Living Room Wreckage

I Am Nauseous (Yellow)

Eric: Longtime readers will recognize that what I'm about to say, I've said before. If you're a new Digger, take notes. Otherwise, you might get sick of me repeating myself: As gay men, we have a moral obligation to teach each other and the rest of the world about flattering colors around which to be nude. These walls ain't it. They're giving me a sick headache, as the granny who originally furnished this room would have said.


Malcolm in the Middle

David: Hook-up culture has mutated into a dehumanizing free-for-all of anything-goes disposability. As in: disposable people. And so displayed family photographs are a bad idea for courting a date (or — especially — a quick fuck’n'dump).


It's a Mottled, Mottled, Mottled World

Eric:At first I thought it was me. Then I put my glasses on and the room looked exactly the same.

From the popcorn ceiling to Granny's faded wallpaper to the disturbed nap of the upholstery to the cork floor, even to the reflected Olan Mills backdrop, the tenant's body fur and the acidwashed cat's-whisker finish on his jeans (has there ever been a more stupid fashion trend, by the way?


The World of Suzie Wrong

Eric: Back in 1960, American moviegoers were introduced to Suzie, a gold-hearted Hong Kong whore. The film's cultural legacy is large-- the still-stunning Nancy Kwan, an iconic haircut, quaint racism, the cheongsam dress (see photo),and the realization that the Asiana the men had brought back from their war(s) could move out of the attic and into the house proper.


Lost Lace and Leprechaun Diarrhea

Eric: Every once in a while, for mental discipline I imagine how I'd downsize from my garden-level 1200 sq ft back to the 400 of my beloved micro-loft. I bet the occupant of this room never pictured himself in an SRO bedsit. Poor fella. I wish him well.

I wouldn't, however, wish that window mistreatment on anyone. Nothing against lace curtains -- I have half a dozen pair of nice, heavy ecru ones, souvenirs of my Swingin' Edwardian Bachelor Pad days.

But these don't even close. WTF?


Botticelli's Missing Clamshell

David: Nothing kills the soul quicker than the color beige. Even the word 'beige' is dick-wilting. The word beige is what linguists call an onomatopoeia -- a word that phonetically imitates, resembles or suggests the source of the sound that it describes. Can't you feel beige diminishing your life too, right now -- just by reading about it?

Here beige-ness has overtaken a home, ala Invasion of the Body Snatchers.


Westward Ho(mo)!

Eric: Our dear mother, Carlton Varney, once warned us about what happens when your décor goes over-feminine, mixing too many lace curtains and doilies with too much wicker and Kountry Kutesy. He called it The Dollhouse Look.

I believe that the obverse has happened here. Obviously.


The Recline of Western Civilization

Eric: I fear that the reign of gay taste is ending, brought down by the heterosexist idea that function trumps form, that the feeling of kicking back is more important than the appearance of that back upon which one kicks.

The demise of our stylish supremacy can be summed up in one phrase: velour-covered squooshy furniture.


Creature Comforts (and Copper Hoarding!)

Barrett: Today’s edition of Lurid Digs comes all the way from Loch Ness, which besides the legendary monster, is home to rooms far scarier than some hairless creature poking about for a closeup photo.


Check It Out

Barrett: Check. And checkmate. Wow. That's a lot of robin's egg blue and blonde wood for one room. Then again, it does offset the dark wood paneling and quilt squares nicely, while adding a feminine touch.

As do the silk flowers, which oddly remind me of the Vietnamese place where I get my pedicures. Man, a pedicure sure would be great right now.



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