My night with Anthony “Graveyard” Barnett of North American Midway Entertainment.
Adrian Bourgeois, 22, an accounting student at Nicholls State University, is a fast talking, ambitious young person. He has a way of getting you wrapped in a conversation simply through the sound of his voice.
Even though I witnessed all of this, I was still surprised by the abilities he showed when I recorded his poetry from his book, “Message to the Masses,” specifically, the poem “Clowns and Cockroaches.”
I made this the central part of the video I shot because frankly, reading the poems to yourself does not do them justice.
“I told him if he writes another one to make it an audio book,” Matherne said. “It’s so much better when he reads the poems in person.”
Read more in the article by Nate Monroe.
Amid last week’s frenzy of protest over the SOPA/PIPA on the internet, it was good to see people doing something about it in a physical realm. Thibodaux High School graduates Anthony Hebert (center) of Thibodaux and his friends (from left) Seth Chamberlain, Aaron Trosclair and Christopher Benoit, have remained close since graduation and decided to forge a local effort to protest the controversial piece of federal legislation.
A Gulf Fritillary on Bayou Lafourche.
Prayer over graduates at Nicholls State University.
Freshman Sterling Bailey warms up for Nicholls State University. Photographs from the basketball game against University of Louisiana at Monroe on Houmatoday.com
Meanwhile in Thibodaux… people take Halloween very seriously here.
Driving by sea and by land along Bayou Lafourche. The water vehicle is called a hydrilla harvester. It literally mows the aquatic plants of the bayou. Like many waterways in the United States, the Bayou is often clogged in many places by Hydrilla, an invasive species.
As soon as I crossed the street to the Lafourche Parish Courthouse, I saw a van roll up to the side of the street, and two “Securitas” employees haul out a prisoner with an orange jumpsuit and shackles out of the car.
“You’re not allowed to be shooting this!” they say. “You better delete those photos!” says another. My first reaction is to say something smart alecky regarding my first amendment rights, but I hold back and take a closer look at the prisoner. He has hair. The person I want to photograph is bald. I realize this isn’t Jeremiah Wright, the man who made headlines in August.
And so I waited, nervously expecting him to sneak in to another side of the courthouse, where I wouldn’t be able to take the photograph we needed for 1A.
Another vaguely marked white van pulls up to the building. I ready my camera, thinking that this is going to be quick, that I won’t have a chance to make this photo again. But instead of Jeremiah Wright, I am greeted by two security guards in camouflage that don’t match. One is old Marine-surplus camo, another is digital Army camo.
Their prisoner looks at me cockeyed and says, “I think you got the wrong guy.” I say, “You got that right.” The guards ask me if I know where the entrance is, they’ve never been here before. I should have said, “Neither have I,” but I instead give them directions which probably aren’t that good.
I never really find out what happened to them, because around the corner is a police car backing up to a curb, with court officials piling onto the street to oversee a routine operation, transformed by the impending media.
Jeremiah Wright exits the vehicle, shackled, and walks to the courthouse door. He looks at me. I take a picture.
