Surveillance
I was lamenting that Marlou and I don't get around much anymore, cancer not being the sort of experience that induces a paint-the-town-red mania in two introverts. But there were no grounds for complaint right then, right at that moment, as the two of us passed the Guild Theatre and continued toward the very heart, if it can be said to have one, of Menlo Park. The new year was starting, the short day was ending, street lights on, rush hour petering out. The traffic light changed. As I rolled my wheelchair down the curb ramp into El Camino a lightbulb went off. Not in my mind, for once, but elsewhere. Above. One of those traffic enforcement cameras that automatically snap photos of red-light runners at intersections.
"Do we really need this?" I pointed to the device aimed at a perfect camera angle over the intersection. Marlou shook her head and said nothing. I knew the answer. We didn't need this, whatever this was. Being of opposite political stripes, we would probably disagree on the finer points. Does The Man really need to know who is driving the streets? Does The City really need another revenue scam? Never mind. I wasn't going to go there. I didn't need to go there. I needed to go to the other side of the street and have dinner.
Still, rolling up from the crosswalk, there was no resisting a quick look at the cameras. Oddly, there appeared to be two. Twin boxes on separate posts, side by side. One probably a surveillance sensor triggering the second, a flash camera. Either way, it had a costly, permanently installed look about it, two things on posts, formidable as streetlights, rising above the suburban fray. Marlou said she was cold, and though I was hungry, something made me linger a second longer, just long enough to witness a second flash as another miscreant flung himself at the changing traffic lights. This, I thought, will not stand.
Was Big Brother looming over Menlo Park? Doubtful. Big Brother didn't care about Menlo Park. He had much, well, bigger fish to fry. This town, with barely enough traffic lights to count on one's fingers, could actually use a few closed-circuit TVs around, just to give the place more of an urban feel. Still, did we need this? The answer was that in middle age, that laughably mislabeled stage of elderhood, we need less and less. We need less trends. We need less change. We need less things that demand adjustment. We do need to kvetch. I also need to nip at the heels of community politics, not making excessive moves in the direction of, say, a city council seat. But just barking now and then like any dog who wants the neighborhood to know that there is still some canine life left in him.
Where was I? Still in downtown Menlo Park, now having dinner, and now having certain thoughts. The actual ethos and justification mattered less and less the more I got into my shrimp salad. Perhaps Marlou's cancer had changed all that. Time was of the essence. If something felt like doing, it got done. And as far as I was concerned, this traffic surveillance camera was done for.
"The Menlo Park Arts Commission," I said, chomping into my baguette. Marlou raised her eyebrows.
"You wanted to revive it," I said. Marlou looked puzzled. I looked into the traffic distance, El Camino visible from the window of the restaurant, the flashing camera not in sight, but easily imagined.
"So let's revive it. At least in spirit. Better, let's invoke it." Marlou's eyes wandered to another table. She told me I wasn't making sense. True. I was making plans.
And why make plans, unless you can make news? After all, I've spent most of my life making press releases, which is almost the same thing. Later that night, while Marlou slept, I rolled into my office, switched on the PC, and the silly thing rolled straight onto the screen.
15 January -- MENLO PARK, CALIFORNIA -- A photo exhibit honoring the historic work of the Menlo Park Arts Commission will open this month at the City's Burgess Recreation Center. Entitled "Drive-By," the show promises to break new ground in style and presentation.
"It's pop surveillance art," City Manager Ken Irving said. "Photos of drivers taken unawares. As they hightail through an intersection, people behind the wheel feel all sorts of things. Many of these candid shots reveal character. Some evoke a certain mood. All capture the imagination.
In the past, the goal of traffic cameras was law enforcement, capturing drivers' license numbers. Now, we're capturing drivers' expressions, turning them into art, a photographic exhibition. We still collect fines, plus revenues as the photos are sold."
Exhibit hours are....
I made up a phone number, added an exhibition tour schedule. And hit "print." City stationery was remarkably easy to come by. I am a member of the community chorus. And that is why the woman at the desk of the Recreation Center barely batted an eye when I asked about using the copy machine. Which happened to be right next to the fax machine. It was important to memorize the fax number of one of the sleaziest suburban newspapers on the Peninsula. Otherwise, the whole thing went effortlessly.
It's hard to say why I did it. You know when a thing needs to be done. Since people are so fond of saying things can't be done, a little defiance here and there is good for the circulation. Don't get around much anymore? Not us. Or me. I or my handiwork was circulating all over town by now. I grabbed a copy of the Palo Alto Gazette and had a good look. The next day I grabbed another. Then another.
By now, three days after the fax, I was drowning in disappointment. I was an accessory after the facts, and after this particular fax, one could certainly hope for something better. The cameras were there. An outrageous photo exhibit was about to open. I wasn't getting any younger. Marlou wasn't getting any healthier. The cameras had to go.
21 January -- MENLO PARK, CALIFORNIA -- In a tactic borrowed from big-city vice squads, the city police announced plans to post photos of certain traffic-ticket "johns" on a special website. According to Police Chief Bruce Markham, red-light runners deserve public exposure if downtown is to become a "green light district." The website, www.trafficjohns.org, goes live....
And so on.
I probably should not have used the Recreation Department fax machine a second time. But I couldn't resist. I thought the City Attorney was pretty decent about the whole thing. We sat together in his office watching surveillance tapes, not from the street, but from the small, almost inconspicuous cameras mounted inside the recreation center lobby. Cripple rolls into copy room, date and time visible at the bottom of the screen. Cripple rolls into copy room again. I had to sign an apology, something that looked suspiciously like a confession, pay a fine and promise. I don't like promises. I do like plans. Surveillance works both ways.
"Do we really need this?" I pointed to the device aimed at a perfect camera angle over the intersection. Marlou shook her head and said nothing. I knew the answer. We didn't need this, whatever this was. Being of opposite political stripes, we would probably disagree on the finer points. Does The Man really need to know who is driving the streets? Does The City really need another revenue scam? Never mind. I wasn't going to go there. I didn't need to go there. I needed to go to the other side of the street and have dinner.
Still, rolling up from the crosswalk, there was no resisting a quick look at the cameras. Oddly, there appeared to be two. Twin boxes on separate posts, side by side. One probably a surveillance sensor triggering the second, a flash camera. Either way, it had a costly, permanently installed look about it, two things on posts, formidable as streetlights, rising above the suburban fray. Marlou said she was cold, and though I was hungry, something made me linger a second longer, just long enough to witness a second flash as another miscreant flung himself at the changing traffic lights. This, I thought, will not stand.
Was Big Brother looming over Menlo Park? Doubtful. Big Brother didn't care about Menlo Park. He had much, well, bigger fish to fry. This town, with barely enough traffic lights to count on one's fingers, could actually use a few closed-circuit TVs around, just to give the place more of an urban feel. Still, did we need this? The answer was that in middle age, that laughably mislabeled stage of elderhood, we need less and less. We need less trends. We need less change. We need less things that demand adjustment. We do need to kvetch. I also need to nip at the heels of community politics, not making excessive moves in the direction of, say, a city council seat. But just barking now and then like any dog who wants the neighborhood to know that there is still some canine life left in him.
Where was I? Still in downtown Menlo Park, now having dinner, and now having certain thoughts. The actual ethos and justification mattered less and less the more I got into my shrimp salad. Perhaps Marlou's cancer had changed all that. Time was of the essence. If something felt like doing, it got done. And as far as I was concerned, this traffic surveillance camera was done for.
"The Menlo Park Arts Commission," I said, chomping into my baguette. Marlou raised her eyebrows.
"You wanted to revive it," I said. Marlou looked puzzled. I looked into the traffic distance, El Camino visible from the window of the restaurant, the flashing camera not in sight, but easily imagined.
"So let's revive it. At least in spirit. Better, let's invoke it." Marlou's eyes wandered to another table. She told me I wasn't making sense. True. I was making plans.
And why make plans, unless you can make news? After all, I've spent most of my life making press releases, which is almost the same thing. Later that night, while Marlou slept, I rolled into my office, switched on the PC, and the silly thing rolled straight onto the screen.
15 January -- MENLO PARK, CALIFORNIA -- A photo exhibit honoring the historic work of the Menlo Park Arts Commission will open this month at the City's Burgess Recreation Center. Entitled "Drive-By," the show promises to break new ground in style and presentation.
"It's pop surveillance art," City Manager Ken Irving said. "Photos of drivers taken unawares. As they hightail through an intersection, people behind the wheel feel all sorts of things. Many of these candid shots reveal character. Some evoke a certain mood. All capture the imagination.
In the past, the goal of traffic cameras was law enforcement, capturing drivers' license numbers. Now, we're capturing drivers' expressions, turning them into art, a photographic exhibition. We still collect fines, plus revenues as the photos are sold."
Exhibit hours are....
I made up a phone number, added an exhibition tour schedule. And hit "print." City stationery was remarkably easy to come by. I am a member of the community chorus. And that is why the woman at the desk of the Recreation Center barely batted an eye when I asked about using the copy machine. Which happened to be right next to the fax machine. It was important to memorize the fax number of one of the sleaziest suburban newspapers on the Peninsula. Otherwise, the whole thing went effortlessly.
It's hard to say why I did it. You know when a thing needs to be done. Since people are so fond of saying things can't be done, a little defiance here and there is good for the circulation. Don't get around much anymore? Not us. Or me. I or my handiwork was circulating all over town by now. I grabbed a copy of the Palo Alto Gazette and had a good look. The next day I grabbed another. Then another.
By now, three days after the fax, I was drowning in disappointment. I was an accessory after the facts, and after this particular fax, one could certainly hope for something better. The cameras were there. An outrageous photo exhibit was about to open. I wasn't getting any younger. Marlou wasn't getting any healthier. The cameras had to go.
21 January -- MENLO PARK, CALIFORNIA -- In a tactic borrowed from big-city vice squads, the city police announced plans to post photos of certain traffic-ticket "johns" on a special website. According to Police Chief Bruce Markham, red-light runners deserve public exposure if downtown is to become a "green light district." The website, www.trafficjohns.org, goes live....
And so on.
I probably should not have used the Recreation Department fax machine a second time. But I couldn't resist. I thought the City Attorney was pretty decent about the whole thing. We sat together in his office watching surveillance tapes, not from the street, but from the small, almost inconspicuous cameras mounted inside the recreation center lobby. Cripple rolls into copy room, date and time visible at the bottom of the screen. Cripple rolls into copy room again. I had to sign an apology, something that looked suspiciously like a confession, pay a fine and promise. I don't like promises. I do like plans. Surveillance works both ways.
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