Just Home…

I was house-sitting near Windward Circle last week. One night I went out to get a bite to eat. Before picking up some organic pink lentil soup and vegan coconut mousse at Seed, I took a stroll along the beach to watch the sunset then came back via the Boardwalk. There was a rock band made up of very thin and hip young men – all in very tight jeans – who were playing at the end of Westminster. They had a horn player, in particular, that caught my ear. I liked the song that was finishing. The sun was gone, only crimson dusk and baby blue left in the waning day sky. A gathered crowd was in a good mood, grateful that warm had returned to Southern California.

The singer – shirtless, standing next to a blonde guitar player – announced they were going to play one more song. An old black guy in a wheel chair and heavy green coat, sitting near me, made a sarcastic aside, “Oh now it’s the last song. The last one was supposed to be the last one…and before that, that was the last one.” He didn’t seem as if he wanted them to stop. I think he was annoyed that they were indecisive about when they were through.

Before they launched their final number, the singer – his hair cut so that it kept falling in his eyes – told us, in a European accent that might’ve been German, to look to our left, then to our right. “These are your new neighbors,” he informed us with the deep sincerity that only young boys, sure of who they have decided they are, can have. Regardless, of whether or not that friendly neighbor talk was real or just part of the show, I smiled. They were so young. Giddiness is fleeting, but sneaks up on you from time to time.

The Pink Floyd cover that came out next was barely tolerable, unfortunately, unlike the previous two songs I had heard. I lasted a few more minutes then headed back to the apartment.

The next day, I was walking dogs in Venice, near San Juan and Westminster, when a woman, with whom I was familiar from the neighborhood, called to me. She was holding two boxers by the collars. One of those boxers was red, but old with a lot of fur that had gone gray. The other, a female – was even older, white with sores on her belly.

The woman, in her 40s, had a walking cast on her left leg. She was of the Old Venice sort, a plucky, aging Granola gal kind of like me, I suppose.  ”Do you know whose dogs these are?” She explained that the boxers were out wandering.

“No, I have never seen them.”

“Can you help me? I don’t want them to end up in a pound.” They did not have tags and she wanted to put them in her car, so she could drive around the neighborhood. Though I knew old dogs like those would be put down in about five hours at a pound, I was a little nervous to assist, because the old female lab I was walking, did not always take to other dogs. But, she was fine. So, I held the grandlady boxer by the collar, while the woman put the other one in her car.

“Well,” I said, “you know they haven’t come from very far. An old gal like this can’t move that fast.”

“Oh, I know. They belong to someone close.” She took the other boxer from me, balancing herself on her good foot.

“I will look for open gates while I am walking dogs. If I see anything, I will let you know.” Pointing to the red boxer who had on a navy blue doggie jacket, “That one has a coat, so they haven’t been out very long.”

A half hour later, I hadn’t seen any houses, that looked as if they might have been security breached by a couple of curious, ancient canines. I told the woman when she stopped and asked. The dogs were still in the back of her car. She hadn’t had any luck in locating the owner either. “I’m going to take them to the vet and see if they have microchips,” was her next plan.

I found out later from a third party, who lived on that same street, that the dogs had been implanted with chips and they were returned to a grateful owner. I thought that a stranger in a walking cast had certainly gone to some trouble for a couple of really old animals that didn’t belong to her. That’s Venice. That’s any place where there is love. That’s home.

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Carried Away…

My imagination got carried away over this whole Silicon Beach thing. I have drifted in and out of other people’s dreams (or my obsessions with being a part of other people’s dreams), for quite some time. Not yet confident as a writer, I was unable to get a real bead on who I was. My own dreams have alluded me – not just in their pursuit, but in the actual formulation. I don’t think I planted any of my own seeds in Jamie’s Secret Venetian Silicon Garden.

I know Venice intimately, but from a distance, like a diligent and highly discreet stalker. (Though I have learned the hard way, not to make stalker jokes.) There was a time, back when I was unemployed and had only been a Venetian for a short while, that I was very happy in a state of blissful ignorance. I loved when the Canals were nothing but a big gorgeous house park, instead of a monument to gentrification. I loved when the Boardwalk was a carnival that held little interest, instead of a place that I consciously avoided.

My life in Venice Beach has been about birds, really.

Cranes, hawks, egrets, mockingbirds (an evil attack one lives on Amoroso), wild parrots (a whole freaking flock nesting in our palm tree), ducks (cheeky little bastards in the spring), swallows, geese, seagulls, pigeons, doves, crows, bluebirds, kestrels, pelicans (catching them in flight in the Canals with that wing span, still blows me away), hummingbirds…

My life is early morning fiction writing after yoga followed up with toast and strong, sweet coffee. My life is about insomniac nights, candles burning, Robert Johnson warbling Stones In My Passway, barely audible through my computer speakers, but fused with a haunting serenity nonetheless. My life is a little too lonely. That is mostly my fault. Sometimes I like it too much that way.

My life is about dogs. I lost one a few weeks ago. A beautiful lady black lab who was nine years old. She had a tumor on her heart and went so fast. When I go to the house to walk her surviving buddy, Ranger, I cry every single time. I’m crying now as I type this because I still cannot accept that I am never going to see her again. She was a good dog. I named my guitar after her. I still can’t play for shit, but the new Ms. Burton has an acknowledged spirit. That counts for something. As it turns out, that counts for everything.

My life is about bees and flowers. My life is about riding my bike to the ocean and watching the sun go down. My life is about singing when all the doors and windows are closed. My life is about walking to the Albertsons and saying hello to three or four folks along the way. Sometimes homeless guys manage to sleep in the brush surrounding the “Costco Compound.” Sometimes they even manage to set up a little camp. They never last long. Not only is it private property, it is technically Culver City where they don’t put up with that shit.

My life is about long phone conversations with friends, meeting for a drink, seeing a play or heading to a museum. My life is about my neighbors and a yard sale, a bag of mellow leaf and a fridge of Tecate that brings us all closer together. My life is about my family. My father so badly wants me to visit home.

I go to Starbucks for morning coffee when I don’t brew it myself. I would have preferred a local Mom and Pop for my regular joint, but none are within walking distance. Also, when a gal is up at 4am, there is something mighty nice about a place that unlocks its doors at 5:30am on the dot. Plus, the staff all knows me. They ask about my life. They were really excited about my cover story in the Beachhead.

I haven’t found much joy in many places, though the music and poetry are usually fabulous. People are not quite as alive as I had expected. There is a lot of sadness of which is spoken in the work, but not to each other.

Poetry nights at Beyond Baroque, a great band at the Talking Stick, something rare, but magical along the Boardwalk, walking around seeing all different kinds of folks…amazing stuff…But then there’s the old surfers and hippies who are always wanting a hug, which lasts way too long and/or involves a penis press and/or an ass grab. They bandy the phrase “Free Love” around like it is 1969 and that’s what they still mean.

In Venice Beach, it ain’t often about Free Love. Not anymore. It’s Free Fuck. Getting in, getting out and getting off – that’s howdy do Hollywood style. But, what do I care?!? It’s a free country. We all have to live in a body. Most of the time, people just want a fantasy.

What I do care about; however, is the lie that covers it all up, the pretty graffiti we slap all over that hard, exposed, entitled cock and say it’s art and, therefore, love. Those lies are something we don’t talk about in Venice Beach. Just like the rest of America, we don’t really call things what they are. We are no less hypocrites here than folks are anywhere else, we just have a good soundtrack.

There are a lot of things in Venice I would like to see change, but who the hell am I? I was proud to stand up for Free Venice in the Beachhead after that loaded Town Hall. Free Venice has a voice that needs to be heard and it was unfairly ambushed. But, I am certainly not that voice. I have not been here long enough and am not embedded in its history. I am in love, but not attached.

I am a bird watcher. I pray and meditate and lose myself in God on my best days. I lose my temper and yell at sanitation workers, who are blocking the one-way street with their truck on my bad days…

I am a happy woman who could be much braver in sharing her happiness, face to face, instead from behind a word processor. I could do much better living my life and I plan to do just that.

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Silicon Beach: Resurrection of the Artist as Hero

This one is a little weird to me after some time has past. I actually have to convince myself that I wrote it. Not all of it makes sense. I was really obsessed with Silicon Beach and then I wasn’t…

Silicon Beach has arrived in Venice. That is a fact. We cannot do the usual sticking our heads in the sand and flipping it the bird and make it go away. No. There is not enough graffiti in the world to cover it up. Silicon Beach is here to stay and it will continue to grow.

But, I am not afraid. Not yet, anyway. Here is why.

The Venice Creative Community could drive the winds on homelessness, diversity and other important social issues, which are coming to a head. This gives me tremendous comfort. Artists are extremely powerful. Now more then ever, they need to know it. They need to be organized and they need to hold the tech community accountable to its promise to merge with LOCAL talent. They need to feel as if they are vital in what is a life and death struggle.

There is a reason why all the crazy elements of Venice Beach result in such amazing creativity. Defining that reason, well good luck. All I can say is that our fucked up magic works, most of the time. The homeless are part of the drama, part of the struggle, part of the extremes from which artists draw. Not to mention, a lot of young artists, poets and musicians come here and do time on the street.

Once we decide we want the homeless out, who is next? We chip away at our own souls and then we can’t create. The art dries up, the music stops and the whole reason tech came here in the first place is a bust. We all lose, but boy doesn’t the Old ‘Hood look awful shiny for a little while.

And, of course, even if those who want to keep Free Venice get our way, we still have HUGE homeless problems to solve. We have to at least try to help others understand, with patience and grace, for it is we who are the host. We need our hearts and there is not a lot of reason. We just need them.

We live in a country where we have lost so much culture and beauty. We have lost our ability to come together in love, though we can unite in anger and outrage. It is like we all are so worried about when we’re each going to get our own fifteen minutes, we can’t fully celebrate someone else in the height of his or her glory.

I see it, even in Venice, when there is too much competition between so many artists clamoring for attention. I go to an opening where a brilliant musician shyly provides ambience, apologizing for being in a room, when he or she should be surrounded by attuned open hearts. I see some festivals with lower attendance and less making merry than I would expect from wild Bohemians…

Tech possesses enough of a soul to know we have something they need. They just don’t quite know what it is. Or, if they know what it is, they don’t get why we have it and they don’t. I think some of them believe they can hover nearby and pick it up osmosis style. Or, absorb it from our bones as they suffocate Free Venice and make what remains into what they think they want. Some of them want to be us and let go into the freedom we know.

That’s why we have to own who we are, in a way that brings us together, in a way that flares the fire in our bellies into a collective pyre. And yes, that includes the tech folks. It is NOT about losing our individualism. It is about building a solid infrastructure inside which all our individualism is safe for generations to come.

Whether or not anyone wants to hear this, in these parts, Free Venice is the establishment. It has shifted from the counter culture to the local mainstream, simply as a result of time. Free Venice has remained true to its core values and endured. This is one reason why, energetically, Google can be an ally: The shared understanding of what it means to endure and, more importantly, to continue to endure.

The old paradigms don’t work the same. Like Terrorism is an elusive enemy, identifying “the Man” in these modern times is often tricky. While we’re all distracted by the friendly Google giant, who is not really interested in eating our babies, some of these lone wolves (who don’t get us) are munching on our goats in the middle of the night. That is not to say that a friendly giant can’t still be clumsy…

Under the old rules, it seemed more natural to worry about the establishment and embrace the rogue. That now has to be done on a case by case basis. Due diligence is a necessary bitch. Thank God, we have Occupy. We will need help communicating.

The thing about Google – they have an international reputation to maintain. They don’t want to be seen as the company that came to Venice Beach and destroyed diversity, creativity and art. They want to support those things in our community that both work and give them a shiny image. There’s actually quite a bit on which to draw. We need to think, carefully, as a community how to leverage such power. How do we use this new kid on the block (who wants to make nice with the neighbors), to our greatest advantage?

Well, Google offered a diversity pamphlet at the Town Hall entitled The Black Community at Google. Oh, gee, by chance we have a bit of a struggling Black Community in Venice. Why don’t we get some stronger outreach? See if we can get some folks qualified for entry level tech jobs and the anticipated supporting industries. See if we can identify potential local entrepreneurs. Maybe our young startups can help with a little mentoring. Raise the income, knowledge base and resources for people already in the neighborhood and we curb the loss of diversity. We anticipate and use our creativity to prepare.

For that, we need leadership within the community. Calls to action are so important. Answering those calls that speak to your soul are even more important. We need focus. We need archetypes. We need vision. We need good followers. We need inspiration. We need music. We need hope. And, as anything that has lasted and will continue to last, we need change.

We need to figure out how to celebrate all that has endured about Free Venice in the today. We need to be honest about who we are, even if some of what we are isn’t terribly pretty. We need to own our story. Whether we have been good or bad, we sure in the hell have been interesting. We need a healthy sense of humor about ourselves and others. We need to let go of those things that no longer work, even if they were important to us in the past. And on some days, after we have worked really hard, we need to let EVERYTHING go.

Like it or not, we have to decide now if the Free Venice Culture is playing itself out, in the final stages of one hell of a run; or, is there an essence, a heart beat, a philosophy, blood, guts, eyes, a voice that will endure because arthritic hands have been replaced by fresh ones, tired feet just got some shiny new shoes, and a very old soul suddenly found itself inside a young body? To speak in Modern Tech: How do we define our brand so that it is embraceable, impenetrable, open to growth and, because we all have to eat, marketable?

For our creative community, that is the task at hand. As tech rains down, you must build the ark that can hold us all. Artists are the heroes lying in wait. We can set an example for the entire world. We can start the future with love.

And if the ship fucking sinks, we go down in one glorious party…To live who we are without fear, that sounds like win-win to me…

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A Change is Gonna Come…

On a recent morning, strolling to a convenient Starbucks, I took a route around the back side of the Costco/Albertson Compound (which actually lies on a strange little tract of land Venice apparently annexed to Culver City). Along the way, I spotted this kind of rickshaw-wagon bicycle parked on the side of the road. It was filled with food and blankets, a lot of stuff I couldn’t see in the dark, with a baby guitar strapped to the top. There was a man asleep inside. A hand scrawled sign hung on the back of the pedal powered mobile home, “Do Not Disturb.”

Though present all over Venice, Ocean Front Walk is a particular haven for the homeless. Why not? It is beautiful; and, the constant flow of tourists give them some prime scavenging territory at the very least. Even for the Boardwalk, however, the transient population has become rather dense in the last couple of years.

Because of a lack of regulation several problems have cropped up along the Boardwalk that the City and Community feel the need to address. Typical to Venice, there are a lot of strong opinions and a lot of disagreement. For the time being, the City will be enforcing two new regulations along Ocean Front Walk. Both laws impact the homeless community, with one targeting them directly.

The first regulation addresses the West Side of Ocean Front Walk and is specifically written to curb commercial vending. It regulates what goods may be sold in the numbered spots, where all the temporary vendors set up each day. The law has been written so that people may only sell certain, primarily self-produced, goods, i.e. art that they have created themselves.

As we learned from the fiasco a few years ago on Wallstreet, a little regulation can be a very good thing. Councilman Rosendahl pointed out that it is certainly unfair to the permanent vendors on the East Side of Ocean Front Walk (who pay taxes), to have their business negatively impacted by people who don’t play by the same rules. Of course, the fighting among homeless and transients (who are often paid to hold spaces for vendors) has to stop. I have witnessed those arguments. They can be vicious and easily turn to physical violence. Finally, I don’t want a Venice Beach that is known for endless prints of Marilyn Monroe in gangsta gear and T-shirts with Charlie Sheen flipping us all off. If this is an artists’ community, then what we represent to the outside world needs to reflect that.

The down side, of course, marginally surviving people who are the go-betweens for posters, clothes – and whatever else comes in from outside – are pushed even farther down the food chain. There is an incense guy who has been a staple there for over twenty years. Under the new rules, he’s out. Then, you have jewelry makers – much working in a style from their native countries – despite concerns raised, they are out.

The regulations aren’t perfect. They never are. We have to ask ourselves, what happens to all those people who just lost their livelihood?

The second regulation recently coming into enforcement has caused an even bigger stir. The City of LA is calling on a law, which has long been on the books, that defines not only Venice Beach (the actual beach), but Ocean Front Walk, as a park. Therefore, it can be closed at midnight and people cited and arrested for curfew violations.

Due to the perpetually unruly Boardwalk, many residents welcome the enforcement. On the other hand, there are questions about whether or not residents may use their front doors when they are coming home late; if folks walking from bars to home, can use the somewhat well lit Ocean Front Walk, or, will be forced to skulk down Speedway, a dark, narrow alley. All that, I assume will get resolved.

The larger issue is how these new regulations, these big changes, really jibe with the long enduring Spirit of Free Venice, an idea which may be on the decline. The die-hards are dwindling in number and are an aging demographic. It is not to say they don’t have power and are not yet quite vocal and significant. But what is the Spirit of Free Venice in this day and age?

Many young professionals of Venice – even some of the artists – seem a different breed. An entertainment industry attitude has permeated certain parts of the community. There are some things that are more about the “scene” than the art. The seediness is much less tolerated than it has been in past decades. New Venetians seem to want things a little more sanitized, nicer for their families and visiting friends. Google’s presence will only reinforce that.

A community’s fear from recent shootings and increasing night-time violence aids the City in seizing an opportunity. Crime is bad for all of us, that is true. Crime is bad for tourist bucks, as is too much of an unsavory element. We are seeing an open effort to eliminate the transient population that springs up in blanket villages all along the Boardwalk every night. These hut towns are comprised of the local, perpetual homeless along with young men and women who are passing through, or are poor and stuck and have nowhere else to go. In the mornings, guitar music and pot smoke wafts from each “camp” whether made up of young or old. Many of these mini-tribes include a pooch or two.

With an increase in the homeless population, there is an increase in the number of mentally ill and people who have serious health problems. Because of other common aspects of Boardwalk culture, drug abuse pervades. Though most of the transients are essentially harmless, a few are a danger to themselves and others. But, if kicked off Ocean Front Walk, where are these people going to go?

If you are not already aware of this, Venice Beach has, so long been a neighborhood known for both the number and tolerance of its homeless, that it was the subject of a South Park parody. When all the homeless started showing up in South Park, it was because they had been kicked out of Venice Beach. When I first moved here, I was struck by how many homeless people lived in the park by the library.

I also used to be amazed at how many campers were parked all over Venice. Five years ago, I would ride my bike around the neighborhood, early on Saturday mornings, and spot old run down RV after old run down RV. After a little while, I got used to it. More than once, I made conversation with a friendly face inside; though, I confess some camper folk seemed a little scary and I crossed streets to avoid them.

Now, you hardly see campers at all. Parking for them is strictly regulated. Even though the rules were not changed without a fight, too many people got tired of the sight of the dilapidated recreational vehicles turned homes and the resulting parking issues.

So, we got rid of our campers. Now, we get rid of our homeless. We run off young transients and hustlers and bums. We get rid of our flea market vendors. We preserve artistic integrity along the West Side of the Boardwalk and support the tax paying merchants on the East Side. We keep tourists and locals safe.

All goes as planned. Shops are doing well. Artists sell a little more art. It’s a little cleaner. Crime goes down. Property values go up. We have more money for schools and well maintained streets. There’s a little rougher part of Venice to the north, bordered by Rose, Oakwood and California. Some poorer folks up there start getting property taxed out of their homes as more developments move in…

In these tough times, we all have to look at that underbelly and be honest about what it is. Of course, we have to save the beast. Even though it may be unrealistic, how do we all make it through?

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise except as permitted under Sections 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without either the prior written permission of the Publisher, or authorization through payment of the appropriate per-copy fee.