TURN THAT DAMN THING DOWN!, please


By Carol Fondiller

In the Old Days, O.K., O.K., no one wants to hear about the Old Days and besides my old days are not your old days even if we might be contemporaries.


Maybe you’re hearing impaired because you spent your salad days with your head up a giant woofer in anticipatory preparation for a pre-orgasmic copulatory carnavale with all the Rockers from the Palladium to Woodstock.

But, in my old days, I could hear the surf at night when I lived east of Pacific Avenue. Now I live one small room away from Ocean Front Walk. When I moved to my present digs, I could hear the surf.

Now the sound of the surf is drowned out by the neighboring café’s faulty air conditioning going all night long.

Recently I notice that every Friday I get headaches. My stomach turns. My neck stiffens.

I know the weekend looms.

Years ago, I got arrested for passing out leaflets notifying people about a rally.

Other people and myself got arrested for sitting on the Ocean Front Walk with a small card table with Peace and Freedom literature, buttons and a coffee can marked FREE VENICE DONATIONS. We didn’t make a big deal if you didn’t drop in money for a bumper sticker or a button.

We were out there to spread the word, not make a profit. Although we were delighted if we made enough money to cover printing.

We fought the arrests and we, the Free Venice Organizing Committee won the right to express ourselves Politically, and in doing so won the right for anyone else to express themselves artistically politically or spiritually.

My apologies.

Now, every weekend begins at 5 a.m. when the trucks and campers line up at Rose Avenue county parking lots. The people laugh, play their radios, and rev their engines until 6 a.m. when the lot opens. What ensues is a rush to grab the Choice Spots near the Ocean Front Walk. It rivals the Oklahoma territories land rush that one sees in old pre-PC movie westerns.

The street performers are equipped with enough amplification to blow the roof off Staples Convention Center. The performers have egos to drown out any respect for the residents. They have the attitude of Vegas lounge performers, some of them ending each set with “Thank you very much.” And they Bitch and Moan if they don’t make $$.

And they pound and they drum and they sing and the dogs bark and I am held hostage by their noise. Unlike Vegas, I didn’t pay for this. I live here. I’ve lived here for nearly forty years. I can’t afford to leave every weekend.

I’ve seen Venice change from a Village to a Venue.

Recently the Department of Recreation and Parks decided to permit a radio station to program a corporate sponsored Mega-high decibel event that could be heard miles away.

Ironically, the stage, bleachers and sound systems were 30 feet high (well within the Local Coastal Plan height limits) at the Windward Center, effectively blocking the view of the ocean that the rusting Mason’s symbol obscured. One of the reasons the old Pavilion was torn down, was that it blocked the view of the ocean.

Now, running shoes made in East Whereverstan for 30_ a day can buy the View and deafen us at the same time.

Some city representatives claim they permit this to attract more tourists.

Heretical thought: DO WE NEED MORE TOURISTS?

The county parking lots are filled usually be 2 p.m. on weekends. The Cafés, restaurants, Boutiques that sell made in Taiwan native American handcrafts and Pakistani manufactured U.S.A.-flag T-shirts all claimed they did not need additional parking because they only cater to the tourists who are here anyway.

Perhaps an ordinance should be passed that once a restaurant or store’s parking lot is filled, they should stop serving or selling. No hardship since they only serve the people who are already there, etc., etc.

I used to be able to peaceably enjoy my living space and have the benefit of the ocean breeze.

But amped up free expression has changed that. I close my windows and turn on an energy consuming fan. I use ear plugs.

It cuts down on the noise except for the bass of the aforementioned amps and the drummers who are kicked out of the drum circle. The Hucksters on the west side of the walk park and have their car CDs or radios (complete with commercials) blaring all day long.

The west side hucksters claim they have to turn their music up because the merchants on the east side turn their music up. I’m not defending the east side merchants, but at my end of the walk, there are no stores blaring out music. But the west side Vegas Actwannabes crank up the volume regardless.

I don’t want an ART Police board probably set up by the same people who selected that rusting pile of iron that decorates (desecrates?) the Windward Center. And I don’t want to be an Art Police.

At a recent meeting sponsored by the Police and City Attorney, Residents were told that an ordinance was being worked on.

Many of the residents heard that song before (amplified?).

Not one of the residents made any comments on Quality or Content of the performers or artists. All they wanted was the freedom to open their windows to let the breeze in without being murdered loudly by performer’s songs until 11:30 p.m.

It would be nice to see the beach again. Now all I see are the paint by numbers Henna Tattoo Tents and The Portable Massage Parlors.

I would like them to realize that the Ocean Front Walk is a public area, not for their privatization of six yards of art or handicrafts. People who aren’t selling their wares have a right to be on the west side of the walk and on the beach without searching for a space between the all alike smell incense sellers and the PicNSav reject unicorn art glass sellers to get to there.

I’m an Anarchist at heart. So why am I talking rules , regulations, police, etc.?

Because in order to be an anarchist one should have respect for other people. The Artists and Performers, etc., have shown no respect for residents.

I don’t want to, and am not able to, go downstairs every 15 minutes to ask yet another Performer or Car owner to turn it down or off. I would think they would have enough sense to realize that not everyone wants Bob Dylan, Puff Daddy, etc., sounding as if they’re sitting right next to them performing at full amp right into their ears. The aforementioned usually charge much money to hear them. I ain’t payin’.

And maybe the artrepreneurs who pay no rent to no one on the west side should be aware that some nerves are shot and tolerance is wearing thin, and a new layer of regulations might be required reading before thy set up their altars to their Great God Greed.

Posted: Mon - July 1, 2002 at 06:00 PM          

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