Back in the day, tattooed coffee tables and UV activated wallpaper were the kind of things that turned me on. I will admit to a streak of freak running wild through my tender veins, but age has tempered the magnitude of my rebellion against the norm. I still hate a white bread and mayonnaise sandwich like Damien Hirst hates poverty, but I no longer feel the need to shock and awe. Right now I shoot for The Prick (no, not that one) -- The Prick as in punctum, the little detail that pierces the veil of blahness and sends a shiver of life from tip to toes.

Like this:

Erin Martin's room in Elle's San Francisco showhouse absolutely slays me. The custom light fixture has Louise Bourgeois written all over it, and the little altar is straight genius. This room is lean, mean, and damned sophisticated. Found via The Nero Chronicles.

Or how about this room in Patrice Gruffaz's home? Someone's been snacking on magic mushrooms again.

And I am absolutely consumed by Pierre Passebon's fireplace. There are a lot of weird details in this apartment, but that fireplace haunts my dreams, and when I can't stop fixating on things then I know they're good. Really good.

It's that little bit of obsession that makes me feel alive.

And crazy.

Will you think less of me if I admit I'm a bit of a shelter mag virgin? Sure, I've been blogging art and interiors for going on three years now, but until recently I depended on the internet for my resources. Thanks to a generous holiday gift, I am now the proud owner of AD and Elle Decor subscriptions. I'm sure trees everywhere are throwing up their branches in disgust, but what can I say? I'm addicted to the glossies already. So I was pretty stoked to get AD. I mean, Margaret Russell at the helm = instant awesomeness, right? Well, my January issue arrived and I was bewildered. The February issue arrived and I was confounded. As it turns out, the current issue is the first with La Russell's indelible mark. So now the March issue has arrived and I've been full on flashed by naked drunken boobies -- metaphorically speaking, of course.

That's not a bad thing. I like boobies.

Heiress and tastemaker Daphne Guinness' New York apartment almost warrants two black bars to cover up the naughty bits. Guinness maintains her space combines, "the shine of Metropolis... with the lush flora of Suddenly, Last Summer... a sort of savage modernism." I have to say that I sort of scratched my head at her apartment until I read that sentence, and then everything just clicked into place for me. I won't post the rest of her home, but you can see it over at 2THEWALLS (a seriously fantastic blog).

Beyond the types of projects featured this month (a glorious home designed by Commune, among them), the biggest change that stands out to me is the photography. I swear, AD homes always looked like nothing so much as mausoleums, darkly photographed using only artificial light. Downright dead and dull.

With Thomas Loof on duty as principal photographer at Guinness' shoot, and the inimitable Francois Halard at the helm of Pierre Passebon's wild and wacky pad (designed in collaboration with Jacques Grange, no less), things are looking a lot brighter. Alive, even.

RIP, old AD. Boobies in your face.