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Tucker Vasey
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Info
- Summary
After earning dual degrees in English and Advertising at Drake University I now work as a copywriter at Trilix Marketing Group in Des Moines. I love what I do and am always looking for new opportunities.
Specialties: Copywriting and Creative StategyExperience- May 2012 - PresentCopywriter / Trilix
Writing things about things that do things to other things.
- Sept 2011 - May 2012Copywriter and Pitch Team Member / Blue Inc.
Collaborate to write effective and engaging copy for Nissan. Act as one of five selected students representing Drake University in Kansas City to present the finished campaign to Nissan.
- Sept 2009 - May 2012Legislative Services / State of Iowa Capitol
-Sell retail items to Capitol visitors and employees
-Answer questions about the building as well as the city of Des Moines
- Jun 2011 - Aug 2011Marketing Intern / Demarquette Fine Chocolates
-Design and execute a new multifaceted marketing campaign
-Write attention grabbing headlines, product descriptions, and branding statements for website
-Promote internet presence through the creation and utilization of social media accounts
-Collaborate on press releases
- Sept 2010 - Jun 2011Copywriter / Giraffe Creative Advertising
-Write outstanding copy for advertising campaigns around Des Moines and the greater Midwest area
-Collaborate on and plan creative strategy for campaigns
- Jan 2011 - May 2011Marketing Intern / DSM Daily
-Spearhead the public relations push at Jordan Creek Mall
-Market DSM Daily to prospective members and businesses
-Contribute to new marketing and advertising strategies
- 2009 - 2010Disc Jockey / Kdr-lp 94.1 The Dog
-Choose and play a variety of Indie and alternative music
-Provide commentary on songs and current events
-Select and read advertisements and public announcements
Education-
2008 - 2012Drake UniversityBA in Creative Advertising, English
Activities: Drake Advertising Club, Drake Headstart Volunteer Program, American Advertising Federation , Drake Club Tennis -
2008 - 2012Drake UniversityBachelor of Arts (BA) in English
Additional Information-
Honors:3.7 SJMC GPA Drake University Legacy Scholarship Iowa State Bar Association Award for Outstanding Attorney Achievment 06, 07, and 08
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Interests:Music, Pickup Basketball, Traveling, Urban Exploration, Jumping off the Occasional Bridge.
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Tweets
- @tedschreck9 @mattgmoran you got told.
- Times like these I need @jonzywonzy back in Iowa to wipe away the pain with Brass Monkeys.
- RT @BillSimmons: Why take Hibbert out? Why take Hibbert out? Why take Hibbert out? Why take Hibbert out? Why take Hibbert out? Why take Hib…
- But seriously, why the hell is Hibbert on the bench for back to back plays at the end of the game. This ones on you Vogel.
- @tedschreck9 bc of wide open layups? That's not logistics.
- @veenstra_tyler nah, I got you.
- @SportsCenter a layup isn't a clutch gene. Stfu and relocate to Miami already.
- @CourtneyHaag @ajsummitt haha, we have identical scenes in different countries. You + @brookelynporter sitting to side while we talk ball.
- @FiveNineMF he'd injure himself if he flopped with the regularity of LBJ.
- I know I'm biased bc I hate the Heat and everything that they stand for, but their announcer blows.
- Lebron may not be the greatest player to ever play the game but he's at least top 5 on the greatest floppers list.
- #DUBulldogs already got the #1 recruit in Iowa for 2014 @CSchlatter21 . Would love to match it with one of the best guys in IL, @OreAro_23!May 22, 13 from web Reply, Retweet, Favorite
- RT @boring_as_heck: My handheld supercomputer that correctly predicts what I'm typing 95% of the time guessed the wrong word. Worthless pie…May 22, 13 from web Reply, Retweet, Favorite
- God damn, sports talk radio in Iowa is trying really hard to make people care about hockey.
- @NicholasADavis try walking with your arms closer to your sides
- @DinoSprinkles14 I'm bringing mine to the lumineers then.
- Why do people use iPads to take pictures at public events?
- The 1950's were weird http://t.co/0kDGLBgF4d
- Wild Friday night watching Kitchen Nightmares.May 17, 13 from web Reply, Retweet, Favorite
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Posts
- Aug 03, 11
This week saw me take my first and unfortunately last trip outside of the UK for the summer. After a jam-packed work week, filled with the usual lineup of writing, research, and more writing, I was off. Together with Brooke, and 3 others from our group I had booked a student bus tour that would take us through France and into Holland and Belgium. For me this was exciting for several reasons. Although I’ve traveled extensively within the states and throughout England, this would be my first time in a non-english speaking country. Coupled with that was the fact that this would be my first visit to continental Europe. Needless to say I was thrilled.
We left on a Friday night. After meeting the rest of group at Victoria Station in London, we caught a train to the seaside town of Brighton where we would rendezvous with our bus. The train was literally filled to the brim with people. Most of them looked to be Londoners, clad in their beach-wear and ready for a weekend away from the city. The difference between the English on their way to, and from Brighton is something to behold. One can always tell if the weekend is just finished, or has yet to begin. On their journey to the beach, the skin is its usual pale lily-white shade. On the way from, it is transformed into a shining lobster red, which covers even the scattering of freckles that seem to adorn the arms and shoulders of every true Brit. After leaving the train in Brighton we made our way over to a local hotel, which had been designated as the meeting spot for our tour bus. Right on time, a long greyhound pulled up to the curb and we were off.
Since this was an overnight journey, the plan was to spend the night on the bus while getting a good nights rest, and awake in the morning feeling refreshed and ready for the day. This was all very easy to accomplish if you exclude the entire sleeping aspect. To make a long story short, buses do not make good beds. This is especially true when you are 6’4. It was like a bad dream. (pun intended) I would awake every 10 to 15 minutes, groggy and disoriented only to discover that, yes, I was still on the bus. Perhaps if I were a contortionist my night would have been spent more comfortably. However since I am not, the issue of having my foot jammed next to my ear proved slightly vexing.
I awoke for the final time around 6 a.m. that morning as we pulled into a Holland petrol station. As I made my way blearily into the building I saw bright “Welkom!” sign hanging from the swinging front door. In many ways that first stop at the station would prove indicative of my overall experience that weekend. I was fascinated by the strangely marked Dutch products, and the pair of locals who looked warily over as our group entered the store. I was intrigued by an environment, which was for the first time in my trip, completely foreign.
As we pulled away from the station I sat up and looked at the countryside. All around us, fields of yellow corn stretched for miles and miles. In the East, the sun was pulling itself arduously up over the earth’s rim and into the morning sky. My first European sunrise and it was beautiful. When we pulled into Amsterdam 2 hours later I had finally woken all of the way up and was instantly amazed by what I saw. Amsterdam is a city not unlike Venice in that the Ocean is an integral part of it. Everywhere you go there are canals and arched bridges looping over the water. Where we have roads, Amsterdam has waterways. Driving through the streets we saw rowboats paddling down the river alongside of us. Neat huh?
Upon disembarking from the bus I was ready for a day of exploration. After eating breakfast in a little shop on the water we agreed on a visit to Anne Frank’s secret annex. The annex was the setting for Anne’s world famous diary and the hiding spot for her family for almost all of World War two. This was a place that I had read about since I was in 5th grade. To actually walk behind the secret bookcase that concealed the entrance to the living quarters was a surreal experience to say the least. The house has a sense of significance that is evident from the moment that you enter. It set my skin on edge to think that 66 years earlier the Nazis had dragged the Frank family off to Auschwitz from the same spot where I was standing now. Another thing I found particularly moving was the photograph of Otto Frank. Taken years after the war, it shows him standing in the empty attic staring off into the same space where he had hidden his family years before. The pain of losing them is etched in the lines running across his face. His shoulders are hunched under the weight of what I can only imagine would be unbearable grief. It is a powerful photograph that moved me more deeply than I can explain.
After leaving the Frank house we were all in a somewhat somber mood. And so determined to rectify the situation, we headed out to explore more of the city. Now when people think of Amsterdam it is usually due to one of two things. Prostitution or marijuana. So naturally we were all curious to see what the seedier side of the capital looked like. Unfortunately this proved harder than we anticipated. As we wandered around searching for a drug infested brothel to gape at we quickly became frustrated with the pursuit. It seemed as though all Amsterdam had to offer in terms of trade was an inordinate amount of.. (wait for it) “coffee shops”. Imagine our surprise when we walked dejectedly into one of these shops for a drink and witnessed a variety of people, all sitting around smoking a suspiciously sweet smelling substance. As it turned out, “coffee shops” in Amsterdam are the equivalent of bars in the states but with Marijuana instead of liquor. People go there to sit down with a menu, and order their favorite variety of weed. While it wasn’t what we had pictured, it was still an interesting look at a culture so very different from our own.
As we continued onwards, our walk took an X-rated turn. We stumbled into the infamous red light district. Down every alleyway a long line of glowing red lanterns adorned the building fronts. Below them, large single pane windows protruded clear down to the street. As I walked by the first of window I looked over to see a girl in her early 20s dressed in black underwear smiling out at me. Behind her a single lamp cast light on a bare room and small bed. All down the alleyway, people were walking slowly by windows such as these. Some were just curious tourists like myself. Others appeared to be actively “window shopping”. Every now and then a door would hurriedly open and close as a man shuffled furtively in or out. It was simultaneously comical and creepy to witness. Exhausted after the tour and a full day of walking, we quickly found our hostel and said Goodnight to Amsterdam.
The next morning it was an early wakeup followed by a quick 3-hour bus trip to Bruges, Belgium. Bruges (pronounced broo-j) is a gorgeous historical city plucked right out of the 15th century. Recognized as one of Europe’s historic gems, Bruges is preserved much as it would have been in the 15th century with nearly all of its medieval architecture intact. It features cobblestone streets and an array of ancient churches and spires. It is also home to the tallest brick tower in all of Europe. One of the tastier benefits of visiting Bruges is its abundance of chocolate shops. Just like Amsterdam, Belgium is famous for two things, Waffles and Chocolate. While I didn’t get a chance to try a waffle, I certainly sampled the chocolate. For much of our stay there, we wandered Bruges narrow roads, going from Chocolatier to Chocolatier. Four hours and eight chocolate shops later it was finally time for us to depart. As I climbed back onto the bus, I reflected on my incredible journey. I had explored two beautiful cities and forayed into mainland Europe for the first time. I had seen the sights of Amsterdam, and gone back in time to Bruges. Not too bad for weekend away from London. Don’t you agree?
- Jul 29, 11
Following a weekend exploring Liverpool and another hectic week at the office, my only real desire for the upcoming weekend was to relax and enjoy London. While the relaxing aspect may not have come to fruition, the enjoyment aspect most certainly did. To my delight, a childhood friend of mine had chosen this weekend to come visit from Dublin where he was staying for a creative writing program.
I’ve known Cody since we were 8 years old exploring cornfields in central Iowa. We played little league together, went on bike rides together, and likewise spent most of our adolescence in each others presence. So to have the opportunity to experience London with him as two adults living abroad was somewhat surreal to say the least. He arrived on Thursday night and we began what would turn into a weekend long flurry of miscommunications. The initial plan was for him to call me upon arriving in Heathrow where I would give him instructions on where to meet us to see the midnight showing of Harry Potter. Unfortunately he neglected to realize that the crappy Vodaphone he had purchased for his stay was out of minutes and texts, so when he arrived at the station there was no way to contact me. After waiting for the call that would never arrive, I finally tried calling him, only to realize that I didnt know the area code for a Dublin phone. Cody ended up riding the tube around for an hour before being kicked off when it closed at midnight and he was forced to get a hotel. After calling me from the hotel phone to let me know what had happened and to get instructions to Vandon House, I specifically told him how to fill up his phone so that he could contact me if he got lost the next morning.
Bright and early the next morning Cody called me. Unable to find the Vandon House where I was staying, he had instead stumbled upon Buckingham Palace. Since the palace is literally only 2 minutes away I told him to wait where he was and that I would come get him. Just before hanging up he informed me that he would be waiting by “the big gold gate”. If you have never been to Buckingham palace you should know that the front area is filled with and literally surrounded by big golden gates. Using a golden gate as a landmark at Buckingham palace is akin to telling someone to meet you by “the big green tree” in the middle of a rainforest. To complicate matters further, it was morning, which at Buckingham means the changing of the guard. During this world famous ceremony thousands of tourists pack square to watch the queens royal guard parade about in regimented formation. Any attempt at conversation is drowned out as the mounted police shout at the herds of milling visitors. As I realized my predicament I tried desperately to call him back but to no avail.
After a short walk I arrived at the palace with the festivities in full swing. Scanning the heaving masses of tourists, my eyes looked hopelessly for a glimpse of my waiting friend. Due to the sheer enormity of the crowd I realized that I would simply have to wait until the ceremony had finished. Over the next thirty minutes the changing of the guard finished, and the crowd gradually began to disperse. Little by little the sight-seekers filed out into the street or down through St. James Park until finally I was able to spot him. Sitting across the square on top of his suit-case, he seemed almost statuesque next to a group of asian tourists snapping pictures. As inspirational music played in the background, I ran in slow motion, closing the distance between us. People cheered and bands played in celebration of our ability to meet up after only two days of miscommunication. I’m relatively certain I saw that the queen saluting us from her balcony. It was truly an historical moment for all of England if not the entire United Kingdom.
Following our long awaited reunion, I spent the rest of the day showing Cody the various sites around London. We visited a pub for fish & chips and a pint. We went on a walk that included Big Ben, South Bank, the Tate Modern, the London Eye, and Westminster Abbey. It was a sort of crash course in British site-seeing which featured me regurgitating the few odd facts that I remembered from my own tours. That night we ventured into the hellhole that is Leicester Square. Leicester is a sort of center for tourist nightlife in England. It is populated by flashing neon, overpriced night clubs, and a variety of shady men in leather jackets trying to lure girls into their clubs with promises of free drinks and instant entry. Seeing as we were not voluptuous young women, we did not have to deal with these guys too much and instead spent the night wandering around eating fried chicken and chips. I will say this for Leicester, the people watching is excellent. After an hour or so in the square, both of us were tired and walked back through the park to Vandon for a good nights sleep.
Saturday was Cody’s second and final day in the city. His plane was leaving at 4 the next morning so ideally we would have woken early and had a productive day. Instead we slept till 12. Making up for lost time we caught the first tube available out to Brixton Market. There we ate the self declared “best pizza place in London” at a little place called Franco Mancos. For desert we went to an amazing vegan cupcake store called Ms. Cupcake. If you are ever in London I highly recommend a trip to Brixton if only for the cupcakes. They are without a doubt the best cupcakes that I have ever had, and the carrot cake is to die for. ( i am not normally a person who uses the phrase “to die for”. Ms. Cupcake warranted an exception)
The rest of day was filled with talking, and gawking at the colorful graffiti over on southbank as well as the amazing displays featured in the Museum of Natural History in South Kensington. Since his plane was leaving at 4 a.m. we made the decision to get him on the last train out to Heathrow at midnight in order to avoid the exorbitant price of a cab ride. Unfortunately we went out for a late dinner at my favorite pub The Churchill Arms and lost track of time. Before we knew it, it was 11:30 and we were half an hour away from St. James Park station from which his train would depart. From that point on it was a mad dash to get there in time. We literally sprinted through the streets of London, tossing his suitcase back and forth in an effort to conserve energy. We ended up getting there in the nick of time and shouted hurried goodbyes as he dove through the closing doors of the tube. Walking back from the tube, I reflected on what a whirlwind of a weekend it had been. Two days of fun and adventure ending with a frantic sprint through the darkened streets of a city which has stood for over a thousand years. I swear sometimes I just stop, look around, and think, “how on earth did I end up here?”.
- Jul 18, 11
Let me preface this post by giving you a little bit of background on myself. I was brought up in what can only be described as a Beatles household. By the age of 4 my dad had taught me all of the backing harmonies to “Chains” and “8 days a week” so that I could sing along while he played guitar. Our basement downstairs was and still is a virtual shrine to the fab four. The faces of John, Paul, George and Ringo adorn the walls at regular intervals leading up to a small stage built when I was a ten years old. The first concert I can remember seeing was group of Beatles impersonators playing at our local Civic Center. Dressed in 4 matching black suites with the classic Beatle heeled boots and shaggy haircuts they played hallmarks from every album. I was brought up with the understanding that the Beatles were the greatest band of all time and I would love their music or be turned out on the streets. As I grew older began to develop a much greater personal appreciation for the music that they created and the men behind it. I read every book I could get my hands on about John’s childhood and the Liverpool music scene. Over time these four men and their music have become something deeply personal to me. While looking for places to spend the summer, England’s claim as birthplace of the Beatles was certainly not lost on me. It was an something of an inevitability that at some point in my stay here, I would end up in Liverpool.
We arrived on a Friday. Leaving from Euston station on the 12′oclock train, I was accompanied by my girlfriend and traveling partner Brooke. Snaking through the English countryside it took us roughly two hours to reach the Liverpool station where we were greeted with slate grey skies and misting rain. I have to admit that my initial reaction upon leaving the station was one of disappointment. Everything that I had ever read about Liverpool was taken from the Beatles childhood and described a rough sea port recovering from destruction of WW 2. Somehow it didn’t occur to me that it might have changed in the 60 years since. Liverpool today very much alive and progressive. Home to about 500,000 people the city center is filled with a variety of modern buildings, businesses and restaurants, all bustling with people.
Moving forward from the station we encountered a brand new multimillion dollar shopping district that looked like something straight off of Oxford Street. There was even a Primark. It wasn’t until we reached our hotel that the city I had held in my mind for so long began to take shape. There on the outer limits, the remaining vestiges of old Liverpool remain. The River Mersey still runs its familiar path along docks which have been there for hundreds of years. One block away from our hotel you can see the remains of a wall still standing from a german bombing run. In many ways, the Liverpool of old emerges more and more as you move away from the Liverpool of new. This became increasingly evident as we embarked on our Beatles tour the next morning. Our tour guide, Tom, drove us out of the city and into the suburb of Woolton where John was born and raised. Here the homes remain untouched. Suburbia now is the same as suburbia then, with modest two story duplexes and connecting homes. The abodes are generally drably painted and narrow in size, reflecting the somber times during which they were built. Lost in thought as we drove through the streets I was caught off guard when Tom announced, “we’re here”. Outside our car window was the home of John Lennon, founder of the Beatles. Here in Mendips, John went to live with his aunt Mimi and uncle George at the age of 5 and stayed until the Beatles second stint in Hamburg. Within those walls John and Paul had worked to write classics like “I Saw Her Standing There”. Just standing there in front of the house made my hairs stand on end. This was a feeling that would only increase as the tour and the day progressed. Entering the house itself was positively surreal. We entered through the same kitchen that I had read about dozens of times in biographies of John. We paused in the tiny front porch where John and other members of The Quarrymen would go to play and sing. I stood alone in the same bedroom where he had listened to Buddy Holly, gazed at pictures of Bridget Bardot and dreamed of becoming the the biggest rock n’ roll star in England. I can say without exaggeration that that moment stands as one of the biggest highlights of my stay here and will remain a treasured memory for years to come.
Following our amazing tour at the Lennon house, we proceeded to explore Liverpool’s entire arsenal of Beatles locations. We saw John’s school, toured Paul’s and Ringo’s houses, saw the church where John and Paul first met, and went into the world famous Cavern Rock Club where the four boys played many of their shows on their rise to fame. We also visited the inspirations for several Beatles songs including the gates in front of the old Strawberry Fields orphanage and the Penny Lane roundabout.
The second highpoint of the tour along with John’s house however, had to be the Casbah Coffee Club. Originally owned by Mona Best, the mother of the Beatles original drummer Pete Best, the Casbah is a relic unchanged by time. The Beatles played literally hundreds of shows there during their formative years, and since that time the club has remained exactly as it was then. The ceilings which were hand-painted by John, Paul, George, and Pete are still there. You can even see two places where John carved his name into the woodwork. “Best” of all, the club is still owned by the Best family and our tour was given personally by Rory, Pete’s brother. Hearing all of his stories and seeing everything on such an up close and personal level was breathtaking.
After a full day of seeing everything Beatles related in Liverpool it was finally time to go back to London. Entering the train station that evening was bittersweet, I had enjoyed my time there so much that it was difficult to say goodbye. The two days had passed in a whirlwind of stories and music. Apparently my subconscious dreaded leaving so much that it managed to lose my train tickets for the ride home in an effort to keep me there. As a result I got to spend another 30 pounds buying tickets for a much longer indirect route back to the city. While this might not have been my ideal way to end the weekend, it certainly provided an exciting finish to what had been one of the most exciting experiences during my stay in England.
- Jul 03, 11
One of the highlights of week three was my walk through London’s East end. Traditionally known as one of London’s poorer districts, the Whitechapel area was home to the infamous Jack the Ripper slayings that gripped London in the summer of 1888. One the walk’s more interesting points was the restored 18th century house of a family of silk weavers. Appearing as it might have in its infancy, the house had the silhouettes of ghostly family members filling its windows. Inside you could hear a distant murmur as if they were still waiting within.
The house however came in a distant second when compared to the fascinating mix of people that resided on Brick Lane. The moment that I turned onto the street the thick smell of curry filled my senses. Seemingly everywhere you turned there were tiny brightly colored shops, each one with a different sign claiming to be the curry shop of the year. Walking down the street we saw a mixture of Bengali people and apparent day trippers like ourselves. Then as suddenly as it had begun, we had turned off of the street and were “back” in London. The walk did an excellent job of highlighting the multiculturalism that is present in London. By merely walking a few blocks it can seem as though you’ve been transported into any number of countries, all of them flourishing within the figurative gates of London.
- Jul 03, 11
Besides taxis and pubs, one thing that London has in abundance are markets. Nearly every morning on varying days of the weeks, one can hop on a tube and be in the middle of a first class market within 15 minutes. The sheer variety of them is astounding. Within my first 3 weeks here I’ve already had the opportunity to visit 3 of them which I have chronicled below.
Portobello Market- Portobello is a market characterized by its sheer enormity. Spanning several city blocks, it features a variety of antique, food, and clothing vendors which pack in on both sides of a winding street. Going on a Saturday meant that the market was absolutely jam-packed with people. Pushed in shoulder to shoulder it was a genuine challenge to make your way over to an interesting looking stall.
Camden Market- On the market spectrum, Camden is on the other end from Portobello. Instead of the blocks of stands filled with a jumble of antiques and food, Camden contains a square grid of stalls filled with hip tee shirts, jewelry, and posters. Like Mark said during orientation, Camden is home to London’s counterculture. While there I saw a lot of people clad in black and leather along with a variety of piercings and tattoos. Dressed in my khaki shorts and Sperrys, I don’t think I had the rebellious look quite mastered yet.
Borough Market- I’ve gotten to see Borough a couple times now and it is by far my favorite. Home to an enormous variety of fresh and gourmet foods all under a covered roof, the Borough is a great option for lunch or dinner. The vendors are friendly and are more than happy to let you try a sample of their wares. Take advantage!!
- Jun 22, 11
After a week in London, i’m happy to say that i’ve discovered the real reason that we revolted. It had nothing to do with taxation without representation or a heavy handed king. The fact of the matter is that we couldn’t stand being colonized by a country that drove on the wrong side of the road. Crossing the street is a dangerous journey that requires nimble feet coupled with constant vigilance! I’ve grown all too familiar with the impulse to look right, only to have a taxi whiz by me inches from the left.
In all seriousness though the culture shock has been relatively small thus far. London is a city of so many different cultures that it’s hard to feel out of place. Multiculturalism is evident upon nearly every street corner. The people here seem to mix but not blend. I’m constantly amazed by the myriad of languages that surround me on a regular basis. On my first day in the city I ventured to some of the more notable tourists spots including the tower of london and the oxford shopping district. This was notable as it was my first experience with Primark. (cue the crashing cymbals) The best way that i can describe this monolith is like a sort of High Class, low priced Walmart with a LOT more people. The aisles are a sort of free for all, with people using their giant bags as battering rams to clear a path. During my return visit later that week i managed to get 1 suit, 2 dress shirts, 2 ties, 3 undershirts, 1 pair of dress shoes, 1 pair of regular shoes, and a long sleeved shirt for 79 pounds. Not too shabby.
Other highlights of week one included day trips to Stonehenge and Bath, as well as a ride on the famous london eye. I’ll write on these in more detail later but until then I hope you’ve enjoyed my blog and look forward to writing again soon. Cheers
