Friends of Inside Out Creative, to begin, I apologize for the several month hiatus in updates. Please allow me to introduce myself. You can call me Humble Narrator 2.0, or Andrew if it’s more to your liking. I comprise a modest quarter of our team of fall interns, and I’m pleased to announce that I’ll be the social networking presence of this company for the remainder of the semester.
On my first day at the office, I was given the account information for Myspace, Facebook and Twitter, which I was told I’d be responsible for while interning here. Today, while rummaging for an elusive forgotten password, I stumbled upon a sheet for our WordPress… which I didn’t know existed! So, in the wake of several blogless months, I bring good news! You needn’t peer into our fishbowl office any longer for a glimpse of exciting IOC endeavors. Using this very blog and the awesome power of Facebook [Serve with sarcasm], I will be keeping you attuned to all things IOC, as well as my experiences interning here, so check back often!
My admittedly verbose inner writer has always been glad to withhold 1,000 words (or more!) at the opportunity to share a picture, so I will upload photos whenever time permits. The series today was merely to share my walk to IOC with you, my valued reader. Lovely mural, isn’t it? Whether on foot or zooming by in your car, it’s impossible to ignore the beauty these urban canvases bring to our area.
My mornings in this chic intern office (yes, we have our own office) have so far passed very quickly, so I wanted to try to bring you up to speed. The office was positively buzzing in the final days leading up to the recent Bike Night event, which went off without a hitch. I was excited to help with this event for several personal reasons. Chiefly, my grandmother was an assembly line spot welder for Harley Davidson for many years, and my late granddad, an avid rider.
If there is a cheesy “lesson from Grandma” emblazoned deep in my subconscious, it’s that you cannot judge a book by its cover. She would remind me of this before introducing one of her Harley friends. A short, bubbly woman, she stuck out at the plant like a self-described sore thumb. She alleged that beneath their leather and stud-laden getups, under their helmets and bandannas, “Harley guys are sweethearts… total teddy bears.” When they would bake her cakes or send her Christmas cards, the lesson resounded. My grandpa had a passion for motorcycles that I like to think was aflame in more hearts on Bike Night than any other night of the year, and I hope every Harley Head got his fix. I’m certain that my grandpa was there in spirit, drooling over “Fat Boys” and chromed out Softtails like the rest of you. Cheers!
- Andrew & the IOC team
