Your Kindness keeps us Mean!

Design Experts

Richard writes the infamous queer blog Sturtle.com. His turn-ons include wainscoting, ZZ Top, and sharp-dressed men. Turn-offs: sectionals, pleated trousers, and pina coladas.

David K. publishes Nightcharm, the only gay porn site ever to be featured on Oprah and regularly compared to Martha Stewart Living.

Eric B. does not Facebook, Tweet or blog. He uses the internet to cruise for sex, like god intended. He has leopard print in every room of his house, save one. And he does not apologize

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Eric: With his last breath, our fairy godfather Oscar Wilde lifted his head off the pillow in his shitty apartment, took a look around and declared "Either that wallpaper goes or I do."

I totally understand. I could never get naked, much less dead, in a room where the walls look like embroidery, be it gros point, counted cross-stitch, turkey work, candle wicking, or whatever.
It's an easy fix -- primer, neutral textured paint, and you're done.

There's some decent wood here. The chair rail, for instance, and the cabinet hiding the porn station. The calculator, remotes and phone charger should live there as well. I see a provocative glimpse of a big, beefy seat. I'm usually in favor of such things, but a club chair is just too big for this space. A slipper or boudoir-sized option would be much better.

You all know that I'm an unpaid international ambassador for skeet blankets and animal prints, but this mess is just too big in both size and scale. I recommend a Snuggie. In leopard, of course.

Love the frame, but I'm not a fan of the duct tape matte on the 'artwork.' I do wonder about the map itself. To where does it lead, the landfill? Anywhere would be fine as long as it takes me away from this godforsaken granny bedsit hellhole before I die.

David: Psychologically speaking, the owner of this home is a genuine head trip. Survey his bedroom and you immediately comprehend what's going on with his come-hither-but-get-the-fuck-away-from-me attitude. It's all one big YES/NO cluster fuck (you!)

Examples: The particle board bed, (sporting 200 thread count sheets from the local thrift store) seems to beckon, but then upon closer inspection looks as though the slightest ass-pressure would collapse it in a trice.

The red Ikea chair seems to be inviting, but, hmmmmm, never mind -- Angry Boy's kashmiri shawl -- that his mom got for a steal in Bombay -- is making you hesitant. Too! What's that smell? The aftereffects of mom's M by Mariah Carey is way too cloying. Ew! -- that synthetic baby powder scent.

The lone item in this room that dares engage us with any vitality is the little vine plant that is struggling valiantly to make its way out of the room -- and who can blame it? Run free little greeny, before you're stuffed into a terrarium and placed in a closet.

We do like the postcards and what look to be pencil drawings hung randomly on the wall -- this lends the room a bit of bohemian chic. Though if you're asked to come up and see his 'etchings' -- wisely decline. You'd be tossed to the curb as soon as the cum rag hit the floor.

Richard: The air is full of pollen, birds on every tree branch are fucking their little bird brains out, Kellyanne Conway is wearing white(ish), and Cadbury eggs are half-off at Walgreens. Ostara be praised, it's time for spring cleaning.

The good news is, this house is clean. (If you read that phrase and simultaneously heard it whispered in your ear by the ghost of Zelda Rubinstein, congratulations: you're a homo of the 1980s. If, on the other hand, you simply looked at the decor, and said, "Ugh, so 1980s", you're just a garden-variety homo. Nobody's perfect.)

The bad news is ... well, where to begin? That awkwardly laid, wrinkling carpet? The appallingly upholstered, overstuffed living room suite? The two tones of wallpaper, separated by a chair rail that dear, departed Zelda and her biggest wiglet could skip under without ducking? The wildlife "art" that a freelance accountant purloined from a temporary H&R Block outpost at the end of tax season? The poor transom that's been hemmed in by a drop-ceiling and usurped by a weird-ass air vent?

Or maybe we should get to the heart of the matter and deal with that sea of hunter green? That goddamn, 1982, Northpark Mall food court hunter green, that only looks right when it's lit by some neon pink lettering that reads, "ARCADE!".

I say stash the vacuum, slap on some Duck Heads and a couple of Swatches, and turn this shit into a booze-free night club for teens, who'll think it's fresh and retro. You can even charge extra if you get Adam Ant to play a midnight set. What, like he's got other plans?

David: After Richard's recent exploration into minimalism (a Lurid Digs first -- see the post prior to this one), it seemed fitting to slowly ease our way back into the horrors of clutter and mismatched colors by taking on another fairly tame bedroom.

So here are some quick pointers for this sad beige space

1. Want to generate excitement in your room (and a sense of owning a personality that actually has dimensions?) Do not allow the carpeting to jump the molding and start crawling up the walls. The atmospheric effect is too cocooning -- which for many men is a libidinal buzzkill. Especially should your evening be hook-up-centric.

2. Go ahead and LIVE A LITTLE -- unravel your battery charger's cord and place said batteries on a flat surface like a table or even the seat of a chair.

3. Get rid of your old Boy Scouts pup tent -- that you're presently using for a bedspread -- and splurge for something with colors and patterns from Bed, Bath and Beyond.

O.K., so that's it for our attempt to unpack minimalism. We miss our hoarders and design-challenged gay dwellers. Look for their return next week!

Richard: Going bare isn't for everyone. It's hard work and requires loads of planning. If you think over-the-top is daunting, just try going under-the-top.

Seriously, any idiot with a Walmart gift card can buy a bunch of crap for the casa. Scuffed table? Put a doily on it! Hole in the wall? That inspirational cat poster will cover it just fine. Maximalism can be artful, but the way most people do it, it's more properly called "thrift store tornado aftermath". Or "hoarding".

Minimalism, though? That takes balls. Designers can dream about a minimalist room, but if that room hasn't been properly drywalled, taped, and painted, fuck it, game over. Do you trust your contractors to pull off stunts like that? If so, please pass me their numbers, because at last count, I had 27 in my contacts list, and tragically, all were born without clues.

This sparsely decorated monk's bunk is what I'd call "mostly successful". If the walls were a more personal color and the outlet weren't so plastic-y, maybe we could assume they were thoughtful choices. However, it's more likely that we've stumbled into an apartment complex whose owner went hog wild at Home Depot's annual Dover White sale. That said, I'd fuck the shit out of the navy/gray headboard and bed--so long as they've been Scotchgarded for easy clean-up, of course.