Shawn: I’m getting profound Eurotrash vibrations from this one. Why, I can practically hear Giorgio Moroder synths. His Gigi D’Agostino-style grooming and hair color suggest Italy, but the furniture has a Black Forest sensibility to it that reads Switzerland. I suspect the leather office chair comes courtesy of the polyglot Eurostyle catalog, so that in conjunction with the generic Pan-European or -American nude pin-up just further muddies the waters. The Hummel-like miniatures are pure Teutonic kitsch, though. Ultimately, it’s the curiously labeled can of soda – which, no matter how many times I examine it — to mine eyes still appears to read “der Sprite,” that leaves “East, such a mystery; West, open history” running through my mind.
Jimbo: I know we’re supposed to concentrate on decor but there’s so much manscaping going on here that I feel as though it counts. I mean, the close-cropped, bad dye job up top; the matching, scrupulously manicured, two-tone Van Dyke; the double earring set (always a no-no – on a man, anyway); the completely shaved pubes grotesquely accented by not just the total lack of any other body shaving but by the oddly diaper-shaped tanline and the [inevitable] cock-ring as well; the faux-threatening scowl and the predictable leather chair all conspire to say, “A Control Freak Lives Here” to me. And one who isn’t afraid to pitch a petulant public hissy when crossed, for that matter.
The ugly nude painting propped above the two Old Lady cookie jars merely make my case for me. (Five’ll get you ten that he’s the painter!) As does the can of Sprite. (On TWO coasters, no less!) Because… you know… a girl’s gotta watch her figure…
David K. publishes Nightcharm, the only gay porn site ever to be featured on Oprah and regularly compared to Martha Stewart Living.
Shawn Baker is the Executive-Editor of Nightcharm and hails from New York. He is a member of its young underclass, a little bit Ann Darrow, a little bit Travis Bickle.
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.
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hmm…multi-color drapes, no carpet. must be one of those “eclectic” types.
Good fucking grief, another shaves-the-pubic-hair type? What the hell’s up with that? That’s starting to annoy me as much as black sheets.
It’s 90 degrees here and I can’t imagine sitting naked in a leather/pleather/whatever chair. The little house things there are odd; what are they, cookie jars? They have a little girl/maiden auntie quality to them.
However, his insouciant expression makes him seem like some Euro-villain plotting his latest outrage, in hopes that Superdaddy will stop him. Repeatedly.
other than my personal preference against leather furniture (my cats would tear it up) i don’t really see anything wrong with the decor. well just that atrocious nude pic – it’s awful. but the other furniture & stuff looks just fine to me.
The little toy cars in front of the cookie jar houses are a nice touch.
What up with the two-toned beard??
Dennis, you may be turning up in one of these photos next if you think this look is OK.
As for the “der,” isn’t it a “diet”? Of course, I’d be more horrified to find out he was an American than anything else.
I much prefer the penis in the photo behind the lovely houses.
remember when you were about 12 and your best friend mikey lived down the street? you loved going over there cuz his father, mike senior, was always working in the yard with his shirt off, and the way the sweat glsitened on his beefy, hairy body affected you in ways you didn’t yet fully understand.
sleepovers at mikey’s were great. his father talked to you like you were a grownup, he’d let the two of you split a beer in secret, and when he’d bearhug you goodnight it smelled and felt so good that you wished he was your father and he’d hold you tight forever so you could listen to his heart beating quietly in his broad, strong chest.
you wanted him to see you in your tighty whities, and you wanted to see him in his. maybe you could even take a shower together.
when you and mikey would fool around naked together before finally going to sleep, you fantasized that mike senior would silently open the door and join in, showing you all the things you so desperately wanted to know.
but he never did. all that happened between you were those great hugs and those long, intense glances fraught with secret shared meaning.
the last hug you got from him was at your highschool graduation.
a few years pass, and you’re home on a visit. you make an excuse to your folks and head to the one gaybar the next town over.
there he is. you almost don’t recognize him through the wool cap, chain wallet, outdated piercings and last year’s tribal tatoo peeking out the back of his tanktop. even though the smile is the same, the solid man’s body, the scent and the bearhug are the same, he isn’t mikey’s cool sexy dad anymore, he’s just mike, another ageing gay man trying a bit too hard to be hip and young.
over a few beers you confess to each other how you used to feel and what you used to fantasize. the boner-inducing eyelock is still the same too, and you accept his invitation to come over and ‘catch up on old times.’
he has a crappy post-divorce apartment with dark, dated thrift store furniture, porn centerfolds on the wall, and out-of-place knicknacks he inherited from his mother.
the sex is good. not the earth-shattering life-changing coupling you’d craved for years, after which you’d move in together and take care of each other forever, but good.
your goodbye fuck the next morning is poignant. somehow you know that in his mind you’re still about 13 and he’s still 35, just like in yours.
from that moment on, every time you see a collectible cookiejar you’ll sigh a quiet bittersweet sigh, think about what might have been, and wonder if he ever got over that goddamn fucked-up hairdo.
I know we’re supposed to concentrate on decor but there’s so much manscaping going on here that I feel as though it counts. I mean, the close-cropped, bad dye job up top; the matching, scrupulously manicured, two-tone Van Dyke; the double earring set (always a no-no – on a man, anyway); the completely shaved pubes grotesquely accented by not just the total lack of any other body shaving but by the oddly diaper-shaped tanline and the [inevitable] cock-ring as well; the faux-threatening scowl and the predictable leather chair all conspire to say, “A Control Freak Lives Here” to me. And one who isn’t afraid to pitch a petulant public hissy when crossed, for that matter.
The ugly nude painting propped above the two Old Lady cookie jars merely make my case for me. (Five’ll get you ten that he’s the painter!) As does the can of Sprite. (On TWO coasters, no less!) Because… you know… a girl’s gotta watch her figure…
Allow me to backpedal… I should have said I don’t see anything lurid about the decor. It’s not fantastic. But it’s not lurid. I like ericthewriter’s synopsis. I totally LOL’d.
So glad the Kitschy Village is not on fire…however, the gargantuan fire hose poised directly above the village is ready to put out any possible flames….except for the BIG one sitting in the Faux-Leather chair.
Uck! No baseboard- I fear we’ve got another basement apartment here. No lamp in sight- I suspect neon tube ceiling fixtures. The only thing I find remotely intriguing here is the slightly-ajar toy drawer, perhaps where the ineffective Swedish Peter pump is found…
They’re not cookie jars. They’re kitchen “canisters” from an Aldi store-the roofs lift off. Im a big fan of Eames,but I doubt thats one of his chairs.Is that a poster or a naked paint by number?
it looks like a kristian bjorn photograph to me. the black & whites are prolly mapplethorpe still lifes, with the more ummmmmmm interesting photos in the bedroom. those were also inherited from his mother.
Here again we need to ‘zoom out’ to see the total scheme. Way out.
There seems to be no color scheme unless no color IS the color. The left of this image appears black and white while the right seems to include all colors. Where’s the focal point? For me, there is none. Not even the magazine fold out tacked to the wall. I fear popcorn ceiling with silver glitter may be overhead. Given the guy’s hair color, I think we have a lover of contrast. Black/white, tan/pale, masculine/neutered, etc.
I think that after getting comfortable for the evening, the first thing you want to do is become familiar with all emergency exits. Then an exit plan should follow. A friend with a cell phone who will call at 1:08 a.m. is a friend indeed. “What? Muffy is missing!! I’ll be right there!!!”
I believe Mike C has guessed correctly, although I have no faith in this gentleman’s competence as a Euro-Villian.
“Gweetings, members of the UN. Allow me to intwoduce myself. I am Bawon Vilhelm von Manscapist, and I haf here curled in my left hand a wemote vhich contwols my Ultimate Death Way 9000-Lamba, vhich vill delifer a blast of 300 megatons to the undefended city of Newark, New Jersey mittin one hour…unless you welay to me the sum of ONE MILLION DOLLARS, delivered personally by a team of vell-muscled und oiled cabana boys to the following addwess: 395 Hudson Street, apartment B2, Sandusky, Ohio. The fwont door is in the back, past the wecycling bins.
Be varned that my mercy as bwief as my pubic hair. Danke for your prompt compliance.
MUA HA HA HA HAAAAAA!”
He could never defeat Superdaddy, even with a crotch-searing blowtorch and a hijacked submarine.
Never!
The entrance is around back? Yeah, it figures.
My guess is that he bleached his pubes one too many times, they fried and all fell out. Probably happened when he was back-combing them. (Even noticing a little skin irritation,….hmmm, from the looks of things that could mean anything, none of it good.) I hate when that happens…..
I love that some guys HAVE TO be blonde: Clairol 666 “Blonde At Any Cost.” They don’t care if it turns out bad, if the tone is closer to green than yellow, if they’re 1,000 years old or if it screams “When I turned gay my wife divorced me, but she’s my sister and I’ll always luvs her.” They believe that blondes have more fun and damn it, they wants themselves some of that more fun stuff! Have we learned nothing from Anna Nichole Smith?
Really luvvin’ me that awning-striped goatee. Hey kids, The Circus is in town! There’s the tent AND the clown!
Blonde & stripes can be done right. Guy Fieri,yes. This,no.
I can’t help but think that gigantic dong is terrorizing that poor little cookie jar village…..”Attack of the 8″ Dong Giant in Luridscope”
i was thinking ‘brazilla versus tchotchkeyo.’ *shrug*
Eric’s story hits it. There’s something not just gay, but failed heterosexual about both the man and his quarters. That is, he seems to be making up for lost time but going purely on bad instincts.
I came back from Tahiti to THIS?
I just LEFT this!
But seriously……….Eric, you’ve got the gift of evocative (and provocative) narrative. But your musings on this gent….superb.
Now, testify…….is this man YOUR daddy? (giggles)
Well done!
*blush*
i’m in gay middle age, jeff– too old to get a daddy, too young to be one. i’m marketing myself as the hot nasty young uncle you never knew you needed.
but IF this were my daddy, i’d be tying him to the chair (‘let’s play bankrobbers, daddy…’) & getting out the clippers. then while he was still immobilized i’d be whitewashing the side table, rethinking the artwork and putting the collectibles on top of the kitchen cabinets where they belong. after checking them for interesting contents, of course.
and then it would be spanking time.
It’s definitely “diet” Sprite, not “der” Sprite. And I disagree re. the origin of that “Black Forest/Swiss” end-table. It’s pure Mexican Colonial.
Shawn – I can’t believe you made a Dancing in Berlin reference. I LOVE YOU
That nude behind the little ceramic houses really sets them off.
fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck
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