Richard: This mancave has all the bells and whistles we look for in a lurid dig: it’s an attic with an unfinished ceiling , and it’s tricked out with hand-me-down furniture that looks as comfy as a petrie dish. And yet in this case, I don’t so much mind the terrible carpet, or the abundant storage bins, or the completely insane guitar collection stashed in the back. I think that’s because of the marimba. Do you know what it took to get that big boy up the stairs? I will tell you what it took: dedication and possibly a round of blowjobs for the burly Ukrainian moving men. Anyone who can manage that deserves to be cut a little slack. Also: I have a semi-soft spot for that ductwork.

File Under:Marvelous Mancaves | Violations of Space

37

Sean: Cheese and crackers! Look at that paint job! It’s like Little Boy Blue joined the candy stripers and decided to celebrate his do-goodery with a wall mural. In a move that would hornswaggle the artiest of art critics, he took a picture of his handiwork (see far left, third row down), framed it and then hung it on said mural as a sort of existential, two-tone mind-fuck that is as perplexing as it is completely and utterly profound. It’s worth noting that the juxtaposition of native teepee landscape and sacrilicious cross gives the room an unexpected 19th-century colonial feel. That said, the lapdog-with-worms-rubbing-ass-on-sectional-couch is the masterstoke to this visual feast. “But where is the boy/ Who looks after the sheep?” Alas, only sexy Santa knows the answer to that question.

Richard: This is truly terrifying. It’s Where Gravity Goes To Die. It looks like a doodle in the margin of my high school notebook come to life (except the dog would’ve been bigger ’cause I adore dogs more than cracky, twinkish Santas). On the other hand, it takes a lot of work to ensure that nothing matches. Brava.

File Under:Living Room Wreckage

31

The tick-tock of time. The collection of dust (and doilies). The non-stop bad decisions of horny gay men across America — self-portraitizing themselves and inadvertently sharing the horrors of their homes with, well, everyone in the world. It’s enough to make you cry into your eggnog (and cancel your Manhunt subscription.)

As the year closes we’re making some changes here at Lurid Digs. Our lone Italian Peacock and style maven, John Calendo, is taking time off to focus on the full-time demand of finishing his first novel. John will still work as Senior Editor with Nightcharm and maybe, if I can beg with enough fervor, make the occasional appearance here on LD.

Longtime Nightcharm contributor and Lurid Digs style honcho Shawn Baker will be assuming John’s former position as Executive-Editor with NC. And I’ll write more about Sean’s meteoric rise to the top of queer porn’s smartest website later this month on Nightcharm.

And finally, I’d like to welcome to the fray our newest interior design mensch, Canadian wunderkind Sean Horlor.

Sean’s the co-creator and co-host of a comedy lifestyle reality TV series called Don’t Quit Your Gay Job (coming to Logo in the US in 2010), a garrulous author and a columnist covering Vancouver’s nightlife in the city’s first gay blog Up Your Alley.

When I emailed Sean yesterday, to let him know that he’d landed the LD’s appointment, he responded:

“Are you telling me that the countless hours I’ve frittered away checking out guys online over the past decade was all in preparation for a moment like this? Kelly Clarkson is probably so jealous right now that she could bottle me in the throat.”

And she is pissed! Kelly called me this morning to let me know that her life does indeed now, officially, SUCK, after losing out to Sean. Yes, the cutthroat world of interior design thrashing (and trashing). It’s killing us all.

Love,

David K.

File Under:News

14

Shawn: Sheer modern-day mythology. Here, confirmed bachelor Pygmalion ditches ivory virgin Galatea and goes for the gusto with a Neoclassical man-nymph born of all his dreams. The key elements are all perfectly updated with just the right ersatz spin. The petal pink bas relief depicts love goddess Aphrodite — certainly to be incarnated as Lady Gaga – and the locale has shifted seamlessly from the temple at Cyprus to a condo in Cyprus Springs.

The melon hues of the walls and Tyrian-hued upholstery add an air of verdant fecundity capped off by fake blooms and foliage as offerings tossed at the feet of the goddess. And the sacred Altar of Love: a mini-bar adorned with Martini shakers, shot glasses, and doilies as the votives and incense that will breathe life into the unyielding embrace of faux marble.

File Under:Living Room Wreckage

31

Richard: You know what? I am totally onboard for this. No, seriously: I am madly in love with this room. I mean, who doesn’t dig Wedgwood? And this — this isn’t just Wedgwood, it’s Wedgwood for the Miley Cyrus Generation, WEDGWOOOOOD TO THE EXXXXXTREME. My grandmother would probably hate it, but I find it exciting and new — like an episode of the Love Boat featuring guest stars Wendy O. Williams, Boadicea, and Dr. Bombay. (If only, right?)

My sole gripe is with that Walmartian gold mirror hanging in the corner: (a) it’s a horizontal line in a room full of verticals (save one fuzzy exception), and (b) one of those five queens should’ve known to get something silver to match the sling.

File Under:Dens From Hell

54