Way Cooler Than I Am

Way Cooler Than I Am

She doesn't have STargardt's (my vision impairment of choice), but it sounds like she has some similar eye issues. I have never attempted dog-sledding. I do like dogs, though.

So, yeah... this video seems a bit more informative than the commercial that's been airing.

Ask a Blind Guy, Part 3

It's a REAL QUESTION. Hooray! Feel free to add more: notnotblind@hotmail.com (or just leave a comment).

Q: "...I'd even be curious as to how you can see to type this blog, or correct its typo's."

A: First off, I apologize. This was a comment from exactly a month ago, but I didn't see it. Seriously. I just figured out how to quickly check for comments, and I'll be doing that more often from now on.

I do a lot of typing, and most of it is by feel. Not to say that I can't read the letters on the keyboard -- I can -- but I have to lean in very close, and that would be bad for my beck, back, and dignity. Besides, I'm too busy leaning in to see the screen. I also never really learned to touch-type the way you're supposed to... so instead, I just do a lot of hunting and pecking for keys. I use the keyboard enough that I don't really have to look anymore. OK, once in a while I forget where exactly the "b" key is, but doesn't everybody?

As for typos, I have a few different ways to check.

1) I have a great, fairly inexpensive program called ReadPlease that can read anything on my screen aloud. What's more, the voice is pretty good. I listen at what most friends describe as an insanely fast speed, where I can understand the voice but others usually can't. This took years of practice, listening to sped-up books on tape from Recordings for the Blind. I still can't understand auctioneers, though.

2) I have another great little program called Screen Beagle that turns the mouse pointer into a magnifying glass. It's pretty ideal for looking at punctuation and checking small type.

3) I have a 19" screen, and I can make fonts as big or small as I want to with Firefox.

4) Spell-check.

5) I'm fairly careful. That said, I miss stuff from time to time; did anyone catch my typo from the last post? I've fixed it since then, but when somebody says, "Let's talking about this thing," doesn't that sound a little German-gone-wrong?

Anyway, hope that answers your question. Thanks for sending it in!

By the way, somebody else commented on my last post that this was coming out in WingDings. Does anyone know why that might happen? And if you're reading this, I assume you're reading it in English, and not in fake hieroglyphics.

Blind Ambition

It's a funny phrase, isn't it? There are a bunch of them; I'll probably dig into "blind justice" some other time. But let's talk about blind ambition.

If ambition were actually blind, it wouldn't be very good at living out its purpose. The blind tend to be somewhat cautious about how they move around. Even those of us with relatively unimpaired mobility have to feel around once in a while to see what's there. I rarely walk down a set of stairs, even the stairs outside my apartment building, without taking little stutter-steps with my feet to figure out the exact length and depth of each step. (I don't think about inches or centimeters... more like "shallow" or "steep.") And, while it's fun to go for a run once in a while, we're not likely to barge into unknown territory without some form of company or preparation.

Don't get me wrong: there are plenty of ambitious blind and partly blind people, and I've met a few. Considering how unconventional my career path has been, it's not too much of a stretch to call me one of those. But ambition, itself, is rarely blind. It might channel out what it doesn't want to see, but you can't blame your eyes for that

Yes, I'm Talking to You

I'm often surprised at how difficult it can be to order a sandwich.

The best place to get lunch is at a deli. In New York, you can find one of these by walking to the corner and looking around. Quality and price varies, but the usual selection (turkey, ham, roast beef, cheese) will usually be the same everywhere. You don't have to read a menu -- a good thing, in my case -- because you know what they have before you walk in.

Sometimes, I order with no problem at all. The deli worker says, "Next," and I say what I want. They make the sandwich and hand it to me. Done.

Sometimes, it's not so simple. They say, "Next," and I start talking.

"Could I get turkey and Swiss on a roll, with..." I begin. This is about the time I notice that the deli server is not paying attention to me. He's looking off into the ceiling, probably fascinated by the number of tiles. "Hi," I say.

"Yes?" he responds, as if he hadn't noticed I was talking to him.

The problem is that I usually don't make eye contact. I can force it and get pretty close, but if I'm not thinking about it, I'll look off to the side of the head. This signals to some people that I'm not talking to them at all. I get that: fully sighted people are programmed from birth to only react to those who look them in the eye. It prevents them from answering questions that weren't directed at them. And, hey, that's a horrible thing. Wars have started, governments have been overturned, because somebody dared to answer an otherwise directed question.

Seriously, I can understand why this happens when there are a bunch of people behind the counter. Nobody knows who I'm talking to, so they just assume it's the other guy. But when it's one person, alone, it's a little odd, isn't it? Why wouldn't you expect the next person on line to address you? Doesn't "next" mean "next"? If I'm not ordering a sandwich from you, why am I listing ingredients into space? Do I like to practice my order out loud before giving you my final answer? Is this Who Wants to Be a Sandwich-Eater?

"Yes, Regis... My final answer is tuna on wheat with tomato."

I don't doubt that working at a New York deli counter is a grueling, unforgiving job with little or no appreciation. It's not a conspiracy of deli workers against the legally blind. It's indicative, though. People have all kinds of weird associations with eye contact. Most of them are instinctual and/or subconscious, and very few of them make sense. At least, they don't make sense to me. Do they make sense to you?

More to the point, do you have any associations with a lack of eye contact? No? Seriously? Come on; look me in the eye, and tell me you ... Oh. Well, there you go.

A Word from Our SPonsor (Me)

OK, I've committed this blog to be about the experiences/quirks of being somewhat blind. That said, I'm also a playwright, and I need all the free advertising I can get. SO here's my own little promo for an upcoming event, a reading of a comedy I wrote this summer. Please come -- it should be a lot of fun -- and I promise to get back to real posts about real not-not-blindness in the real America tomorrow.

My friends,

Please join me on Monday, November 3rd, for a unique opportunity to relax and laugh before what promises to be an exhausting Election Day.

Between a terrific director and about a dozen of the most patriotic actors we know, we will be presenting a staged reading of my latest comedy, Calling CQ. It’s a political satire that has gotten rave reviews from workshop sessions at Flux Theatre Ensemble and a production this summer at Appel Farm Arts & Music Center. The play poses the crucial question, “What if the president believed that the greatest threat to the American people was the impending invasion from Mars… and what if his administration decided to prove him right?”

It’s like Christmas Eve, except instead of opening that first present, you get to laugh at politicians, reporters, and ourselves (and drink some wine). I can’t promise you lower taxes, but I can promise a fun night of theater.

A staged reading of
CALLING CQ
a satire by Jeremy Basescu
directed by Heidi Handelsman

Monday, November 3rd @ 7:45 pm
Running time: 75 minutes
Admission: FREE (but please RSVP)

Arthur Seelen Theatre
Drama Book Shop
250 West 40th Street
between 7th and 8th Avenues

seating is limited
RSVP to CQrsvp@gmail.com

My friends, you won’t want to miss it. Be a maverick and skip out on all the cable news blabbering for one night, and come share Election Eve with us.

Eye On the Ball

Last night, I was at a theater event at a bar. The Rays/Red Sox playoff game was on. I couldn't have helped it if my attention wandered to the screen every time there was a cheer or deep-voiced "Yeah!" Of course, I couldn't tell exactly what was happening on the screen... but that's what chatty, slightly drunk company is for.

I grew up watching baseball. My grandfather was a Yankee fan before they had started winning championships, and I like to toss that pedigree out to assure people that my family jumped on the bandwagon before they had paved the road. As a kid, I went to games once in a while and rooted for the team, but my obsession with the Yankees (and, by extension, all things sports) began when I was twelve. This happened to coincide with my blindness fully setting in, so that reading books had gone from unusually easy to frustratingly difficult at best. Luckily, I had a couple of commentators/ on the radio keep me entertained.

I look at Sterling and Kay, the play-by-play team at the time, as my gateway drug to sports radio. From their surprisingly erudite conversations as they described the games, I found myself hungry for more and more discussion of sports. I lived and died by the outcomes of Yankee games, and I simultaneously became a repository for all knowledge of baseball, football, basketball, and hockey that I could acquire. I found something to talk about at lunch with my friends in high school. I also developed some fascinating superstitions about my activities during the day, and how they might affect the Yankees' chances in the playoffs. October would routinely see my sleep decline.

I'm happy to say that I no longer ride that particular roller coaster. The Series of , when the Yankees had a few post-9/11 dramatic victories before ultimately losing, gave me a pretty good cap to ten years of baseball fanaticism. I do still love to go to games, where I depend on the radio to tell me what the heck is going on. (The ball looks pretty small from the upper deck.) As a teenager, I would spend my entire night at the ballpark glued to my Walkman, not wanting to miss a single moment of (generally useless) commentary. Now, as a "grown-up," sometimes I have the radio off during the game. Being at the park with friends or family, and experiencing the atmosphere of the stadium, now outranks actually knowing where the ball is.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take off my cap, place it over my heart, and have a moment of silence for Yankee Stadium. No one needed 20/20 vision to see the beauty of that place.

Radio Everywhere

During college and for years after, I was one of the only people I knew who listened to National Public Radio.

Sure, a few professors and older family members were regular listeners, but I rarely met anyone my own age. While everyone else was getting their news from CNN, the New York Times, and the networks, I was getting my twice-daily doses from Morning Edition and All things Considered. I'd like to think I was better informed.

Now, it's important to note that blind and not-not-blind people are not the only ones who listen to the radio. People who drive cars, for instance, like to have chatter on in the background, and sometimes they even pay attention to it. Much more interesting than those exit and speed limit signs .) But as far as the primary news source goes, radio is ideal for people like me, and less ideal for those who need visual stimulation. The fully sighted seem more inclined to tune in for generic pop music, sports, and infuriating extremists with microphones. At least, that used to be the case.

In the last two years, the iPod has changed all that: specifically, the podcast has revolutionized the way people get their information. NPR podcasts have consistently been at or near the top of the podcast list. Why? Because they're really good at making stuff for the naked ear, and they produce fresh, often funny material that tells stories and stimulates the intellect. And unlike PBS, they're not afraid to go beyond the bare facts and take a position now and then.

It's been a relief to be able to talk about This American Life, On the Media, and Wait Wait Don't Tell Me with people who aren't directly related to me. What's more, NPR has seen its ratings soar, surpassing Rush Limbaugh last year. Call me a communist, but I feel better living in a country that gets more of its news from an outlet that actually believes in journalism a doesn't seek a profit. There's plenty of talk about a strong liberal bias, but I challenge anyone to provide real evidence of that. There have been harsh criticisms of the Bush administration, but those seem to have been accurate.

If you're wondering, I'm fully aware that people still get their news from other sources. TV is still pretty big, and lots of people go online to read newspapers, magazines, and, um, blogs. But it's nice to think that serious radio journalism has made a comeback... even if it isn't over the radio.

Ask a Blind Guy, Part 2

Q: Do you bump into things?

A: No.

Peripheral vision -- and mine is better than most -- is great for avoiding stuff. I often come close to running into people on crowded sidewalks, but I'm pretty sure that's a condition of being a New Yorker, and I never actually do make contact. If something or someone comes up along my side, I usually get an "collision alert" warning in my brain, and I duck/dodge/stutter-step. I bump my head far more than I'd like to, but I can chalk that up to being 6' 2". Low ceilings above toilets should be illegal.

If you want me to answer any actual questions from actual people, please keep in mind that YOU are an actual person. Send your blind-guy queries to notnotblind@hotmail.com. I won't publish your name, but I will publish your soul. (I asked a copyright lawyer, and he said it would be cool..)

Later, y'all.

A Blind Spot for Headlines

Sometimes it's handy to have a blind spot.

I can't imagine how fully-sighted people do it. Whether you're watching CNBC, MSNBC, CNN, or (*dare I say it) Fox News, there's no end to the visual information. Clocks, news tickers, stock tickers, ticker tickers (just wait, they're coming), local temperatures and sports scores... How can you pay attention to any of it? Not that the talking heads at the top of the screen have anything worthwhile to say.

My roommate and I sometimes play the "How Much of This is News?" game when he puts on an "all-news" channel. Between the previews for upcoming stories, the recaps of previous stories, the commercials, the celebrity gossip, the pointless alerts, and the promos for specials, it's usually about 10% news. The percentage drops with the on-screen appearance of Lou Dobbs.

Still, I'm thankful that I only have to put up with the main-event crap: the talking head. I can't read any of the other stuff on screen, except when they put some giant word on the screen like "WAR," "TAXES," or "IKE" (which confused me until I realized that they weren't talking about the late President Eisenhower). I am thrilled to live in a world without a constant running headline. I love my ticker-less existence. I wish you all could join me.

Ask the Blind Guy, Part 1

Q: What does it look like?

A: Huh? What does what look like?

Q: You know... stuff.

A: Oh, right. Stuff. Well, for the most part, stuff looks normal to me. The world doesn't look fuzzy or out of focus, so it's not at all like taking off your glasses. Everything looks clear except for a blind spot in the middle of my vision, no matter which eye is open.

Now, if you're wondering what the spot looks like, it's actually pretty easy to simulate. Just look directly at a bright light for a few seconds -- I would suggest you avoid the sun, and so would your mother -- and then look away. The after-effect you see, that shiny spot that doesn't exactly have a shape, is a lot like my blind spot.

A lot of people react to this by remarking that it must be annoying to have a slightly-glowing spot in front of me all the time. If it happened one day, out of the blue, I'm sure it would be pretty frustrating; but lucky for me, it just slowly dawned on me that it was there. The weird thing for me, at this point, would be for it to disappear... or if it started talking to me in rhyme. That would be just plain crazy. I promise I'll post about it if that happens.

If you have any blind guy questions, send them straight to our brand new email address, notnotblind@hotmail.com. First one to send us an email gets a free ice cream cone.**

**Offer not valid within the 48 contiguous states, Alaska, Hawaii, Canada, the United Kingdom, or anywhere else on the Planet Earth. However, if you can read this print, you can see better than I can... so go ahead and treat yourself to some delicious ice cream. I'm about to do that myself.

Jaywalking

As a New Yorker, I often assert my God-given right to jaywalk. Pedestrian traffic lights aren't the boss of me, nor do they seem to affect most of my fellow city dwellers. We walk when we want to, oncoming automobiles be damned.

Of course, as a less talented perceiver of objects than some, I tend to be a little more cautious than most. Back in high school, I took a step past the sidewalk just in time to have an eighteen-wheel truck brush past my nose at 40 mph. Ever since then, I've taken a few extra looks before crossing the street. True, my ability to pick up moving objects is pretty good, but not when they're coming right at me. Better safe than two-dimensional.

The fully-sighted community, on the other hand, throws caution to the wind: a wind created by the cars that barely miss them. I can't tell you how many times I've almost followed someone into the street, only to see them stop just short of an oncoming vehicle's path. And then there are the people who try to push past me so they can walk into a sea of moving traffic. Ah, the sound of honking horns and angry curses.

Still, I do love the rebellious nature of the New York walker, and I try to emulate it, asserting my status as a native New Yorker, within the bounds of sanity. And if they really meant for those signs to be the law, they would have kept them as "walk/don't walk" instead of the picture of a hand (stop) versus a men's room sign (go).

We All Look ALike, Part 2

UPDATE: Governor Paterson has decided to run for re-election (or, really, for election) in 2010. I haven't looked at his new campaign website yet, but I'll have more to say about it soon. If you read it and have any comments, please send them along.

This spring, a friend of mine excitedly approached me with news. He had seen footage of the governor signing a bill, and his immediate thought was, "He looks just like Jeremy!"

Now, it's true that New York Governor David A. Paterson and I are both legally blind. And I'm pretty sure I do look like this when I sign stuff:


(image from the Albany Times Union)

Still, I'm pretty sure I don't put my head that close. Governor Paterson's vision is considerably worse than mine; he's completely blind in one eye, and the other eye is much more impaired than either of mine. Also, as far as looking like me goes... well, maybe we're at that point of racial equality where Caucasians and African-Americans can be mistaken for each other. I'll be more convinced if Obama wins.

I am definitely thrilled to have a legally blind governor, and one who consistently speaks up fro the rights of the disabled. No other politicians speaks as eloquently or as often about unemployment among the blind and deaf, and no one sets a better example of how someone with an unmistakable difference from "normal" can still succeed.

Granted, he didn't take the traditional path to the governorship -- we have Eliot Spitzer to thank for that -- but I'm still proud. He's also been a leader for fiscal responsibility in the state, which has been sorely lacking... and with the current crisis underway, it's probably a good thing that he convinced the legislators to cut spending.

The best part for me is that now I can legitimately claim to see better than the governor of New York State.

Minority Report

I once overheard a couple of actors arguing about which received more prejudice, being Asian or being gay. This was in the late 90's, a particularly dark time for Asian actors. After a "worldwide search," the white Jonathan Pryce had recently been cast as the Asian leading role in Miss Saigon. Thankfully, he did not play Miss Saigon.

The Asian actor talked about all the stereotypes that he had to overcome, and the fact that he could not hide his ethnicity (nor did he want to, of course) when auditioning for roles that were envisioned for white actors. The gay actor argued that the prejudice against the queer community was much more toxic, and that he felt the need to hide his orientation when auditioning for commercial roles. He also brought up the point that Asian people are usually born to Asian families, whereas a gay man is often shunned by his own family.

It can be tricky to have an identity your family doesn't share. I imagine many adopted people go through this, especially when their parents are a different race than they are. As far as us blind and blind-ish people go, we tend to be born into fully sighted families who don't have any idea what the world looks like through our eyes. There's no comparison to racism or homophobia -- people don't hate the partially sighted, as far as I know -- but there are a few parallels. It's hard enough to explain your sight to a friend or colleague, but it almost feels alien to explain your physiology to your parents.

My mother and I have gotten into pretty big arguments about this -- in fact, we had one just last night -- and I probably have unrealistic expectations about how much she can know (or remember) about what I can and can't see. She's certainly sensitive to it, but she forgets about certain limitations, like my basic inability to recognize a face from a photograph (usually). That's not her fault, but it's inevitably frustrating for me. If I end up with a family of my own someday, it will probably be a source of frustration then, too, for all of us. Hopefully, it will be a source of humor as well.

I don't think the gay actor and the Asian actor settled their differences., but the tempers cooled by the time the show started. It's a good thing, too; there's no room for prejudice in Shakespeare. Now, tell me again what happens in The Merchant of Venice?

Markers are Magic

I'm starting to notice a pattern.

This week, I'm being trained for a teaching job. I may or may not get the job, but it probably won't have anything to do with my eyes. Still, they aren't making it any easier for those of us who, uh, can't read stuff.

On the first morning of training, they asked us to take magic markers and answer some open questions on big pieces of paper. After we sat down and introduced ourselves -- I didn't have the chance to mention the blind thing to the group -- they asked us to come up to the paper and read what everyone else had written, to write down our impressions. Being that I couldn't really read any of it, I didn't write anything down.

Next, we found a single green sheet on each of our seats. This was a one-page, five thick paragraphs, single-spaced essay. We had about three minutes to read and respond to it, and to compare its contents to those of the big pieces of paper. I wrote that what the two things had in common were that I couldn't read them. I didn't hand that in.

After an all-morning lesson in the elements of photography, I was starting to think they had something against me. Luckily, I muddled my way through and even had some relevant things to say, so it wasn't complete hell. Of course, when the teacher asked me to elaborate on my observations about the 4x6 photograph across the room, I said, "No, I'm blind." Then we went back to writing on big pieces of paper with magic marker.

Apparently, lots of job training and professional development sessions use the magic-marker-on-big-paper thing. My friends at the camp do it too; luckily, they know to tell me what's up there. It certainly is fun to play with markers -- I'm always tempted to doodle -- but haven't we evolved past that? What about collage? Spray-paint, anyone?