Fuck Driveways, Man.

Lately, I have been rocking a hairstyle that strangely mirrors that of 80s porn star Vanessa Del Rio and my fashion choices seem more and more like a cross between Little Edie from Gray Gardens and Yelle, my new francophone heroine.

Am I raging against the yuppie?

Last saturday, I sported the ultimate New Wave Hooker look: short black leather skirt, red tights, form-fitting black top and black and white saddle oxfords at a Bushwick loft party.

The loft was an awesomely gigantic space with (huge!) rooftop access---the inhabitants of the space call themselves the Bushwick Department of Public Works. They are shitty artists ranging from a mediocre alto sax player to an opportunistic and supremely below-average female guitarist. These artists, born of privilege, strongly believe in pushing the boundaries of art. They also believe that they are not yuppies.

STANDING ON SPRAWLING ROOFTOP. SAX SPOTS GRAFFITI TAG READING 'YUPPIES BEWARE' ON THE DOOR LEADING BACK INTO THE BUILDING.

yuppie alto sax player who drives an SUV: Yeah, I don't know why they wrote that, man. Those people live, you know, over there. [points out towards somewhere that's not where we were just then]

sax: but your car has a GPS system and you work for google.

yuppie sax player: well, that got stolen, man, so I don't have that anymore.

Inside the loft, a 25 piece band called the Bjorkestra played. They were also just ok but what a coup having a full piece jazz orchestra in their apartment, complete with a singer belting out Bjork songs!

1 point for the yuppies there.

But -1 point for the yuppies of the Bushwick Department of Public Works for the fact that they crafted a creation myth, detailing the mystical origin of their yuppie artist commune.

The creation myth was formated into a graphic novel and sections of the myth were plastered throughout the apartment for all the revelers to see.

Stopping to read each page was like stopping to read each Station of the Cross story.



(Wait, that party was during Easter weekend...whoa, so many layers!)

Anyway, I won't fully get into how as part of the Loft's creation myth, they had a guy, who was supposed to be a character from the story, splayed out of the floor, near the back of the space, for most of the night, covered in Christmas ornaments.

Two hours into the party, a petite, puckish-looking guy in a gold frock helped the real life creation myth arise from the pile of ornaments, welcoming him to the party with cans of tuna. The real life creation myth was wearing a suit-vest, trousers and a fedora.

yummicoco: Is that supposed to be Andrew DeAngelo?

It's an obscure jazz joke and not even funny because the man is seriously sick and has no health insurance. Forgive me, dear reader.

I guess I am one of them.

PRETTY IN PINK.

Blaine is a pussy.

Andie has a bug up her ass and a serious case of insecurities.

Duckie is a closet homosexual.

Doesn't sound like a thriller but I think this rendition is fun.