Eric B. does not Facebook, Tweet or blog. He uses the internet to cruise for sex, like god intended. He has leopard print in every room of his house, save one. And he does not apologize
Heather Corinna is the undisputed diva of online erotica for chicks. She publishes Scarleteen.com and is a sex guru to thousands of teenagers.
David: I've never understood the application of shelving that is too small to actually shelve anything. What's the point? Though I guess the toy train set that's positioned above the homeowner's head is fitting, given the depth of the shelf -- but still, it just looks off to me and cheap. Aside from the alarming concern for the all blue walls and door, I've got to comment on the greasy mirror. It appears as though a gorilla has been practicing his kissing techniques with his own reflection, that or someone mistook a can of Pam for Windex and just gave up once he saw the error of his ways. And what about the mirror itself? Is this a sliding door from a closet ripped from its track and leaned up against a nearby wall. It looks that way, which might explain the tumbling out of clothing and plastic containers on the right.
David: This is one of the oddest rooms we've encountered in quite a long time, and, well, we take pride in thinking we've "seen it all." The disaster quota is low here, but our displacement meters are maxing out all over the place. The initial vibe is that we are in a back room behind a florist shop, like maybe that black curtain leads to the front of the shop and mom is out there managing customers. Ew. The strange growths contained in the old giant mayonnaise containers are creepy, in a Little Shop of Horrors sort of way. Or maybe these are young Louis Pasteurs dreaming big of curing cancer or chlamydia. Still, we recommend that those go back in the kitchen somewhere (if there is a kitchen) or the laboratory down in the dungeon. Also, do some extreme knick-knack filtering. At a certain age you don't want to promote the idea that you just hang out at carnivals collecting prizes for throwing darts at balloons or ping-pong balls into tiny goldfish bowls. The fact that both men are on their phones while fucking is another bit of tragic fallout from our tech and hookup age. Whatever happened to good old romance and sex experienced with focused intensity? I know that's not an 'interiors' issue, but I couldn't help but ask. Am I right?
Richard: At my elementary school, we were taught to be "normal". To get that point across, our teachers relied on drawings of bedrooms, stadiums, and shopping malls, each labeled with the same question: "What's wrong with this picture?"
I was pretty good in school, but I bombed on exercises like those. My responses were usually like, "Sure, that portrait of George Washington is upside-down, but perhaps that was the artist's intent." Or, "Yes, there's an elephant drinking from a water fountain beside the Chess King, but is that morally wrong--apart from the presence of Chess King?"
I have half a mind to send them this photo and see how they respond. Among they things they'd surely point out:
1. Laundry on the floor? Definitely not normal!
2. Miss Piggy and Gonzo? Boys don't play with dolls!
3. A bird attacking a deer wearing a wig? Not unless we're at a Bennigan's!
4. A bicycle indoors? Bikes belong outside, like dogs, children, and outhouses!
They'd never spot the real problem: the broken, leftover mirror from a shabby-chic chifforobe leaning against the wall, just waiting to rip someone's blouse. Nor would they spot the piece de resistance: a painting of the one, the only, the truly outrageous Jem above the hutch.
Eric: My hatred for shiny wooden walls is well-documented. Scroll waaaaaaaay back to "I Never Met A Mancave I Didn't Loathe" if you have the strength and/or you need a refresher.
Seriously, whitewash that shit. Then you have options-- gentrified rustic, industrial, country house, seaside charmer...
While the slate is blank, gather up the existing wall adornments (particularly the bizarre 'scab' coatrack and Blair Witch crucifix) and group them elsewhere. The wall over the trashcan on the back porch would be perfect.
For some reason. this room cries out to me for some '60s homespun craftiness. Macramé, beads, bamboo, yarn art, whatever. Pick your 3 favorite colors and tie-dye duvet and pillow covers. Tension rods and café curtain clip bandannas for the window.
I do like the bedside chest. Remove the placemat and power strip that's camouflaging it and let it be free to be itself.
Mirrors get their feeling of worth from what they reflect. This poor fella should be moved to the opposite wall and joined by three to five more for a view worth reflecting.
And speaking of the bed, there's plenty of space here for one large enough for encounters both solo and group. Spread your wings and fly, child of the universe. That's copacetic.
David: This is a space where music is paramount and order and symmetry don't count for much. There are actually about 13 guitars in this room (we've seen other online shots from this series) -- some behind the doors in those closets, some under the bed, some hanging in a sling next to the bed. The devotion to music here is beyond manic, in fact there are so many guitars in this room there isn't any room for clothing, so this room is experienced with the owner being naked all of the time. We don't have a lot to say about this room because color treatment-wise the white doors with the beige walls are OK by us. And the CDs to the left appear orderly and contained, it's really just the need to clench our fists and get up the gumption to walk right into this room and help the owner out with his dilemma (the 'no room for his clothing thing' that he struggles with) that's compelling this critique. We'll suspend any sort of judgement, though -- and we'll just soothe him and assure him that his nakedness is next to godliness and that the music of the spheres is best played on a skin flute. We think he'll dig that and probably want to accompany us on a guitar.