Mayhem? . . . meh.

Not so long ago, I was one of the Go To Guys in the newsroom.

Cop arrested?  Politico Philandering? Sewer Explosion?  The desk wanted Turd on it.  And I was only too happy to stick my lens in the middle of it.  But a funny thing happened on the way to the small screen.

The desk stopped calling.

For the last two weeks, the biggest story of the sweeps period unfolded inside a Baton Rouge courthouse, and I was . . . otherwise occupied.

Local rapper and all-around Bad AZZ Torrence Hatch (You may — or may not — know him better as the foul-mouthed arteest Lil Boosie.) sat in at the defense table while defenders of all that is good and legal threw charge after charge at him hoping for something to stick.  I babysat six freshly-hatched geese.

When the state’s lead witness changed his testimony ensuring a not-guilty verdict, I was rubbing elbows with the Maurepas High Graduating Class of 2012 — all 14 of them. A week later, when the state rested and the defense refused to call a single witness, I collated pixels of school kids learning to write Chinese.

And two days later, when the jury decided Mr. Hatch could not have possibly been as nefarious a dude as the state had made him out to be, I was in an edit bay with Joe the Drummer.  Hell, I wouldn’t have known Boosie had been freed if it weren’t for the Deskie running down the halls like her hair was on fire looking for more bodies to throw at the mayhem outside the courthouse.

After a casual glance over my shoulder, I went back to the drum solo on the screen.

I’m not sure how to feel about my new, King of the Kicker status.  It beats the hell out of working for a living, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a twinge of regret that I wasn’t elbowing street urchins for shots of the dejected DA and the adoring FreeBoosie Nation.  Who wouldn’t want to crowd surf their way across the competition’s live shot to chase the BoosieMamma and her entourage?  Or find just the right Gangsta Grill to use as a reflector to make their reporter pop?

Meh?

I know a local lady who makes jelly sweetened with honey, and if I I play my cards right, she’ll send me home with samples.

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About Rick

Writer, photographer, thinker of deep thought . . . too bad I only write about shallow ones.
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