We’re more than mid-way through the football season, which begs a review of one of the more controversial new NFL rules. We’re talking, of course, about the NFL’s decision to allow only see-through purses into NFL stadiums nationwide. Here’s a field study of stadium bag theory.
Ask a New Orleanian about her or his family and the answer can take half a day. That truth isn't always easy, but on today's Love NOLA, Brett Will Taylor suggests we give a listen anyway. In doing so, we just might hear the depth of love that lies beneath the number of words.
You know you’re in for a good flight when your seat mate is an 80-year-old, white haired, Louisiana native named Mary Rose.
Virtually everyone who has lived in New Orleans for any length of time has at least one hurricane story. About staying or evacuating. About lights going out or rain coming down. This is a hurricane story of the formal kind — a story about how a proper British lady rode out Hurricane Isaac.
Originally published on Fri September 6, 2013 7:37 am
Commentator Gary Borders presents his case as to why it's time for college football players to get on the payroll at their universities. He says college football powerhouses rake in major dividends from their performance on the gridiron, and the players on the field deserve a cut.
You know, sometimes I think we're only here, in this crazy love affair we call "life," to find our way home.
Not just that place we go to bed each night. But that space where we belong. Where we can be ourselves. Where we can live our truth.
It’s not always an easy journey. Just ask Miles.
He’s a man I met early one June morning at a corner store in Tremé. Both of us were hungry — he for pancakes, me for a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich. As we waited for the cook to work his magic, we did what you do in New Orleans. We started talking.
NolaVie's Brett Will Taylor delivers his biweekly commentary on the various meanings of 'being nice' in New Orleans.
“When did you become so nice?”
That’s what a Boston friend asked me last week while in New Orleans for a visit. We were driving down North Robertson when the car in front of us came to a stop smack dab in the middle of the street. The man driving the car had stopped in order to have a conversation with a woman who was sitting on her stoop. It was quite clear this conversation was going to occur without the woman leaving her stoop. Or the man leaving his car. Which was now not stopped, but parked, in front of mine.