Is it wrong that I kind of want to live in that house? Okay, maybe not live in it full time, but occasionally visit. It's just so... psychotic Victorian, or Gothic fabulous, or Hello Kitty bordello or something.

No. In a weird way, I'm sort of starting to love it.

Think about it, you would never get bored! There would always be something to look at. Something to make you go, "fuck the what?"

Me too. There are some spectacular pieces. Except that instead of putting one or two in a room as a feature, the owner has put ten thousand. Where the hell do you even sit in that house? Everything is covered by things! I'd be terrified of breaking something.

I'd be terrified of breaking my soul.

Their faces will haunt you at night if the furniture doesn't do it.

In the foyer, of course!

Oh my god, look at those URNS on the right! They must hold the ashes of all the people who die upon entering this house.

I rather like the blue-and-white china and the blue glassware. But I think I'm going to have nightmares of plaster cherubs and being suffocated by brocade curtains and trapped in a maze of carved Victorian furniture. And I will wake up in my bedroom that contains only a bed, four or five bookcases, and a desk, and fall out of the bed with relief.

I was so taken by that house that I reposted the link on my LJ, where someone commented with a point I was too blinded by the obvious to notice: in that entire massive house there is not a book to be seen. I would have expected a library filled with bought-by-the-yard, never-opened fine bindings, but no, not even that much.

The whole thing's a bit like a Where's Wally book - the decor's a combination of good, vastly outweighed by good god!, and you can lose yourself for hours in trying to spot the nice stuff. There's some lovely cranberry glass, and lots of Tiffany-style (possibly even Tiffany) glass and, while I personally don't want carved eagles on my dining chair, I am happy that there are dining chairs carved with eagles in the world. But then you have the nymph in the lavatory (a close cousin of the Floozy in the Jacuzzi, perhaps), looking for all the world as if she's about to boak, and you're back in their world again. Just you, and the spring onions that WATCH YOUR EVERY MOVE.

All that dusting! It would take weeks.
Also, anyone else notice the crappy white ceiling fan? I find that so fucking funny. All that money poured into costly special things, and hanging, over them is the shit ceiling fan Wallmart sells for 25$. KLASSTY! (classy+nasty)




THOSE VEGGIES WILL EAT YOUR SOUL!!!! DO NOT LOOK INTO THEIR EYES.

What kills me is the dissonance between the batshit-Victoriana furnishings and relatively normal, minimalist treatment of walls. If you are going to eat dinner on freaking eagle chairs, it is your duty to have congruently over-the-top bordello-coloured wallpaper covered with, at absolute minimum, some sort of cherubs.

Speaking of strange real estate, if pink excess isn't your thing, why not go for the Star Trek apartment instead?

I just saw a story on the news about that tonight. The guy says he plans to sell the apartment on ebay.

That apartment looks very headache-inducing. All those flashy lights all the time? No thanks.

But...but...you get your very own transporter room to sleep in. And a microwave hidden behind a computer screen.