Steve: “People ask me, ‘where’d you get all this stuff,’ and I always tell them, ‘I just, you know, found it.’ I find stuff pretty much everywhere, and I just take it home. That’s my look. I think it’s cool how everything in the world sort of goes together, you know? A bonus tip is cover things in foil.”

Richard: Some of us assumed that this lothario, like his naugahyde settee, is of foreign origin and therefore possesses different aesthetic sensibilities. Then someone suggested this might be a fantasy room at one of those low-end hotels in the Catskills—something with the theme of “Opposite Day, Where Everything Wrong is Right!”

Unfortunately, this gem is too truly, truly outrageous for either of those flimsy excuses. From the orange wall treatment (created with a feather-duster, which we know because we remember the 80s) to the over-abundant leopard print, to the unfortunate sartorial decisions (there’s more ladypants in the bathroom), it’s pretty clear: we have seen the truth of Timothy Leary’s Eternal Philosophy of Chaos and it’s rooms like this.

Thanks for crushing the last little bit of Pollyanna we had left.

Steve: Magor recently wrote us about the feelings he was having toward his dark, gloomy bathroom, and the way it might be feeding into his Seasonal Affective Disorder. He worried, “I don’t like going in there as much as I feel like I should. There’s no sunlight at all, and I’m the kind of man who needs a lot of affirmation and positivity. I’m just not happy in there.”

We suggested this cheerful curtain to brighten up Magor’s private “me time.”

Two weeks later, we received this affirmation, “Hey. Yeah, this is helping me. My heart is warmer and I think starting my days in my new, sunnier shower is helping the tone of my interactions all day long. At nights, after the gym, I get home and it reminds me of the possibilities for tomorrow.”

Steve: Classical. That’s the main thing we were going for when we oversaw the decoration of this room, so I told the designer very plainly that I needed there to be lots of swirly bits and… classical stuff that would let people know where Rodger and I stand financially. I told him, “I want there to be… silver things. And swirly things. And satin stuff and tassels. Like in cartoons about people who are rich. Make it like that.”

This is genuine laminate flooring. Please wipe your feet.

Shawn: This is damned to faint praise. Sure, our guy knows his strengths and wisely foregrounds his girded haunches and well-developed calves, but face-free nakedness always beg the question whether it’s a less-than-photogenic mug or an innate shame that calls for anonymity.

And just as it’s possible to be technically hot but not especially exciting — sort of like the interchangeable Van Patten or Van Dyke sons or softcore porn — brand name-heavy vacuousness can neutralize everything in sight.

His domicile is marked by the very same middle-of-the-road, risk-free ambience that characterizes his handbook nudie shot, as if the entire place were mainlined from Pottery Barn. That’s got to be the company catalog resting on his subdued navy upholstery and I’m thinking it’s either the Sumatra Media Cabinet or the Tanner Nesting Tables that are driving him to such flank-bearing delirium, especially since he already has the faux-craftsman Raleigh Coffee Table and matching Mica Lamp.

It’s a given that there’s constant smooth jazz and/or world music piped in, plus the entire series of Murder, She Wrote (The Golden Girls are just too tarty and floral-inclined) waiting in his Netflix queue, all for the sake of maintaining the hypnotically tranquil jejuneness of it all. Only the conspicuous 8 x 10 of a beaming Eisenhower Era moppet reveals the subtextual seething rage and self-loathing that compel their sufferers to seek out this very oppressive prosaicness that ultimately crushes the already broken inner child within.

Maybe this is none other than Steve Guttenberg — the embodiment of the built-but-bland guy you’d nail but feel empty inside not only after, but during — squat thrusting for his upcoming run on Dancing With The Stars. Or could it be one of the earnestly zoned-out Romney Brothers biting down on that glaucous throw pillow as he simultaneously weeps and pants about what a dirty boy he is deep, deep down inside.

Yes, we know it’s you Tab or Dart … or Flash …

Steve: My colleagues are going to disagree, but I’m going to just admit that I’m comforted by this. I know it’s not stylish. But does it look like it’s trying to be stylish? No. The guy knows what he likes and isn’t embarrassed to just display that stuff. The only real issue is posing with an erection in front of a picture of one’s grandmother.

I guess if I were hired to advise him on his interior, I’d bring up the possibility of putting this stuff behind some doors somewhere, and if I were hired to photograph him… it wouldn’t be in front of this particular shelf unit.

David: So many parts work here, albeit parts that are confined within the bookcase grid — but still this gets an A+ from me. Why? Well, it’s the equivalent of a collage, an ensemble that declares one’s essence, one’s ‘isness.’

Yes, as Steve points out there’s a picture of granny (or maybe that’s mom?) but to the right there’s also a picture of the homeowner from his college days. That photo depicts him in a pose similar to the nude shot we’re getting. I like that traveling through time feel — from grandma, to school days, to NOW! Eckart Tolle would like this room too. Also, in a bit of subliminal wonder we have the gigantic Sex Bible (how fine is that?), shoring up his pose. The power of this image rests on unfettered and free libidinal chutzpah … and that’s truly fab.