Raod Cone Connoisseurs

Just like a gang of off-duty

cops, these cones shoot the

breeze over by the lamppost. 

My perception of road cones completely changed when I started making theatre with them. On the street I began perceiving common pylons as a population of inanimate actors whose job is to keep people and situations safe from each other. One the one hand they protect people from temporary urban circumstances, such as potholes or worksites, on the other hand they try to protect things as frail as wet paint or cement from the blemishes of oblivious humans. Like citified scarecrows, road cones exist as a scattered phalanx of passive uniformed guards, bearing two reflective stripes on their bright orange coats that silently say, "Hey! Watch it buddy!"

But this clean system of clean orange cones neatly demarcating messy situations is pretty imperfect. Not every street that needs a cone has one—sometimes the pothole, wet cement, or other hazard lives unguarded indefinitely. Conversely, not every cone on the street is on active duty, for after the pothole's filled and the cement's dried, workers often drive off and leave their cones behind for citizens to ignore, appropriate, or maybe make into art. What happens then is the intended job of the common road cone gets taken less seriously in a Boy-Who-Cried-Wolf sense: danger is not always signified with a road cone, and road cones do not always signify danger.

What are they doing
behind that plant?

There is someone in Philadelphia who cares about the job of the common road cone enough to tweet and post photos about it. Here's an article on her, and here's her Twitter feed. I love her perspective as an urban planner who invites an eye for the theatricality of these street scenes. And it's nice to know that I'm not the only one personifying inanimate objects. Stay tuned for a follow-up on this post in the near future.

We're Getting Where?

The motto for Philly's public transit system, "SEPTA, we're getting there," has most riders rolling their eyes. And even any sighted person who's tried to transfer between lines at City Hall knows how bad SEPTA's signage is. Imagine what it's like when you can't see. SEPTA is required to put up Braille signage to help blind folks find their way. I spotted this one on a column at 13th Street, formerly known as Juniper Station. This tiny plaque was on just one—and only one—of about 50 columns in the station, and the odds of a blind person ever stumbling across it are far lower than 1 in 50. I doubt that anyone who'd actually benefit from this sign has ever found it. So I looked around for others.

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This one's placement is good: right at the edge of a wall where folks disembark from the trolleys. But its text is confusing—remember, the station was renamed "13th Street", so blind visitors to the city would be very confused to read this plaque that says Juniper Station.

And then there was this one:

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I.D. Expired

The MBTA's 5-year pass for the visually impaired sure comes in handy whenever I visit Boston. And I now know the sound the machine makes once that pass has expired. I also know that, despite the signs posted at Back Bay Station, that the office to get a new card has moved to Downtown Crossing. A lovely walk across Copley Square, the Public Garden and Boston Common took me there. They gave me a number, and then a new card.

See you in 5 years.

Three visually impaired people walk into an ice cream parlor…

Tonight the person behind the counter read the flavors off to an 8-year-old girl and a man with a white cane. They didn't know each other, but both had strabismus (eyes that turn out from each other). The man bought the girl a milkshake and then a cup of ice cream for himself. I sat with him, introduced myself and told him I had low vision too but don't use a cane. He explained that in his home country of Argentina, people who are completely blind use white canes and people who are visually impaired but have some vision use green canes so that others know to ask, "How much can you see?" Argentina passed their Ley del Bastón Verde ("Green Cane Law") in 2002. Why not do the same in the US? It would help visibilize we the in-between, las personas con baja visión, or people with low vision.

Blind Film #5: Scent of Machismo

Pacino plays the blind card to win Best Actor at 1992's Academy Awards. Scent of a Woman's pity party plot revolves around a macho ex-army colonel whose manhood has been besmirched by his disability. This scene's extra asset is a pre-gentrified view of Brooklyn's DUMBO neighborhood. You'd hit half of Etsy if you drove like this down there today:

My favorite part of this scene is at the end when the ex-army colonel uses his privilege to mask his disability. The same year this came out, Odd Squad's video for "Can't See It" also featured clips of a blind man driving, but unlike Al Pacino, MC Rob Quest is actually blind.

Stand Clear of the (Closing) Doors, Please

Today in Manhattan, the Uptown ① Train announced all of its stops. The Downtown Ⓐ said none. I tell you, riding the MTA without missing your stop can be a gamble when you're visually impaired.

Another gamble was getting into the PS163 where my friend was teaching dance. All doors are exits, but only one is an entrance, and nowadays a grown man walking around school grounds trying door after door looks sketchy as hell. Had I done the glasses-and-cane act, no problem—everybody wants to help the blind man. But even those who don't show up that way might still have trouble finding the sign that might be there saying, "ENTER HERE" so instead I just stand snowblind outside, waiting till 2:45 when all the kids are gone and safe from weird men fumbling around in the snow.

A Crossing Conundrum

In recent years I've seen several cities reclaiming their streetscapes for pedestrians. Half a block from me there's this 5-way intersection that was difficult to cross until a city project expanded the corners and demarcated them with big colorful chunks of granite and these 3-foot wide flower pots with all sorts of plants growing in them. The shorter distance between corners makes for safer street crossing, and I even a sense of ownership as a pedestrian when I sit on the granite slabs with friends surrounded by foliage.

This winter they've been ripping up the corner to do some work on the pipes below the street. When I went to cross this morning, I was confused, not so much because of the bulldozers and road cones and caution tape, but because the giant pots and obelisks had shifted to make room for the work. As I spent time trying to navigate the confusion, I realized that my ability to "see" at that intersection is based mostly on memory. Although I could not draw a map of where those pots and rocks normally are, I've become accustomed to having them as markers of place and safe passage. Move them around and I don't know where I am in relation to what.

Blinded by the Light (of a low-vision assistive device)

Taxi in NYC. Screen in backseat shines so bright, speaks so loud. Driver says he can't turn it off. Screen says its for people like me: we who are visually impaired. But  the screen itself is damaging my vision, even though I know the fare.

Cold Cardboard in the Dark

Cold night in Philly. In the passenger seat of a car, I see people in the middle of intersections holding cardboard signs. What do they say? I cannot see, I cannot say, but I can guess. 

A Fare Race

Today we took the train out to Germantown to perform in somebody's home. A couple of audience members texted and called to say that their bus was running late. Why didn't they just take the commuter train? It's faster, more reliable, and doesn't have to contend with traffic. It's also more expensive, and although this might not be the reason that these folks chose the bus, many people do choose slower transit options to save money. I don't take that into account for myself because public transit is half price for visually impaired people. So if a blind person and a sighted person each pays SEPTA the same fare to get from central Philly to Germantown, the blind person will get there first.

All I Can See is IKEA

I don't get on buses by myself. Only the subway has stops that are clearly marked. Maybe.

But today I took a bus to Red Hook to go to my friend's dance rehearsal. I was resistant because I sometimes I miss my stop, and sometimes I miss the bus altogether. But I went anyway to overcome these anxieties. She texted me directions—so many directions, so many options. I could either take the IKEA shuttle, which would overshoot my destination by a couple blocks, or the B61, which winds around Red Hook making all the stops en route to IKEA. I ended up boarding the B61 and tracked its progress on my phone, sure that I'd get off close to where I needed to go. And then suddenly, everyone was disembarking and I saw the unmistakable blue and yellow edifice of IKEA. If only Brooklyn's streets were half as well marked as that.