meant for art majors, which means more of a challenge.
Bring it on. Told you I know how to get what I want!
(P.S. So excited!!)
Bring it on. Told you I know how to get what I want!
(P.S. So excited!!)
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