Glen E. Friedman “Fuck You All” show @ 941 Geary Gallery with Shepard Fairey & Justin Giarla…

Recently I helped build a little wherehouse setup with a few of my friends here in SF. We’ve been working on it for a few months now, but really got down to business the past week or 2. On one particular building night, John Twin and I built this vertwall in a few hours. We built a similar one in the spot, so we knew what getting into. That same night we got to session it, and John decided that he wanted to learn monkey plants. About 15 minutes later he had the trick dialed. I guess when you build something you get extra pumped to ride it…

The Van Diaries part 3-
The Skeleton, somewhere in Utah…

Traveling is a huge part of my life, being on the road with friends has always been a staple. Having a vehicle to haul all of our gear has always been essential, and a good old fashioned Van was often our weapon of choice., 78 VW Bus, 82 Dodge Ram Van, 86 ford Econoline, Straight 6, 318, 302, slant 6 what have you. Basic vehicles, with enough room for a handful of loonies, and all our shit.
This particular Van, was an 86 Ford econoline, former university maintenance van, no luxuries, like window seals, insulation, just a solid running 5 litre engine, and wobbly steering column. My friends Sal, AKA Sales, and Dave King, piled into the Van, and we headed west to Las Vegas, where we would pick up Gilly and head home, hitting up stops like the Denver Colorado, Grand Junction, Zion National park, Bryce Canyon, Hoover Dam, Memphis Tennessee, Little Rock Arkansas, Louisville Kentucky, etc…
The Van Had a cooler, a bench seat, and a futon, so we were basically stocked and ready for anything. The drive to Vegas, and the 3 days we spent there was taxing, Sal lost all his money and his Liver, and Dave spent most of the trip Doing Impersontaions of Sal, to a tee, and Gilly was now with us, so It was a full cast of Characters.
The drive home was still fun, even though after that much time in close quarters, and after a debacle in Sin City, it was easy for tensions to run high, like rolling into Little Rock for the first time ever. We had been Drinking across the state heading Eastbound, and were planning on meeting up with our friend Jud, who lived there. I didn’t have much to go on about Little Rock, except the HBO special called “Banging In little Rock” that made the place seem like a Middle American Nightmare, and that Clinton was Governor during that time, Prior to becoming President.
Right Off the Bat we are lost, Driving around this foreign city, with Sal reading the the magnified city map on our tattered Atlas, trying to Navigate us to Main street, seems easy Enough. Sal, is looking up, checking street signs, referring back to the map, and repeating turn left. We must have circled the entire city, with all these left turns, and I had to piss, so I was getting Anxious. All the while, we are driving in these dicey neighborhoods, with sketchy Characters a plenty. Finally, Sal and I are Arguing, about the left turns, being lost what Have you. At this point Sal warns me- “One more Word…” Followed by – “Alright, FUCK you….” and he throws the Atlas right out the window, stoked. Right where we stopped, a handful of dudes are on a corner, playing dice, and drinking 40 ounce bottles of Malt Liquor. Some how we were only 3 blocks from where we were heading, and we end up parking, it’s like 11 at night, and the tension has died down, as we all laughed how ridiculous the Map throw was. At this point, a severely cracked out guy in a trenchcoat and a poplar nylon turquoise hat asks us to buy some sweet Oakley sunglasses, its pitch black, we are broke, and Sal is MIA….
A few Minutes later he returns from a stroll to retrieve the Atlas, and we end up at Midtown Billiards….

Santana…

Throughout my years I’ve noticed that smoking marijuana has rendered many of my friends dull, complacent, and even lazy. I’ve always been confused as it seemed people would willfully submit themselves to a boring existence, and be totally fine with it. Maybe that’s part of it’s allure.
That’s in many cases, but some of my friends function normally, and even enhanced by it’s herbal therapy. Some people even become more inventive, motivated and focused, Ironically through a glass shield haze…
My friend Santana is one of the weed enthusiasts I am glad to call my friend, I was stunned, and watched in Awe, as he pulled out a magnifying glass, and burned a bowl, like a 7 year old burning ants on the sidewalk. Serious pothead ingenuity. He said he got a cleaner buzz. Either way It was the first time I had seen anyone do anything like that and it was awesome.

This photo of Eric Hennessey was taken at 9am in Santa Cruz on a Thursday about a half hour after he built his bike in a parking lot. When I had picked Eric up at 11pm the night before, he was watching a bar fight across the street from the Santa Cruz bus station, his bike wrapped in a mutilated inflatable pool raft (he couldn’t find a bike bag the night before his flight). I felt like I was picking up someone who was returning home and in some ways I was. After a month long stay in Santa Cruz Eric had made his way back to the East Coast, where he was shanghaied into a multi week sailing expedition after which he returned to Santa Cruz again. In the morning, as we drove to the tiny skatepark, Eric told me he was a little nervous since it had been over a month since he rode his bike. The last time was when he was in Santa Cruz and he wondered if he could trade his sea legs for riding legs. We have been riding bikes for so long but we all wonder when it will stop feeling natural. Hopefully not any time soon.

Carving by Henny.

This video was filmed during a couple sessions during Hennessey’s month long stay. We put a priority on clocking good times over footy but I thought we would share what we got. HENN SC.

They took our belts. And anything else you could hang yourself with.
This was the era of xxxl skate culture. Of a size forty waistline. A size forty when you were actually a size thirty. Will and I both had to hook a finger on a single belt loop for hours. Having your pants down was bad news.
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Greg had bought a giant slingshot from an Army/Navy store. Its pocket large enough to fit a small boulder. That was if you wanted to smash a hole in a building. Or kill something.
For us, it was the perfect diameter for a water balloon. One that could, in no way, inflict harm. Rather, a perfect projectile that would soak the hell out of someone. A perfectly round cell of water that, upon impact, would simply piss off the victim.
The five of us loaded up in his Tercel. With the slingshot dormant on the floor board we drove through town. High noon. Mid summer. The heat radiating off asphalt, its waving illusion obscuring everything spread throughout the city.
We found a driving range. Adjacent to a ditch. Shadowed by oaks. A perfect place to crouch in the shade. A perfect hiding spot to lob our rubber mortars over a fence. To connect to those unsuspecting golfers with their white, tucked in polos and red, plaid slacks.
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Greg had spent some time in the army. He knew how to handle weapons. But most importantly, he offered finesse with timing. Sean loaded the round. Will pulled back on the sling and let go on Greg’s command.
“Fire!”
Load.
Repeat.

Posted as lookout, I watched each balloon clear fence, clear netting, and explode in succession at the feet of two men.
It could have only been better had our mortar connected to its target.
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White sand in Florida can burn. Radiated from the summer sun, it sticks to your skin and fills every pore with fire. We laid partially on the cement, our torsos bent over the edge of the driveway. From the waist up we cooked in the sand.
Between the army of police officers there was only two sets of handcuffs to go around. Will and I never had the honor of wearing those. That steel banging our wrists, wanting so badly to crush every single carpal.
Instead, we got industrial strength zip ties. Pulled taught. Each hand pinched by plastic. Within minutes our skin bled.
We laid face down in the sand waiting for a convoy of paddy wagons to haul us away. This was more serious than we thought. Our crime, essentially an act of terrorism.
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We were the youngest of the group. Will and I. Both seventeen. Both our Mothers were single. Both working to support delinquent children.
In nervous anticipation, we waited for them to post our bail.
To save us.

To subdue boredom, we imitated scenes from movies. Told jokes. Plotted convoluted methods of escape until we fell out, collapsing onto the floor we so dreaded to make contact with.
—————————————————————
We woke to shuffling outside our cell. The fumbling of keys. The sliding of metal locks. And the door opened. Three men, rough, much older than us, were escorted into our space. Each wearing a one-piece, bright orange, prison uniform. They filed in and stood elbow to elbow against the opposing wall. And as the officer exited, we were left to stare at each other: head on, vis-a-vis.
The lights beating down on the lot as if to crack silence.

For what seemed like an hour, there was no exchange of words. There was no movement. Just uncomfortable nothing.
I noticed one of the inmates had tattoos. The jailhouse stereotype fulfilled. As far as I knew, I was well on my way to becoming this.

“What are you guys in for?”

Subliminally, Will and I shared the answer. We could lie? But we didn’t, hoping that the idea of our crime crushed any fore-thunk attempt at a good ol’ jailhouse beat in.

“Assault with a deadly missile” we answered in tandem.

“Damn.” One inmate responded.
“That’s some serious shit.”

I didn’t break a smile in relief. That would have been a bad move.
Instead, I stood stolid. My posture as stiff as a board. My chest bloated in superficial pride.
We were now part of it all, the mechanism chewing up and churning out criminals.
In that tiny cell, jammed five deep, I revelled in our escape from harm.
But even more so, I revelled in our initiation to thug-dom.

The crowd at the "Sound of the City" premier

At the premier you said the sort of video you enjoyed and wanted to make is something that you put in before riding. Growing up what were the videos that you were watching?

Yeah if it gets people excited to go out and ride and explore their surroundings then that’s great. That’s definitely how videos that i always watched effected me. For bmx videos Standard “Domination” was a big one for me. The music and the riding formed a great vibe in that video, and I especially liked all the lines in Moliterno’s and Bobby Fisher’s parts. A lot of my friends were skateboarders growing up so I was heavy into skate videos also. Some big skate videos for me were Zoo York “mixtape” and the EST (Eastern Standard Time) video series.

The EST series was awesome because the issues would have sections for each major east coast city, Boston, NYC, Philly, DC etc. That was cool because people really repped their cities and you would get a good look into the individual scenes going on in them. You would see the guys that were really out there skating and putting in work and not just the common guys you saw in magazines. Tons of spot oriented skating and night footage in those would get me hyped to go ride.

This is assuredly going on instagram.

Did they effect your editing and filming style?

I don’t consider myself to be a “filmer” or “editor” anything like that. I kinda just figured out how to make the footage look decent and the rider handles the rest, anyone can do it. The rider is always the most important part of the equation. One thing that did influence me though was seeing a lot of night footage in those EST videos. Riding at night is the best, it’s just a completely different vibe than the day time and that can be seen in the footage. A lot of our crew works during the day so we end up with a lot of night footage which works out perfect. As for editing those videos all had a simple style and format, that’s just what I’m into. Keep it simple and let the riding and vibe speak for itself.

“Sound of the City” is the second 90 East video. After this you are going to start shooting hdslr. Do you think the VX is really dead after all these years?

Nah I don’t think it’s dead yet and it won’t be until they stop making mini dv tapes which I imagine wont be a while. It’s not really so much about the format for us as it is about the actual convenience of using the dslr. It’s much smaller,lighter, doesn’t use tapes and it just generally works better with how we ride. I can carry it in a small backpack and I don’t even notice its in there. we don’t go overboard and carry all there rigs and steady cams and crap, nothing kills a good session more than waiting for someone to set all that stuff up or looking at them running around with all that nonsense. Plus you really don’t wanna be riding some joints in the hood carrying all that stuff.

As for the actual HD format I do like the way it looks, especially when it’s not over sharpened which is a common problem. At the end of the day though what really matters is the riding and the vibe of the production regardless of the format. Message over medium….always.

working the crowd at the premier.

What is next for 90 East?

Right now were in the process of relocating our shop so that’s been a major thing. The Sound of the City DVD will be out soon, and also spring/summer clothing releases as well as some other releases that are in the works. We are definitely keeping very busy this year and can’t wait for people to check out the new stuff. Thanks to all the crew and those who have supported 90East, never forget who your friends are.

Name, age and where you currently hang your hat:
Jeffrey Herbertson, 23 years sore, my hat sits shotgun as soon as my helmet comes out.

Model, year and dimensions of the trailer:
The rig is a 21foot, 1996, AEROLITE, 21RBD.

Your blog details a lot of the work you did on the trailer but do you want to give us a quick rundown on the things you have done and the state you found her in?
I think my big mistake was checking craigslist for trailers in the first place. It was about a two day window in which I went from dreaming up a scheme to put rent in the gas tank, to actually owning a trailer full of dead mice and mildew creatures. I say it was a mistake because excitement and opportunity happen much quicker than wiring and epoxy primer. The trailer was actually in really roadworthy shape. It had been bought and never really used, except as a storage unit/paintball bunker/mouse castle. Once I decided my truck was able to pull it, the strip down and build back up process was a really fun pain in the neck. I left the floor plan really similar to how it was originally laid out, I mostly just replaced cardboard and formica with wood and aluminum.

Any significance to the address 329?
Yes, 3-29 was the birthday of my riding buddy Thomas Lancaster who died a couple years ago. I thought that if I was gonna put much into a address that was a statement of where I’m trying to be, it should bring whatever it could of his legacy to riding spots that he never got to shred.

What’s your plan for the summer?
Ride and roll, I’m gonna be all over the place. The next destination is Woodward West via a extremely indirect route. I’m gonna be instructing the MTB program down there between the different competitions and riding spots that I’m gonna make it to.

Do you ever run into sketchy situations parking the rig? Unfriendly neighbors? Wild animal encounters?
Haha yes. In general my neighbors have been great. I’ve had a few people ask if I’ll stick around cause the trailer is nice to look at. But there’s some sketchy folks around for sure, I’ve woken up to a couple funny situations including someone using the shadow of my trailer to spray-paint a van at 3:00 am. Ironically it seems like I have better luck parking in worse looking spots because a trailer in a sketchy location is less approachable than one on the beach.

What’s your favorite mod on the trailer?
That’s a tough one, I think I’m most proud of my coffee set up. When I started re-building the inside I had a goal of not adding any plastic. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it was gonna be. Without that goal my coffee system would never be what it turned out to be. Coffee has a very special place in my heart.

What’s the best part about owning the trailer?
It might be that there’s a couch at the trails that doesn’t smell like a bum nap. But its probably just having a bed and a fridge full of cold beer where ever you end up. Plus, most people refuse to believe it but, chicks dig trailers.

When will we see ya again in Santa Cruz?
Two weeks hopefully! I’m gonna stop through on my way down to Woodward for a few days, you know where to find me.

For more from Jeff check out:
http://329trailheadway.tumblr.com/
http://www.chromacultureapparel.com/