Pop, politics, and puns from a product of 1987, Baltimore, Atlanta, DC, Manhattan, and American pop culture. PR Student/Intern by occupation, drummer by passion, and culture vulture by necessity.
This weekend welcomed the Cherry Blossom Festival, DC's cultural introduction to Spring -- and the perfect way to wake from a late winter hibernation from the digital domain.
A brief greeting after my semi-extended stint away from the blogosphere. I took some time to rest and refuel my creative reserves -- similar to a bear's hibernation for the digital age, more tech and less time.
Progress is a slow process, but someone out there is reading this blog -- though I didn't think it would be a Burson-Marsteller watchdog group -- an audience is an audience.
Looks like I'll need some image consultation to get back in Burson's good graces. So ... now would be a good time to call Burson-Marsteller so I -- they -- can spin this post about themselves to themselves.
"When evil needs public relations, evil has Burson-Marsteller on speed dial ..."
When your cat died: curiosity called Burson-Marsteller; When Baja Men made a scene about dogs running rampant: "who" called Burson-Marsteller; When The Beatles broke up: Yoko Ono called Burson-Marsteller; When you didn't get an Easy Bake Oven for Christmas '93: Santa called Burson-Marsteller; When NYU rejected you: the SATs called Burson-Marsteller; When you couldn't make that job interview: the malfunctioning Red Line train to Glenmont called Burson-Marsteller; When Jack died and "let go": the North Atlantic called Burson-Marsteller; When Michael Phelps lost Kellog: the bong called Burson-Marsteller ...
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