Welcome!

ProfileHello there! My name is Tyger Danger. My mother named me after the William Blake poem, Tyger Tyger. And no, Danger is not my middle name. And yes, I hear that joke about once a week. I was born in St. Paul, Minn., and raised in sunny south Florida. My mother is a writer for The Miami Herald and my father is a Lutheran Minister. We are an odd blond family, and I like it.

I am senior journalism major at The University of Florida with experience in both writing and photography. I have chutzpah. Iā€™m not afraid. And I'm looking for a job.

Internships

Last summer I interned for Redbook magazine in the home and lifestyle department in New York City. Every day was a dream. Hearing the clicks and clacks of high heels on the Hearst building's floors was music to my ears. Catching glimpses of editor-in-chiefs of top-notch magazines like Marie Claire and GQ in the food court made life taste sweeter. Although I lived above a sushi restaurant and shared a one-bedroom apartment with a friend from school, every minute of my summer was amazing.

While at Redbook, I learned when there is a will, there is a way and to never let down your boss.

Transportation

familyI drive a crappy grandma car. Her name is Gertrude and she gets the job done. I won't always drive a crappy car, but in the mean time, it builds charachter. Gertrude adds fuel to the flame under my butt to get a job in D.C. or N.Y.C. where I can thrive with amazing public transportation.

Travels

newyork_1My mother raised me according to the saying, carpe diem. Seize the day. Those few words have led me on a path of continual motivated momentum. I crave new experiences, and take every chance I can to grow, intellectually, socially and personally. College has been a gateway to opportunity ā€“ opportunity that continues throughout life ā€“ to better understand other people, other perspectives, and other ways of viewing the world. I have been fortunate enough to travel extensively during my college years. I lived with a family in Spain for a few weeks, zipped through the treetops in Costa Rica and survived summers in D.C. and Manhattan on peanut butter sandwiches.