Minneapolis Burning - George Floyd Will Not Be Forgotten

My hometown is burning, and, frankly ... it should be. The murder of George Floyd in broad daylight while being filmed was enough for anyplace to self-combust, and no one can be blamed for reacting to the violence with outrage and heartbreak.

I've been in tears since I first saw the video, and after waking up this morning to the news of the city being burned alive and looted, I was so crushed that I had to go be among the people. I didn't feel like I could participate in the protest last night, because after seeing images of tear gas (which I've experienced and isn't fun) and rubber bullets nearly killing more people, I reluctantly stayed home. I'm the caregiver for my Mom and brother right now, and if something happened to me, I don't know what they'd do, so I stayed put in front of the television watching the mayhem in real time. And then I got up this morning and went to pay my respects to Mr. Floyd at the site of his murder at 38th and Chicago.

The intersection isn't officially blocked off, but it is blocked by the throngs of people also needing to be there in solidarity. Music was being blasted, a barbeque was taking shape on one corner, the streets were filled with written messages in tribute to Floyd, and the overall atmosphere was both charged and peaceful at the same time.

I got chills the moment I saw the gathering, and as I approached the memorial itself, involuntary tears began streaming down my face. I can't believe this happened here ... but I also can. I was alone, and felt sort of conflicted. Was my presence there invasive to the black community who were mourning and hurting? That was answered fairly quickly, as an older black woman near me saw my teary eyes above my pandemic mask and said, "I'd hug you if I could". I told her I would too, and it was a beautiful moment of human beings united in their sadness - and their hope. Hope that by coming together in the name of love, there will actually be justice this time. And an end to the senseless killing of people of color that has haunted this land since its origin. I began to feel like maybe it was important that someone that looks like me was there with them all, in total solidarity. I've already made all the calls to government officials and the D.A. of Minneapolis, I've sent the emails, I've signed the petitions, I've shared the outraged posts ... but I needed to be there to SHOW that people really, really care.

A mural of Mr. Floyd was taking shape on the side of Cup Foods where the murder happened, and I anticipate that this will long be a gathering site for people to come together to mourn Floyd, and an important location in the struggle for civil rights that continues long after the South lost the Civil War. Leaders in the fight for equality for ALL will be leading vigils and protests later today, people like Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton, and I don't know why, but something feels different this time. Like the People have had absolutely enough, and will not sit by and watch the memory of this blatant murder fade away. At least I hope so. (And the L.A. protests in solidarity were very much appreciated - miss and love you!)

All four murderers MUST be charged and convicted. If that doesn't happen, the City of Minneapolis should expect the unrest to continue - and it would be fully justified. This country is suffering from two viruses - Covid-19 and Systemic Racism. Both must be entirely eradicated if there is ever to be a sense of peace and normalcy in this nation again. I don't know exactly how we're going to get there, I just know that we must. And I vow personally to do whatever in the whole world I can do as an activist and as a fellow human being to help make things better for everyone.

I humbly offer my support and love to all who are hurting so much right now. I am with you, and I know that together we can FORCE things to be better. Because we must.

I was going to say No Justice, No Peace - but there MUST be justice. There is no other option. Peace and LOVE to the family and friends of George Floyd, and to the entire world affected by this absolute tragedy. George Floyd - you will never be forgotten. And you just might be the catalyst for change, once and for all. Rest In Peace, Sir.


*Later. Way more fired up. So ... A great thing you can do right now - NOW, while you're feeling something - please call #612-324-4499 and stay on the phone as long as you can, calling every official possible that can do something about getting these dirty cops charged and convicted NOW.  DA Mike Freeman needs to go - start there. There is MORE THAN ENOUGH EVIDENCE, Sir, to arrest and convict all of those murderers right now. We ALL SAW IT. They're trying to err on the side of caution, saying they want to "Get it right". Well, THE only way to get it right is to charge these despicable creatures, and we mean NOW.

You call #612-324-4499. Shaun King's recorded voice answers and instructs you as to what's up. They then connect you, one by one, as long as you can (I made like 50 calls I was so intensely mad/sad/determined) to the offices of various ELECTED officials and Police department heads. I never once got a human on the line, and both disappointingly and encouragingly, many voicemail boxes were full. But, OH, did I leave some doozies for messages. The police ones didn't even let you leave a message, they've been so inundated. Good. Once you finish your tirade, you push the star key, and Mr. King sends you on to the next one - and you just keep on going until you can't take it any more or you hit them all. This time must be different.

I'm both heart-crushingly sad and fully elated to see the solidarity coming to Minneapolis and St. Paul - our beautiful Twin Cities - from around the globe. Like the pandemic, racism and systemic murder have all shown us how very connected in this world we all really are. Thank you especially to Venice, who I'm told marched down the Boardwalk for George Floyd tonight. I'm reverse homesick tonight ... it's so weird to be here in Minneapolis, and not watching it all on t.v. from Venice - but I'm glad I'm here with my hometown people. I think I'm needed more here now. LOVE to absolutely everyone, everywhere. We will make this planet a better place for all if we can once and for all unite for the good of everyone. Call me a hippie (and many of you do), but I'm pretty sure we can do it. Underneath all of the sadness and chaos here tonight ... I feel the real simmering of this melting pot about to boil over into something better.

Peace.

K, now hit your keypad and dial up #612-324-4499!

XXX

Help Keep Juice Magazine Alive - Pools, Pipes, And Punk Rock!

Juice Magazine is arguably the very heart and soul of Venice, California. They have been documenting the skate, surf, and music scenes around the world since 1993, and a lot of the town's cool can be easily traced back to Juice. Publisher/Editor/Owner, Terri Craft, and Assistant Editor, Dan Levy, have been bringing everyone the Juice for over 26 years, and now it's time to return the favor.

With the Covid-19 crisis, magazine shipments have been put on hold, which means the Juice lifeblood (money) has also been on hold. With a looming line of credit that must be repaid, there is a very real threat that the magazine would have to shutter without the means to continue publishing. We, as a global and local community of skaters, surfers, musicians, and artists (and those who love them), now need to step up to provide some assistance in order to keep them going. And we will.

A Go Fund Me has been set up for just this purpose, and you may donate HERE to help this excellent-  and vital - publication keep on trucking long into the future. All one has to do is glance at the beloved Venice Skatepark currently all filled in with sand to visualize what a (temporary) loss that is, and what the loss of Juice would be. Juice Magazine is pretty much the Bible to so many in the skate world, not only in Venice, but around the world ... Venice just gets to call them our own.

SO many awesome times have originated with Juice ... from skate contests to ragers at the Juice headquarters, from epic art exhibitions like Beyond The Streets to little art shows in local galleries.

From collaborations with the California Locos and Shepard Fairey (and a new print for Juice is coming very soon by Fairey in another effort to fundraise - how cool!) to showcasing the work of local and coming up artists - and bands and writers and everyone who gets and appreciates the Juice vibe - and who doesn't? Lizzo knows ... Blame it on my Juice!

My brother Paul and I have had the true pleasure of covering things for Juice, and are honored to call them our friends ... our Venice family. The Go Fund Me tells the whole story of the Juice origins up to now, as well as all of their accomplishments and credits, which are a great many. They were fundamental in helping to get the Venice Skatepark built, as well as getting the documentary about it made - Made In Venice is crucial viewing for anyone who cares about skating and/or Venice.

I know how hard it is to ask for help for these friends, because I'm a lot like that myself. More than happy to step in and help anyone, but super hard to put yourself out there to let people know that you are in need. That's when you hope that your friends will do it for you ... so here we are.

PLEASE kick in whatever little bit (or massive, some of you bands and pro skaters and artists that have been featured in Juice!) you can, because we want to help keep alive the only skate publication used by the Smithsonian Institute - it's that legit.

And Juice really needs your help NOW. We have already lost so much from this awful virus, don't let it happen to one of the very best things about Venice/the skate/surf/art/music world. I miss being in Venice so much right now, and the Juice family is one of the things I miss the very most. PLEASE let it still be there when I get back. PLEASE let us now have their back.

One more time, you may donate HERE. THANK YOU SO MUCH for helping to bring so many more awesome times to us all! You're awesome too.

LONG LIVE JUICE!


*Photo of Terri Craft by Dan Levy.
*Photo of Dan Levy by Pep Williams.
*Photo of sandy Skatepark by Twistedsifter.com

Good Friday Hope

I usually say "Great Friday" every year on Good Friday, but I don't feel like that this year. I wrote a story about finding comfort and solace in Wood Lake a week or so ago, and now I think I need a Wood Lake walk more than ever. My older brother, Rich, had a mild stroke on Monday night, and we can't be with him due to the global pandemic, so he has to deal with it all by himself in the hospital surrounded by scared workers and patients. I really am trying so hard to be gnarly and strong and have my chin all the way up, because I know how much more many, many people are suffering, but MAN ... there are moments where I don't even feel like trying anymore. So I look for hope. Like the little tiny blue flowers (Snowdrops!) poking out of the soil after a long winter! I haven't been in Spring in Minnesota for like 25 years, so these are true thrills for me, as well as HOPE that warm, sunny days are fast approaching.

I'm taking an online Yale class about happiness, and it's probably the best time ever to be taking it, because it actually has forced me to focus on what there is to be grateful about, and how I can extend more kindness to people around me.

None of this awful virus stuff was happening, obviously, when the class lectures were filmed, and I'm sure the Professor had no idea how hard her students would soon be struggling to find - and share - that happiness. Yet even amid all this madness ... you can still find it. Trust me. Like, there is a litter of baby kittens in a tree in my neighbor's backyard! Snowdrops and roses and whiskers on kittens ... !

There is an awful lot for me to deal with, much of which I don't speak about publicly, but believe me, it's a lot. But no more than so many people dealing with so much right now, and I keep telling myself that. I keep telling myself that this too shall pass. That there are so many silver linings. That I am SO fortunate, in the whole grand scheme of things. That the grass has turned green, seemingly overnight, and that this shows us all that there is an end to the darkness - another symbol of HOPE.

My family home is across the street from a church called HOPE Presbyterian, so there is a constant reminder of that hope right there. My family's church (Nokomis Heights Lutheran) left a surprise on our doorstep yesterday, which was a luminaria with an electric tealight, asking us to put it out each evening to symbolize HOPE for everyone. We will. And I will keep the hope alive in my own heart, as hard as I can. Please call me on it if you hear of me losing it. And keep on spreading the love, not germs (Window sign made by my precious Mom)!

Happy Easter Weekend to you all. The very weekend meant to symbolize HOPE. Love you.

Clogtown: Swan River - A Love Story!

Happy Valentine's Day, Lovers! In the interest of not going insane, I always try and seek out cool and interesting stories, places, people ... things that I know will bring me some joy and some beauty and some information. I've been a little obsessed (like my Venice hummingbirds obsessed!) with the Swans of Monticello, Minnesota for the past couple of months, as I tried to go see them in December with no luck. There is a Swan Cam set up to look at the wintering trumpeter swans that come to this little bend in the Mississippi River each winter, where the water is a little warmer (I don't believe it) due to the curve, but also this is where they know they are going to be fed. I thought it would be a perfect story for Valentine's Day, as I had heard that swans mate for life, and that's a nice little love story for the day ... but what I learned was an even better one.

Over thirty years ago, a pair of trumpeter swans were released from Hennepin Parks in a partnership between the DNR, the private sector, and the public in an attempt to restore their population (after they were believed to be nearly extinct in the 1880's). A local woman named Sheila Lawrence lived on the banks of the Mississippi River in Monticello, and began feeding shelled corn to the swans that she saw taking a breather in the open waters by her house. (Photo from their brochure)

Well, word got out and soon the swans numbered in the hundreds, and then the thousands. Sheila spent her entire days hauling corn and feeding the swans, all out of her own pocket (and donations from friends here and there - this is not a government funded operation). She soon became known as the "Swan Lady", the area became known as Swan Park, and now you can see these gorgeous creatures there in the winter from December to March.

It was a bust in December when I went, because it was too warm and the swans were still out in the corn fields, fat and happy. I've been keeping a close eye on the Swan Cam so I knew the crowd was growing, and when I woke up yesterday it was -11 outside! I knew this was good news for swan viewing, so I got my Mom and myself all bundled up, and we hit the road for Monticello.

The Swan Park is on a dead end fully residential street, and as soon as we opened the car doors we could hear the call of the trumpeting swans! Exciting! Mom has to walk a little slow these days, but we were both trying to hustle - from both anticipation and the freezing cold! Steam was rising off of the river from the cold, and you could see ice bergs flowing by. Three GIANT swans FLEW by, and we forgot all about the cold (for a moment). I'd never seen a swan fly, I don't think, and it's nuts. Their long necks stretch out straight and their wing span was huge as they swooped in for a landing along the banks where all of the corn feed was ... and hundreds of their friends were down below.  Wow!

I had heard that the feeding was done every day at 10:30 am, and I saw a guy down by the water tossing corn at the swans. I waved at him, and he came over, probably to see what this crazy girl was doing outside in a sweater (it's a lovebirds sweater, in homage to the swans!). This turned out to be Jim Lawrence, the husband of the late Swan Lady Sheila, who passed away in 2011. As Jim told us everything you could ever hope to know about swans, I realized that THIS was the real love story.

Jim was a dairy farm boy from North Dakota, and talks like one. He told us how the original swans were tagged to keep track of, and old #7, well, she was what you would call a "Boss Cow". She came in and if Sheila wasn't out there at 10:30 on the dot, this swan would come right up to her - at eye level on her 5'2 frame - with basically an arched eyebrow and tapping at her wristwatch, like C'mon, Swan Lady. Every other sentence Jim uttered was about Sheila, and he is now out there every morning at 10:30 carrying on the legacy of his Swan Lady. It was incredibly touching, especially when he said that he knew she was up there feeding all of the feathered and furry creatures in Heaven, looking up as he said it.

When he looked up, I noticed the icicles forming on his eyelashes and beard, and thought I'd better get my Mom back inside the warm car. Jim walked and talked us all the way back, with more swan trivia as we went. I wanted to go back and take more pictures and just watch the graceful beasts a bit more, so Jim walked and talked me back. He wouldn't let me help him feed the swans (it's a liability thing), but I bet I could now step in as in information guide if he ever needs me. The love he has for these swans - and for his late wife, Sheila - literally made his eyes sparkle ... and it wasn't just the icicles.

I had to ask if his neighbors hate him, because these guys play some mean horn ... all day and night. He said that they love it, and the walls and your t.v. and grandkids playing all muffle it out - plus it's only for like three months. I kind of thought there would be way more swans, after reading that last year there were almost four thousand there in January. Jim then explained for me (and for you, below), that all those dark ducks weren't ducks at all (save for a few random mallards) - they were cygnets! Baby swans! They'll be all white and huge by June! Oh, man ... I was just loving it ...

... but I also could no longer feel my face. I really could have sat and listened to the swan stories and watched them try to land in between the ice bergs, but I honestly might have lost my nose for real if I'd stayed out there even just a few more minutes. Invigorating! Jim walked and talked me back to the car again, giving me his business card. Turns out he's a professional wildlife control guy, so you call him if a wild animal needs to get caught and removed. His email name is "Ol Trapper 1". Perfect.

I shook Jim's hand (I think - I couldn't really feel it), said my farewell, and sat on the car's heated seat to try and regain some feeling before I began to drive. I looked at my Mom, and my eyes were glistening, from the cold, yes, but also because I was so touched, and still am as I write this. Here is this man living out his wife's legacy in her absence, missing her terribly, but she is so clearly there with him. He told me that the year Sheila passed away, there was no snow that winter, and thus very few swans, making her absence loom even larger. The next year there was a lot of snow, and a lot of swans. Jim knows that Sheila sent it, no question. He waved again as we pulled away, and we drove off feeling like we had just read a really beautiful love story ... and learned an awful lot about trumpeter swans while we were at it. (It turns out, according to Jim, that they mate for REPRODUCTIVE life, but if something happens to their partner, they will hook up again. Jim calls this Swan Park of his the "Pick Up Bar", because that's really what all of those trumpet peals are for.)

So, this Valentine's Day, let's celebrate love - whether we have it in our own lives in a romantic way or not - because it really is the one thing this world could sure use a whole lot more of right now. This beautiful, freezing cold morning could not have warmed my heart more, and I thank Jim Lawrence for sharing his great stories and for continuing his Swan Lady's dream long after she's been gone. Monticello has swans on its street light banners. The iron work on its overpass bridges feature swans. As we were leaving, another car with a couple inside pulled up to see the swans on an arctic blast of a day ... all because of Sheila and Jim. What a beautiful thing to behold ... ! Cheers to love, and Happy Valentine's Day, wherever you are!

If you would like to see these swans for yourselves, just head to 117 Mississippi Drive in Monticello, MN. No financial support comes from any city or state agencies to help feed the swans, so donations are always most welcome.

Swan City Heritage Foundation
c/o Monticello Chamber
P.O. Box 192
Monticello, MN 55362

In Loving Memory Of Solomon - The Snake Man Of Venice

The awful and hard to believe news that our friend Solomon (born Willie Lee Turner) had died on August 17th, 2019 reached me in Minnesota, where I've been helping to take care of my Mom all summer. If possible, it instantly made me miss Venice even more than I have been. I quickly called Solomon's longtime girlfriend, Greta Cobar, to find out that yes, this awful news was true. She didn't have any details yet, but it was - shockingly - true. Shockingly because Solomon was a man who really seemed invincible.

Solomon spoke truth to power up there on his ladder, holding his snakes for all the passersby on the Boardwalk, but it was never really about the snakes to me. It was about using your voice to engage with others and stimulate important conversation. This got him into trouble with the cops all the time, but Solomon didn't really seem to care all that much. Every time I saw him, I felt better afterward. His "Hey, CJ, how are you doin'?" was always asked with true interest, straight in my eyes. He was something else, the likes of which we'll never see again in Venice ... and another iconic member of our community is gone. I SO deeply regret that I never got to do my own story on Solomon - a solemn reminder that you just never know how long we'll have people and places, and the best time for enjoying them is NOW.

There was a tear-jerking memorial held on Sunday at Beyond Baroque (that I watched on Facebook Live - thanks, Logan Mote!) that I felt SO sad not to be at with everyone sharing their Solomon memories. There is also a special issue of the Free Venice Beachhead out now around Venice, and it includes the beautiful article below written by Greta for her Solomon.

Solomon, my friend ... Venice will never ever forget you. Rest easy, my Brother.


King Solomon, the Venice Snake Man, quickly departed from this world on Saturday, August 17. His passing brought shock and sorrow to so very many in Venice and beyond. On the morning of August 17 Solomon played basketball in Venice, and then performed the Snake Show at his usual spot, on Ocean Front Walk and Windward. After that he went to Burton Chace Park for the Leela James concert. Before the concert started he collapsed out of the blue, the paramedics were called, and he was transported to UCLA Medical Center in the Marina, where he was pronounced dead on arrival at 6:47pm. The results of the autopsy are deferred for three months because of down-town testing back-log, and an official cause of death has not been released.  


The Venice plaza between the flagpoles will never be the same without the Snake Show that he performed there for the past eighteen years. The tourists took pictures, and those millions of pictures are now all over the world and on the internet. All locals knew him, and most faces would sketch a smile at the sight of him. After a quick verbal ex-change, the passer-by would leave feeling uplifted by Solomon’s trademark words of encouragement and the compliments that he was so generous with. He was born on March 29, 1961, on Hope Street, in downtown Los Angeles, and his real name was Willie Lee Turner. His parents had come from Oklahoma, and his ancestry was African-American, Native American and French Creole. The memorable parts of his childhood were the times he rode his bicycle (on some occasions, a horse!) from Watts, where he grew up, to the bike trail in Manhattan, Hermosa and King Harbor. Back then he was one of the very few Black kids to ride in that area, and the white kids would try to harass him. He and his parents also spent time around bonfires on the sand of Santa Monica beach. Two tragic events happened to him while he was in his 20s, which made him question the righteousness of this world and whether he wanted to be part of it in a traditional sense. The first one was the death of his mother, Arnita Turner, when she was in her early 40s, which he blamed on the pills that the doctors were giving her for high blood pressure. It was common for experimental drugs to be tested on Black people without their knowledge. The second was his first daughter’s, whom he named after his mother, contamination with meningitis in the hospital when she was an infant, which made her severely mentally and physically disabled. He blamed that on the hospital using dirty needles. 

He tried working regular jobs, but had a hard time being controlled by the system. He even en-rolled in the Coast Guard, from which he got an honorary discharge because he didn’t want them to pull out his wisdom teeth. That was a wise decision! Venice didn’t come onto his radar until the late1980s. And after that he was never the same, much like Venice will never be the same without him. He started calling himself Solomon and be-came The King, King Solomon. Back in those days Venice allowed and encouraged people to break out of the mold and express their authentic selves, and he truly was The King. 

At first he sold T-shirts with socially conscious messages on the Boardwalk, such as Love Sees No Color. In the 1990s he spent years being a full-time dad for his baby daughter Jasmine, as well as his oldest son, David. At this time he also spent more time concentrating on making art and music, two hobbies that he enjoyed and practiced throughout his life. He took photographs and created beautiful collages with his own photographs, cut-outs from newspapers and magazines, and found objects. His artwork carried strong political/social messages of justice, freedom and equality. Creating music was a constant part of his life, and he loved singing and playing the flute, guitar, drums, ukulele, banjo and any other instrument he could get his hands on. In 2001 he was jogging along the ocean in Venice, and in alignment with the flagpoles at the end of Windward, on the wet sand, he found a rubber snake that had washed ashore. He picked it up, and was playing with it on Ocean Front Walk, by the flagpoles. A Haitian historian visiting Venice walked by and said: “Hey, I have a snake just like that, I got it at a garage sale.” Solomon thought, “Ya, right.” A few days later the guy came back and gave him the second snake. They both had “Made in China 1989” written on them. He started playing with both snakes, with his eyes closed, and when he opened his eyes, there were a bunch of people watching him, mesmerized by his presence. And that is when the idea of doing the Snake Show came to him. 

Betty White, of the famous Elton and Betty White Show that was taking place on the Boardwalk at that time, told him: “Take off your clothes, you’ll make more dough!”. He found a wooden ladder abandoned on Venice and Lincoln, and started performing between the flagpoles, on Windward and Ocean Front Walk, in alignment with where the snakes came to him. And that is the story of how the famous Snake Show got started. His mastery of making the snakes look real (they weren’t!) combined with his incredible balancing and yogi poses on the ladder, his physical beauty, his kind and wise words, made the show a hit. It was original, different, out of the blue, unexpected and unique. It was what Venice was all about, what people came to Venice for. The sight of systemic police injustice trans-formed Solomon’s calm, composed and thoughtful demeanor into outrage, and he was not afraid to speak out against it. That resulted in constant police harassment and numerous arrests on bogus charges. A Black man speaking truth to power in the most crowded part of Venice did not fit in with the restrictions of the system that we live under. If his family and friends would not have intervened with private attorneys and tens of thousands in bail money, the cops’ efforts to keep him locked up would have been successful. This is the real story of being a Black non-conformist man in America. 

When the lottery system of allocating freshly painted boxed spots on the Boardwalk to the performers and artists was instituted in 2005, he was one of a few, if not the only one, who refused to be part of it. Through all his struggles, Solomon re-fused to compromise his conviction that freedom of speech is a right, not a lottery prize. In 2015, when the cops succeeded in banning him from the Boardwalk for a year as a plea deal on a totally bogus charge, he moved to Santa Monica and started performing there, at the top of the pier. In January of this year he came back to Venice and continued doing his show in the original spot, to the delight of locals and tourists alike. Aside from his show and with his clothes on, he was a big part of the Venice community, ever-present at rallies, community meetings, gatherings, local hang-out spots and the basketball courts. He had more friends than anyone else I know. People loved his perseverance, strength, beauty and optimism. He often said that he lived by miracles, and encouraged the rest of us to believe in miracles as well.

I personally met Solomon on my first day after moving to Venice in October of 2004. Dr. John introduced me to him at a table outside of Cafe Collage, which at the time was the local hang-out spot. We started dating just a few weeks later, and continued, on and off, until now. The time I spent with him was by far the highlight of my life so far, and he inspired me to be the person that I am today. From riding bikes to decorating bikes, to buying and restoring my own VW bus, to my local activism and the work I did for the Beachhead, to making my own collages and paintings, to the way I carry my-self and deal with others, my philosophy of life and my expanded horizons, all that and more has his mark on it. He’s had the biggest influence on my life, was my best friend, my passion, my source of strength and happiness. 

On August 17 I drove to Malibu and parked in a ranch, on the grass, under a big tree. I was sup-posed to get out and listen to live music, but I was overwhelmed by sorrow and spent hours in the car sobbing. I longed to be connected with him and repeatedly tried calling, but his phone was off. A deep, unprecedented and overwhelming need to hold his hand took over me. The urge was so strong that I held my two hands together and pretended that one of them was his. I held them really tight for quite a while, while tears were uncontrollably streaming down my face. It was at this exact time that he was going through his transition into the next form of energy. I didn’t know it at that time. The following day I scolded myself for being so needy, but when I found out about his passing I realized that he needed me to hold his hand during his transition just as much as I did, and I am honored to have been connected with him like that. Venice lost one of its greatests, and it will never be the same without him. We can find solace in our fortune to have known him, to have enjoyed his presence, to have been blessed by him. He truly was larger than life. 

Solomon is survived by his five children Arnita Turner, David Turner, Joshua Turner, Elisha Turner, and Jasmine Turner; his step-daughter Crystal Spradley; his sister Cassie Turner; his former long-term partner Jill Horowitz-Groeschel, Jasmines’s mother; and Eva Marie Svensson, Joshua’s and El-isha’s mother. A memorial for Solomon will be held on Sun-day, September 1, 5-8pm, at Beyond Baroque, 681 Venice Blvd. May he rest in power, love and peace. May he know that he was deeply loved and is now just as deeply missed.  
- By Greta Cobar

Clogtown: Minnesota - All Are Welcome Here!

Man, it's been so nice - and such a relief! - to see little signs all over the Twin Cities about how everyone is welcome, everyone is accepted, that YOU are what makes our city and state great, and that here, we love our neighbors.

In recent days, there have been outrageous attacks by the joke of a President in office toward our Blue State's Senator, Ilhan Omar. I've never seen or heard or a sitting President being so classless and actually dangerous. It's disgusting, and Minnesota isn't having it.

Crowds came out to meet Omar at MSP Airport when she returned to town the other day, showing that we support her, and hate is not welcome here. I see little girls in full dress and hijabs playing in the sultry heat here, and know how very much it must mean to them to see this remarkable and brave woman representing them - and us all.

I read a quote from a woman the other day who said it was interesting (and sad) that "The Squad" of Democratic female Senators being told to "Go back where they came from" (disgusting racist speak) are considered "Radical Left", when they're just sticking up for what most developed countries already have. WE are the backwards country now. They are just trying to catch us up. Their ideas are not radical, they are humanist, and merely supporting basic human and civil rights (like health care, reproductive rights, and not putting kids in cages). It's time to grow the hell up as a nation. Well past time, in fact.

I'm proud of my home state of Minnesota for showing in yards, schools, businesses, bumper stickers, t-shirts, and by their own welcoming and "Minnesota Nice" conduct, that ALL are welcome here, as they are supposed to be in every part of this country.

SKOL! And TAKK!

Help Yourself!

I was on a walk this morning, all the way in my own head, when I was very touched to see that a lovely home on Couer D'Alene had set out a little buffet of to-go food on their fence for anyone who might need it, and wrote in chalk, "Help Yourself!"

That is how we need to be in our community, with shorter fences and longer tables. I thought about what it means to help yourself ... yes, take some food and that meaning, but also we all have to really help ourselves. You can't rely on anyone else to know what help you need, so you either need to ask for it or figure it out on your own. My Mom never complains, and it took me begging to get her to go to the hospital, where she is now, being helped because she finally asked for it. I worked on a heavy show for Viceland last year, Dopesick Nation, where there were so many addicts that simply weren't ready (or didn't know how) to get help - which I suspect is the case for many of the people we see living on our streets - the ones that this food spread is for. Yet we're all in this together, and the residents of this home get that.

It's hard to ask for help, and I find myself always trying to help myself on my own, but when you are lacking strength, and feeling sad, I can't tell you much help means. Even just near strangers telling you on Facebook that they're thinking of you and your Mom in a comment ... I NEEDED that, and SO appreciate it, and hope everyone knows that. My heart swells every time I see that someone cares.

I remember Mr. Rogers saying that in times of crisis, "Look for the Helpers." Walking by this home today, it lifted my spirits and encouraged me to go on in strength - because there are people like this among us still. They had also written, "Happy Mother's Day, Mother Earth!" on their sidewalk in chalk, so I know I love them. And thank them. And plan to emulate them. As we all could do.

Help yourself!