• Wayne Bund

At last night's opening ceremony, the Works was fucking bananas. Before I even got through the front doors I saw—up close and personal—a dick waving in the wind and a girl's naked peeing ass. (Really, you're going to use the chain link fence as a wall to piss against? OK. Suit yourselves.) It didn't get any less strange from there.

Standing on the flag pole base near the front steps a man two shakes shy of raving derelict tied the TBA festival together with bombing the moon. I shit you not. He was competing with teens, yelling at him to shut up. And while homebody was crackerjacks, taunting people performing their bad art at a festival of experimental art seriously misses the point.

Inside, the sprawling confines of the converted Washington High—especially in the beer garden—was a sort of hipster mecca. It was far more than Portland's used to. Silverlake is a perhaps a more appropriate touchstone. There were so many good looking, over-styled hipsters posturing and milling around I didn't know whether to masturbate or kill myself. I should say I leaned in a particular direction.

  • Wayne Bund

The main show space resembles a slightly smaller Roseland, wraparound balcony and all. It was packed and pulsing as Gang Gang Dance banged their glorified drum circle.

Alison was right all along—the Works this year will facilitate better parties than in years past. It's almost too good. Things figure to cool down a bit once there's a cover charge in place, but still—there's so much space, so many nooks and crannies in which to get lost or stir up trouble it's mindblowing. Just as a few people already discovered last night, the open third floor windows are perfect for sprinkling shit down on the unsuspecting outdoor beer garden beneath. Then there's the sprawling lawn, plus probably a basement I have yet to discover.

And so, I'd like to propose my own little contest: I'll put together a prize package for the best photo of garish behavior caught at the Works*. It could be anything from sex on the lawn to a game of Drunk Guy Jenga. Who knows! Get snapping!

*Disclaimer: The Mercury does not condone bad behavior at the Works or anywhere else. This is not an encouragement of anything against the rules, only an observation of what's already transpired. Don't fuck up a good thing. (Even if it's too good...)