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David K.

Sean: Dear Members of the Hardwood Federation
We get it, okay? Wood is good and I am here to support you when you tell us that good wood could and should be used for only the best wooden goods: old-timey pianos with finely-crafted hoods, armoirs, dining chair and the most innovative use of a dining chair I’ve ever seen, picture frames, model airplanes from your childhood and low-rise bookshelves, as well as for cheap IKEA bed frames and the particle board said bed frames depend on. Wood is also good for staining, for lacquering and to wallpaper over when you feel your bedroom/den/good-sexy-times-room needs the kind of pizazz that only the splotchiest wallpapers are guaranteed to provide. And take note: I wholeheartedly support consuming every part of a tree, including using pine cones as decorative danglies–and wood by-products like cardboard boxes. Feel free to send me a cheque at your convenience. 

Forever your girl, 

Sean Horlor

Shawn: I actually had Colonial-themed wallpaper as a child, and even now I’d still prefer that over floral pattern. Throw too many petals at me and I start to feel like Dorothy just wanting to rest her eyes in a deadly poppy field. Weirdly, the color scheme of this pad has me picturing the map of Oz, with red Quadling country giving way mid-range to the Deadly Desert and finally emerging into yellow Winkie Land. There’s just such a floridly Mommy quality to the scene that I’m left wondering how many men either get some naughty boy thrill out of defiling Mother’s space or themselves have an old maid locked up inside them. And the fact alone that the curtains have illusory tassels instead of real ones says we’re really stranded in a strange, strange land.

Richard: It was a cold and rainy afternoon in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, but the Society for Creative Anachronism (Asheville Chapter) weren’t about to let a little late-spring drizzle put a damper on their weekly weaponry drill. It’s a good thing, too: otherwise, Terence and Claude would never have met on the jousting field set up in Nadine Wooten‘s backyard. That night, they held another duel in private.

When Claude’s mother, Clarabelle, suddenly passed a year later, it was a shock to all — not least the SCA, since she was their reigning marchioness. But such things played out as they always do: new royalty was chosen, Terence and Claude moved into Clarice’s mountainside bungalow, and the Buncombe County Renaissance Faire went on as scheduled, but minus its star zitherist.

As a tribute to Clarabelle, Claude hung her coronation portrait (no crown because, you know, the hair) over the escritoire in the living room, and Terence reupholstered all the chairs in the house with remnants from Clarabelle’s collection of souvenir duvets, on “permanent loan” from the finest Ramada Inns across the Deep South.

Sadly, the fantasy ended one year later, when Terence came home to find that Claude had purchased a red leather sofa. Obviously, a line has to be drawn somewhere.

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