Prawnapalooza

A job like mine requires a thirst for adventure, an endless zeal for life on the periphery. Why just yesterday, I had to climb a ladder. Okay I didn't have to, but as a card carrying photojournalist I'm compelled from within to get high. Let me rephrase that: As a gatherer of electronic vistas, I'm aesthetically obligated to take any position available to Get. The. Shot. If that sounds obsessive, you've obviously never sat in an edit bay wishing you'd rolled just a little bit longer. If you had, you'd know there's never a good reason to pass by a step-ladder - especially when God just leaves them lying around like that. Thus, when I spotted a series of rungs standing by that giant prawn hole, I ascended them, knowing the view from above would well be worth any chance I might come crashing down. Cavalier? Perhaps. More than a little dorky? Sure - but it's all part a da job. Besides, heights makes my head all tingly. Some people hang out on street corners to score that sensation.

Anyhoo, enough about me. Let's talk prawn. You know... PRAWN: big-ass freshwater shrimp, the kind featured on fancy menus the world over. Farmers nearer the Coast have been raising these succulent crustaceans for eons, but here in the Piedmont a life-sized prawn operation is unique enough to make the evening broadcast. Hmm? No, smarty-pants, it's not that slow a news day. I'm sure while I loomed over the aquaculture, there were all sorts of bloodshed and subterfuge erupting in the naked city. But if you've read this blog long enough you know I'm no scanner hound. Rather, I'm a purveyor of fluff, A fan of repetitive action, a lover of natural sound. Friday's story had all that, not to mention a compelling backstory of a sweet people making the most of the old family farm. You can't get that by the yellow crime tape, and even if you could, they wouldn't feed you this good. I only wish my producers had given me more air-time to unspool my oversized shellfish drama. After all, I risked my life for this drivel...