WTF: The Cube House

Continuing with the domestic architecture theme, or should I say - from the sublime to the totally fucking ridiculous:




Would have a made a terrific playhouse when I was about 10. It's the sort of thing that appeals strongly to navel-gazing young men who fancy themselves both deep and progressive thinkers. The type who think real life happens only in overpriced coffee shops and deeply-dark nightclubs. Who are always on the make, but never quite seem to have a steady girlfriend. Which perhaps is because they are so fond of quoting arcane philosophers no one has ever heard of, and trying to impress at parties by playing endless madrigals on hand-carved flutes.

I say girlfriend deliberately, because no sensible gay man would ever go for such a shipping crate of a house. Not nearly enough room to decorate!


Speaking of ridiculous - at this very moment, 2:15 p.m., it is exactly 100 degrees here on the prairie, and your Head Trucker is all hot and sweaty and naked. But it's not nearly as sexy as you think, guys - the a/c unit went haywire last night, and I've been waiting all day for the service company to arrive, all the windows open and all the fans going. Which helps very little. Probably they won't get here till 5 or so, by which time your Head Trucker may be a tepid puddle on the floor.

This would, of course, happen on the hottest damn day of the year. Send some cool thoughts my way, will ya?

UPDATE, 2:40 p.m. - Dayyum, that was fast! The service guys (straight and none too cute, crap) just left, and cool air is flowing once again. One of my readers must have amazing psychic powers - whom should I thank for this blessed relief?