What Goes Up, Must Come Down

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The worst part of being sick? Getting shipped off to the guest room. 

Sure, it's a fine place to lay your head. But there's nothing quite like staring at a bare 15 foot wall, from your deathbed, to make you realize, cover your ears children, this IS the bastard room of the house. 

Luckily, a little sprucing can go a long way.

Like new curtains. Check. $8 for two silk and linen panels from Building 19. 

And a new bench. Check. $40 for a chrome and white number on consignment.

And some Target plates framed in Ikea shadow boxes already on hand. 

Sensing a pattern here? Same as it ever was. Budget. Cheap. Value.

And wallpaper. To cover one wall. Roughly 100 square feet. An accent piece.

Price tag? $600. 

$600!

That's my cable bill for six months. My electric bill for a year. Two round trip tickets to fly to visit my girl in New Orleans. Pardon me, but I actually think it would be cheaper to glue one dollar bills directly to the wall instead.

The greater problem? I may, or may not, have done a bit of redecorating in my childhood room back in the day. And Andre may or may not remember the interesting texture I managed to leave behind, courtesy of my mad skills with a wallpaper stripper and a putty knife. 

I was self-taught after all.

Yes, my long-ago antics may have been the driving force behind our initial interest in temporary wallpaper that works like a giant sticker. No steamer required for removal. But, the accompanying sticker shock, not only cured our intrigue, but created a black op situation for me, as I went deep inside eBay to uncover those elusive discontinued patterns of traditional roll and paste, that I knew had to be out there.

Somewhere.

And oh, they were. Andre doesn't call me hound dog for nothing. Total cost? With shipping, less than $50. With our grand savings, naturally, we'll be fronting enough cash to hire a pro to install the wallpaper.

But me thinks the money would be better spent, on that day far, far in the future, when what went up, must come down.

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Blizzard of 2013 In Pictures. 'Cause There Are No Words

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You may have heard that it snowed last week.

It started like this:

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And ended like this:

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Photos by Andre M. Brown. There's no one I'd rather shovel for six hours with.

I Wish I Were An Oscar Mayer Wiener (Mobile)

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When your life partner boasts 'youthful enthusiasm', you do things. 

Odd things. Like run with the elephants.

Or chase down the The Oscar Mayer Wienermobile. 

Even if it is to just make it stop following you.

"Huh. The Oscar Mayer Wienermobile is going to be in Seekonk today," I said.

"OH! I keep forgetting to tell you. I saw it twice. In two days! The truck was on Route 2 in Warwick on Thursday. I almost turned around and followed it. And then I saw it again on Atwells on Friday."

Two different sightings. Two different cities. One way too excited 47-year-old man.

"So, the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile is stalking you?"

"Apparently. I'm going. Do you want to come?"

Um. No. Not really. I want to finish my coffee and the newspaper. Do my nails. Work-out. An oversized, iconic hot dog on wheels? Not part of this girl's sleepy Saturday. 

But then I would not have experienced this with my favorite overgrown man/child. And I have to say that it was pretty perfect.

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As was the moment when a burly pick-up driving sage rolled down the window on his monster truck, looked directly into Andre's eyes and said, "I really don't think women appreciate it as much."

Word my friend.

Word.

This Way Out

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Rhode Island's claim to fame is vast. The good: Coffee syrup, Del's lemonade, miles of coastline, Miss Universe. And the really, really bad:  The Station nightclub fire. February 20, 2003. One hundred lives lost.

While most of the world plays the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, in the smallest state, we could probably do it in two. In other words, it's odd to meet someone whom you don't share any common relationships. Consequently, in times of tragedy, we all hurt.

Last weekend, when the news came about the Brazil blaze, it really hit home, maybe even harder than a tragedy over five thousand miless away from our shores, typically would. That's because the similarities between Saturday's Brazil tragedy and the one in my home state were sickeningly similar. 

John P. Barylick, a trial lawyer at Wistow, Barylick, Sheehan & Loveley PC and author of Killer Show: The Station Nightclub Fire, America's Deadliest Rock Concert, lays it all out in an outstanding essay for USA Today. 

If you're pressed for time, the most important take-away, to me anyway, is this:

"One of the most important lessons I learned from my experience in this case was that we all need to be aware that we cannot count on bands, concert promoters, club owners, bouncers -- or even fire officials -- to ensure our safety. We need to be our own best fire marshals. To be safe, go with your gut. If it feels wrong, or dangerous, leave. No show is worth your life."

After the fire at the Station, this was my mantra. I had a hard time returning to the live music scene at all, and when I did, it certainly wasn't belly up to the bar. I spent the evening two feet from the emergency exit, ready to bust open the escape hatch. I remember thinking: Will I ever be able to just enjoy the experience again?

Thankfully, yes. But, I realized this weekend, as the fear dissipated, so did my vigilance to develop an exit strategy. This, I am not proud of. So, I'm taking the Brazil nightclub incident as my own personal wake-up call. I will, once again be that, some would say, Debbie Downer, pointing out where the closest exit is and designating a meeting space outside, should something go horribly wrong.

 And if anything gets lit inside, beyond a birthday candle on a cake, trust, my crew is out.

I challenge you to do the same.

Your life might depend on it.