Photos by Matt Schipp

In conjunction with the opening of SEEN, we at FLAVOURHOOD decided to put out a zine. The first of many issues, SEEN Zine is 52 pages in black and white and showcases the same 5 photographers from the show as well 5 featured photo essays from us and the artists we’ve worked with in the past.

There’s still a few copies available at Chaparral City for purchase during their visiting hours. Issues in Oakland and Pegasus in downtown Berkeley also has a couple of copies. If you can’t make to any of those shops just shoot us an email flavourhood@ymail.com and we’ll be able to work something out.

- The FH team

By Greg Manley
Photography By Arion Doerr
spacespacespacBlaine Davis
spacespacespacSasha Arutyunova
spacespacespac& Will Sherman

5 years ago, I designed a sport as an artistic project.  My hope was to bridge a long standing and unnecessary cultural gap between popular sports and the art world.  The result was circle rules football, a new team sport played on a circular field with a large ball.  Since 2007, we have played nearly every Sunday in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park.  What started out as a few friends indulging an idea has now become a rapidly developing vision of what new sports can be.  By virtue of consistency and visibility we’ve garnered a good deal of attention from press and, as a result, the game is now played in ~200 locations across the country and abroad.

Circle rules football has been featured in: The New York Times, Wall Street Journal, Good Morning America, London Evening Standard, ESPN, WIRED Magazine, Lunch NYC and more.  We have earned “Best In Festival” awards from Come Out & Play NY, IgFest (Bristol, UK),Steel City Games Fest (Pittsburgh, PA) and participated in Figment, Come out & play SF, NYC Fringe Festival, and others.

Tuesday 1/23: 5pm – 730pm

Wednesday 1/24:  5pm-8pm

Friday  1/26: 10-1pm & 5pm-8pm

click track cover image for download link

Track 1 – 47:43

Track 2 – 36:22

Track 3 – 58:55

________________________

In October of 1946, 425 clerks from Hasting’s and Kahn’s department stores walked out on their jobs and began to march through downtown Oakland. They were soon joined by union workers: truck drivers, machinists, longshoremen, and laborers of all types representing over a hundred different union groups. On December 3rd, over 100,000 people lined the city’s streets and called it a “work holiday.”

This was just one of many strikes in the “great strike wave” that took place all across the country. WWII had left the economy and the bay area in disorder. Embittered and frustrated with the war effort and unfair labor practices from employers, people took to the streets to protest in hopes of change and reform.

Some 65 years later New York’s Occupy Wall Street movement has swelled and spread, from coast to coast, and once more, Oakland has rallied and joined in solidarity. With the recent display of excessive force by Oakland PD and the assault on marine Scott Olsen, it was only natural that the city with a rich history of activism step to the forefront and call for a general strike.

On November 2nd, we at FLAVOURHOOD decided to take to streets to get a first hand account of the historical event. What we saw was an amazing show of positivity and hopefulness. Despite the negative portrayals from the media and the unfortunate destruction of property by certain individuals, the protest was an exercise of peace and unity.

_________________________

Photography by Flavourhood

__________________________

Further Reading – Audio documentary of the “General Strike of 1946″ in Oakland by KPFA ( Source: Indybay.org )

- In-depth article ”The Great Strike Wave of 1946“ ( Source: Bit-O-News )

These freeway retaining walls have been popping up everywhere and they are perfect for climbing.  Climbing these structures is a hybrid between bouldering and buildering (climbing rocks and climbing buildings).  It is similar to bouldering because of the rock like features and similar to buildering because it was made by man with cement.  This is just yet another example of how we can challenge the way things are and take back public space.  More to come.

FH

by The Crook Factory

“BART… And You’re There!”   You’re on your own trying to get back at night, though.  As a lifetime rider, one learns BART’s limits.

Worldwide, every great metropolitan area takes their crack at a great transit system.  We got BART.  It is what it is, limited reach, upholstered seats and all. With ridership is at an all-time high, BART is running a $5 million surplus, which must make it one of the only municipal organizations in country with some extra cash right now.  What is BART to do with all this money?  The major proposal has been to replace all the trains over the next 15 years, which will cost billions.  We don’t doubt that the trains could use an update, but it seems BART should strive to serve everyone before cleaning up for the morning commuters who already get their trains every 7 minutes.

If you Google, “Late Night Bart,” one of the first hits is the bart.gov page, ”Why Doesn’t BART Run 24 hours?“  Well, the short answer is BART was never designed for most of the system’s riders these days, including late night riders.  It’s never going to be the New York City Subway, the T, the Tube, the L, or the Paris Metro.  But BART can serve the Bay Area better.

There’s an ugly side to the status quo: life-shattering car crashes, x million pounds of carbon emissions, and CHP & Co. d.u.i.-ing hella fools to jail, court, and all those damn classes. Or even the less dramatic bummer of seeing lonely wanderers taking SUVs across the Bay Bridge by themselves.  We know the thousands of drunk driving deaths and arrests can’t be completely prevented by running trains into the early morning. But it can provide an opportunity for a cultural shift that can save some lives and improve the quality of many others.

This year, BART approved and then canceled a trial period with 1 hour extended service on Friday nights and 1 hour less service on Saturday mornings.  Now there may be a new trial period for late-ish night service on the way. Although it’s expensive and doesn’t sound very appealing, it’s an attempt in the right direction.  But we’re making a grander appeal to the 9-county community that is the Bay Area.  We’re asking how BART can be the transit service for the next 100 years that will serve us all. The trains have the ability to bring us together in ways that won’t manifest in a 30-day trial period—we’re talking about tying the economic and social lives of Bay Area citizens together, day and night, for generations to come.

There’s a movement afoot.  It’s on Facebook now, so it’s official. They have a campaign going 25,000-strong calling for 24-hour service. That’s what’s up. But let’s be clear, the Facebook folks aren’t going to figure this thing out on their own. That’s why BART has a Board of supervisors and a gang of engineers: to make decisions. Crunch the numbers.  Run the scenarios.  One train every half hour from 12:30 a.m. to 4:00? How about limited stops—run an express train?  Just get folks across the bay! You can tell the East Bay is struggling with this; don’t even ask San Jose.

Clearly there’s frustration boiling up; we’ve been thinking about this for some time, now.  It may not be BART’s biggest issue—they can’t even get a train to Silicon Valley, the technology capital of the world—, it just seems like something that can be figured out.

Here’s our vision.  We thought it would be best to draw it up so the good folks at BART and the peoples of the Bay in general could see it clearly.  We enlisted the rawest poster printer in the area, Frank Zio from Hangar 18 in West Oakland.  There’s 60 or so limited edition art prints available.  Otherwise, download the design, send it around.  Tell a friend.

Further Reading:

(LATE NIGHT TRIAL) http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2011/04/26/MN291J80IL.DTL

(LATE NIGHT TRIAL CANCELLED)http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2011/06/21/BA181K0B27.DTL&tsp=1]

(BUDGET SURPLUS) http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2011/03/10/BA8V1I6PNS.DTL&tsp=1

(OLD SCHOOL BART) http://sfbart.posterous.com/bart-mini-skirts

(BART EXCUSE official.gov) http://www.bart.gov/guide/latenight.aspx

(Unofficial complaint blog) http://bartrage.com/

click album cover image for download link

Derby Dream

Against All Odds

Demolition Derbys. Hulking old cars manufactured during the Golden Age of the American automobile, converted into battering-rams and entered into the arena, where might makes right. Every august the city Woodland holds a derby at the annual Yolo County Fair that attracts thousands of people. The money made is so substantial that the city doesn’t charge an admission fee, making it the last free fair in California.

Wealthy farming families from the surrounding communities make up the majority of derby entrants. They have well stocked garages, farm mechanics, and a surplus of farm profits making the sky the limit. Many of these families have been competing as far back as the 1890′s when the derby was originally just a horse race. Then there’s Tata. In contrast to the other derby drivers, Tata is a new jack, but he’s no rookie. He’s been entering cars in the derby for last six years with his dad Frank.

A few years back Tata had found himself an old station wagon that was still good shape. Entering other cars in the interim, he worked on the unrusted wagon for years; he made sure there weren’t any weak spots in the metal, reinforced it’s back end that not only would help create extra momentum but also absorb the impact of whatever obstacle standing in its way. By and large, this was the first car Tata worked on alone, asking for help only when necessary from friends and family. This car was his four ton baby. This was his best chance to make his mark and a name for himself.

Prepping some nuts and bolts that were welded to the frame.

Tata in his backyard work station, a month before the derby.

Tata’s father Frank, ringside post-fight***.

This is the passenger’s door to last year’s car. Cars are often entered into multiple derbys. With a little work, it’s likely it’ll ride again.

Inside Yo Momma.

Pre-Demolition Derby, finished and freshly painted.  Sparse on the inside, clean on the outside.

Day of the Derby

We parked in a strip mall across from the fairgrounds. Crowds of people of all ages were out and about. A guy with a shotgun who patrolled the parking lot eyed us as we passed under the entrance’s archway. Walking through the lot to where the derby vehicles were staged you could just smell the gasoline in the air and hear the thundering roars of unmuffled V8 engines. It was like a car show, only a lot uglier. One where all the cars were dented and damaged with botched paint jobs. A pit-bulls only dog show.

Before a car can enter the arena, it has to pass an inspection by the judges. Supposedly, every year a list of rules is designated, regulating derby car customizations, and every year no one reads it.  So judges inspect and enforce the rules on the spot creating frenzy for drivers and crews to straighten out their cars before  the contest begins. If you can’t fix your car it in time, you don’t run in the derby. This is where we met up with Tata again, awaiting inspection with his crew in a line between the rest of the American-made trucks and cars. In front of him was the “Wolfman,” a legendary professional derby driver from Nevada who in the two previous days racked-up three thousand bucks in winnings. Two cars behind Tata was the guy, who had won last year but was disqualified on a technicality, for driving a car with a torpedo for a hood ornament. As it turned out Tata had to make some minor adjustments, but nothing a blow torch and family couldn’t fix.

Derby Officials, AKA the haters, making sure cars meet regulations.

Tata’s family and friends making some last minute modifications.

Serious business. A Derby driver, who came all the way from England to compete, waiting in line to get his truck inspected.

Attempting to create a crumple zone by way of large dude with a sledgehammer.

Good Times

We headed to the family and friends section of the bleachers. The stands were packed, and a lone truck entered the arena to loud applause. The truck then proceeded to hit donuts, some fast turns, and then exited. It looked like the derby was going to be a real smash-fest but then the water truck came in. See, the water truck sprays water on the dirt, softening it to the consistency of mud. A lot of water and a lot of mud means no traction. No traction means no speed. No speed means no smash-fest. The crowd let out roars and boos of disgust and it didn’t stop until the water truck left.

Soon after, the derby cars entered one at a time. They lined up on opposing sides of the arena, seven on each side. Once the refs waved the checkered flags it was on. Cars threw themselves into one another in what looked like a slow-motion action scene from a movie. Multiple collisions were followed by stalled out cars. Once your car stops running, you’re a sitting duck, even though there is an unspoken courtesy not to hit a stalled car. This lasted for about four or five minutes and before the refs waved the checked flag. Everything came to a stop. The cars that could still move drove back the way they came in and exited towards the Pit for repairs. A tow truck came in to haul away everyone who wasn’t as lucky.

Final staging area before entering the arena.

Pedal to the metal, balls lightly resting on wall.

The mangled car with smoke pouring out….he did’t win the derby.

Tata in center,  holding it down as the sun sets.

Another Day Another Derby

The drivers that survived advanced to the next round of qualifying runs. Tata’s station wagon entered the arena. His car blacked out with highlights of red and white lettering pulled up to its starting position. The other contestants followed suit. As they revved their engines the crowd cheered in excitement. The flag waved once more and the scrap metal boxes with wheels attached launched themselves. Despite Tata’s heavy car being severely hampered by the wet mud, he made it out of the run only losing a wheel. Luckily, it was the trucks-only round next. This gave Tata and his crew extra time to make repairs. The third heat was the final elimination run. This round determined who would move on to the championship round. With $6000 dollars at stake, Tata set off in high hopes. Right from the start, “Your Mother” became a prime target. Early in the round Tata lost the ability to go in reverse due to a damaged transmission but still fought on until the end the round. The round ended and he made it to the finals but his wagon was busted. The transmission was leaking and there just wasn’t enough time to make repairs. He couldn’t go on. The derby dream was over.

Tata post derby. He said, “It’s all a part of the game.  You win some, you lose some.  You guys want to come out next month?  There’s a derby in Dixon.  We’re going to fix her up and run again.”

Part Two – “Frank we’ve been friends…and you treat me like a bitch!”****

Written by FLAVOURHOOD

Photography by FLAVOURHOOD

I Don’t Like You (A Side Story)

FOREWORD; “I Don’t Like You” takes place during FLAVOURHOOD‘s first meeting with Tata in Woodland. None of this was scripted or planned ahead of time. We’re not that good folks.

The hot dusty air was completely still. We passed a mildly intoxicated ( and definitively angry) shirtless man, who stared us down as we walked towards Tata’s car, holding a hose watering his barren-laid gravel yard. We asked Tata who the angry drunk guy was.

Tata: My neighbor.

Frank:  Don’t like that mother-fucking guy.

Flavourhood:  What the neighbor?

Tata:  Can I put my sponsors on there? They are the ones who make it happen.

FH:  Yeah whateveryouwant. Who are they?

Tata:  The first one is my old lady. She’s the one who bought the car. I always put the same things (on my car). My dad first, then my wife and girl, then my sponsors.

FH:  Does your car have a nickname?

Tata:  Yeah, “Your Mother.” Who were you banging with last night? “Your Mother.” I’m going to put that across the back.  Naw, I’m just playing, the car’s name is the Regulator.

FH:  Why do you call it that?

Tata:  Because it’s built like a tank.

FH:  It looks like a lot of work, must be a labor of love.

Tata:  This motherfucker took me three years.  I started building it, then I didn’t enter into the derby, then I went to Ohio, worked out there, came back, started building it again, then they changed the rules.

FH:  So you’re entering it this year as a “fully-modified?”

Tata:  It’s reinforced everywhere. On this car I’ve welded every motherfucking line, upside down, inside out.

FH:  What year and make is this car?

Tata:  It’s a sixty Ford Wagon.

FH:  Why did you choose this car?

Tata:  It’s a derby car dream. Motherfucker is stout, mainly because of the frame. These guys are savages so you need something that will go the distance.

FH:  How many cars have you entered into the derby?

Tata:  This is our fifth car but if you’re lucky one car lasts you for a couple derbys.

FH:  Do you have any particular strategies for this derby in particular?

Tata:  Get that ass and don’t get hit. Can’t strategize because you have, like, ten other cars fucking flying around so it’s just crazy, all chaos. You just want to keep your motor and your tires in good shape.

FH:  Do you have any pre-derby rituals, anything like that?

Frank:  He gets butterflies real bad.

Tata:  Stay sober… Not really, I just kiss my little girl; get ready to go to the derby and bounce.

FH:  Would your car pass smog?

Tata:  Hahahaha, fuck no…Hell nah. That’s a V8. With the exhaust coming straight out of the hood.

FH:  Are there any rivalries that have built up?

Tata:  Well, what it is, is the same people doing it year after year with the same people. This year we’ll see if I have a car that can beat them. I ain’t got any partners. It’s dog eat dog out there.

FH:  Do the other teams have more support like financial backing or more people working for them?

Tata:  Fuck yeah. They got big sponsors with money and shit.  Their sponsors give them a thousand bucks here five hundred there. They have credit at pick and pulls. They just go to Napa and get whatever they want.

Frank:  But Tata is going to be coming with a 3/4 cam chevy engine. Everything inside is new, double gears, timing chain…

FH: How much power does it have?

Tata:  It’s like a locomotive. This mother fucker is pulling the cars. This is the first year we will be evenly matched. I’ve got that extra for them this year.

FH:  How would you best describe your driving style?

Tata:  I don’t know… Hit’em, make’em pay. They can call me the land lord.  I’ve never had a car this powerful. This year it feels like doing it for the first time.

FH:  Do you have any idea about what your competition will be driving?

Tata:  No. People keep it a secret. But probably a lot of cars like this:  Old fords, impalla wagons, Chrysler Imperials…

FH:  What car would you never enter into a derby?

Tata:  Haha. A Honda civic. You would get crushed. Before we used to run any car but you have to have a good car to have a chance.

FH:  If you had a theme song what would it be?

Tata: Lowrider, hell yeah. Young bean on the scene.

FH:  Do you do any sort of practicing, anything you do to prepare yourself?

Tata:  Just drive it back and forth here. Yeah, that’s the fucked up part. I watch a shitload of films. I have no idea how the car really handles. We drive it there and then I drive it into the arena. You don’t know how it’s going to turn, how it’s going to roll

FH:  Because you can’t really take it out anywhere, right?

Tata:  Oh hell no. This car is so loud it will make your ears ring.

FH:  What keeps you inspired to continue?

Tata:  I want to win. Just looking at all those people watching, looking at you. There are like 3,500 people and they all wish they were in the ring but you are the one in there doing it.

Frank:  The agony of defeat.

Tata:  The derby is tough you can build it up but if someone hits your tire, it’s done. It’s rough.  Once you’re stuck people will smash you. There’s no coming back.

FH:  What got you started?

Frank:  It goes like this. He goes‚ “Dad, I want to race in the derby. You think you could help me build a derby car?” I go, “Yeah, I could help you build a space shuttle.” I didn’t know what I got myself into. It was a big job.

Tata:  Yep, it’s true. Asked him to build me a car and the next night he bought me a car. It was crazy.

FH:  How long ago was this?

Tata:  About six years ago, 2003? Yeah, cuz (sic) that was the year my little girl was born. It was a small ass car, smallest car in the derby.

Joey:  He got rocked.

Tata:  Naw I went from one end to the other. Hit this guy, his bumper fell off and his trunk popped open… (Tata looks to the side) Butchie be ready.

The neighbor had been in and out of his house the whole time we had been there, watering down his dead lawn making weird noises. He started to water the gravel driveway, getting closer and closer to Tata.  At that point, Frank had enough and started exchanging words with the neighbor. We turn around and hear Frank say, “I dont like you, stay away from my fucking family.” The neighbor answered back “I stand here if I want!” That’s all Frank needed. He shot out the quickest right hand we’ve ever seen and caught the neighbor square in face. Tata, Butchie (Tata’s younger brother), and Joey (family friend) all run out, but let the two of them square off to duke it out.  The neighbor realizes he’s bleeding and wiped his face with the back of his hand. He yelled out, “I like the taste of my own blood!”

space

Still pissed he went home covered in dirt and shame. He blasted Jimi Hendrix for a good fifteen minutes before finally reemerging to give a passive aggressive apology. He continued this for the next half hour as we forged ahead with our interview. At one point the neighbor shouted, “Frank we’ve been friends for how many years and you treat me like a bitch!” Frank replied, “Now I halfta to get tested for hepatitis you dirty son of a bitch.”

Frank, was obviously content and wore a huge smile. Frank had relived a moment from his golden days–a punch from his youth–and he had proved to us, himself, and the doctors who counted him out, that he still has it. Though Frank appeared to be good shape considering that he was fifty, we learned that this last year he was diagnosed with Cirrhosis of the liver and given 3 months to live. Almost a year after he was still alive and kicking. Literally. He hopped on his candy-painted turquoise cruiser and, as Tata put it, “rode off into the sunset,” which actually meant to the hospital for inoculations and some stitches for his split knuckles. This isn’t where this story ends.

The police showed up. They understood what was going on. They had been at this house on previous domestic disturbance calls. The police instructed the neighbor not to come out anymore. Then they saw the car. They’re focus suddenly shifted to the car rather than trying to get our side of the story. Soon, their questioning centered solely around the car.  Tata politely avoided answering any of their questions. When the police left, he turned to us and said, “Everyone has friends who are in the derby out here. They were asking too many questions.”

Written by FLAVOURHOOD

The Domino Players Association

By Commissioner Cornelius Llamino
Photography by Santiago Portilla

In the beginning, when Earthmaker first created dominos, she sprinkled them across the land and they came into the hands of peoples of many different styles, cultures, and strategies. Through the spirals of time, the games played with Earthmaker’s gift evolvedand became symbols of identity and ingenuity for the different peoples that claimed them. However, what looked different—scoring multiples of five or playing only for domino, mandated or elective washers, with or without a spinner—hid a unity without words, something that no woman, child, or man could understand.

This unity was the essence that Earthmaker had breathed into the dominos so long ago. The peoples could not conceive of it as such, but instead saw the reflections of themselves on the dominos table and it intrigued them. They saw elation, heartbreak, tension, and release. They suffered the lonely chills of tyrannical defense and stared in wonderment as people built castles with nickels in front of their very eyes. And game after game they saw each other. Through competition, empathy, humiliation, and joy they experienced each other’s mountains, valleys, mudflats, and beaches; each other’s kitchen tables, vernacular, and families; each other’s styles, cultures, and strategies. This was the gift Earthmaker had hidden in the dominos.

* * *

Cabdrivers in Santiago de Cuba—flush from their access to foreign currency— play while waiting for a fare outside of a Spanish-owned resort. Losers in Cite de Solel, Haiti are adorned with the slow pain of clothespins clipped all over their body by laughing victors and—for a moment—forget the slow pain of hunger. Both of their brethren play on different corners on the same block uptown in New York. And in the parks and prisons of Califas, the shouts and slaps of enthusiastic play ring through the day and night. Across geography, language, generation, gender, ethnicity, and creed, people find what they’re looking for on the bones table. Dominos are an international phenomenon and there seem to be as many different versions of the game as there are people who play.

From these many variations of dominos, the Domino Players Association came into being during the Spring of 2009. It was founded by a group of avid dominoes players who came together at the Albatross bar in Berkeley and fought the urge to play for long enough to talk about creating a bones league. The Association that emerged from that first Constitutional Convention was an organically bonded institution, held up by the years of friendship, competition, and love for the game shared by the group of a dozen or so founders. The birth of the DPA infused their games with thoughtful structures, giving them crisp forms to burst out of and ample space to grow.

The DPA adopted a West Coast style that scores multiples of five, uses a spinner (the first double played), is played by four individuals (not team play), and goes up to five houses (250 points). Selecting these standards ironed out small inconsistencies that in the past were often worked out in-game, when the debates were less abstract and the relative merits of a rule could be obscured by players’ personal stake in that particular game. Deciding on a set of gameplay rules also allowed the founders an opportunity to discuss the finer points of the game—often in hilarious detail—through lenses of fairness, goodwill, and fun.

The next task tackled by the founders was structuring the league itself; its governance, score reporting, playoff structure, and arbitration policies. At times this required keen deliberation, weighing and ultimately choosing from a plethora of plausible options. Through the thoughtful suggestions of the founders, two themes emerged clearly: a constant eye toward keeping rules and procedures in line with the players’ interests on the table, and a desire to keep the functions of the league simple and intuitive enough not to detract from the simple pleasure of throwing some bones with the folks. In this way, the rules and regulations of the DPA promote the spirit of the game along with providing practical structures.

Three commissioners, elected at the beginning of each season by league members, oversee the DPA and tally game scorecards. Player standings are determined by—in order of tie-breaker importance—win percentage, average score, and lockouts (lockouts defined as: “when the whole table knocks after you and you win domino that play—no matter whether the table is completely locked or if you domino on your next piece.”). At the end of the regular season, the top eight players in the standings move on to the playoffs to vie for the championship. And, perhaps most importantly, each game Players name themselves to glory by selecting monikers that simply can’t be beat—Woodland Nickel King, Dirty D, Que Terible el Terremoto, Soufflé Bandit, Vladamir’s Promise, Wiffle Wizard, Short But Funky, Earthmaker, Treal Estate Towers, Black Chedda Biscuit.

* * *

One by one, The Criddler pulled each of the small faux-gold chains dangling from the lamp that hung over the table. One by one, the bulbs’ circuits were cut and the faces of the upturned dominos washed further into shadow. The bones left in the rest of our hands were abandoned to the darkened table in disgust, but we couldn’t help but chuckle at The Criddler’s lights-out celebration. After a year-long pilot, two Constitutional Conventions, and hours upon hours of playing and planning, the first win of the Domino Players Association’s inaugural season had been recorded.

May 6th. Opening night for the first group show.

Photography by Debbie Kim and Milan Phan