The word on the street is that Maritime Electric (warning: toxic splash page) is now signing people up for their “pay a premium and get power generated from the wind” program.

I’ll be signing up first thing Wednesday morning, and I encourage all Islanders to do so. This is one of those Truly Great Ideas that crys out for broad public support.

With apologies to the potato industry here on Prince Edward Island, I’m happy to announce that, for some delightful reason, Sobey’s grocery store (at least in West Royalty) has a new section in their deli area devoted entirely to sushi.

They not only have prepared sushi of various types, but also wasabi, soy sauce, miso soup, and seaweed sheets. They even have disposable chopsticks.

So tonight, at that time when I would normally reach for the unhealthy potato chips or their fatty snackfood brethren, I was able to have a tasty and healthful sushi snack — sticky rice wrapped around shrimp and vegetables.

I’m hopeful that Sobey’s has what it takes to stick with this new idea (new, of course, only in the Sobey’s and Prince Edward Island sense). I have a gut feeling, however, that this might be one of those times like when Empire Theatres would mistakenly book some fantastic Italian film for a week, and then quickly whisk it off to the film vortex as soon as they realized the folly of their ways.

So if you’re driving by Sobey’s, please help support the cause and pop in and pick up and pack o’ sushi.

In the spring of 1985, 16 years ago, I was fresh out of high school and looking for something to fill my time with until starting at university in the fall. One night just after Christmas, Heather, a friend of my mother’s from her own university days, from whom I’d been renting a room in Toronto during high school, went to an event at Victoria College. Over the course of the evening, she met the College Provost, who described to her a project run out of the College called Athenians that was looking for eager young volunteers. The next morning Heather described the project to me. And for some reason I pursued the idea and became a volunteer.

Athenians is, in essence, an after-the-fact census of ancient Athens, Greece. Technically the project is “A Prosopography of Ancient Athens.” That is to say “A study, often using statistics, that identifies and draws relationships between various characters or people within a specific historical, social, or literary context” (from American Heritage® Dictionary).

Most importantly for me, the project was built around a database called Empress that ran on a UNIX-based computer. And so, in amongst my data entry of the details of the ancients, I got an opportunity to take UNIX out for a ride, and was thus able to learn all about the world of email and newsgroups.

I also managed to piss some people off: more than once I managed to ask one too many questions of the kindly sys admins who managed the U of T computer centre. They appeared ready to tolerate my presence on their system as long as I didn’t raise too much of a fuss. Or maybe they just didn’t know I was there. Remember, this was back in the days of a kinder, gentler network.

This was also back in the days where Internet (not that it was called that yet) email worked by store-and-forward. I would send an email to someone in California and it would travel, by hop, skip and jump, from Toronto to Waterloo to Columbia to Ohio and so on, usually travelling one or two hops a night, so that email across the country and back might stretch out over two weeks.

Athenians, both in print and online is still going strong, and John Traill and Philippa Matheson, who were my introducers to the online world, are still its sheppherds.

I owe them a great debt of gratitude, and they can take some pride in knowing that the online work I’ve done since is in the image of those early experiences.

It’s being reported that CanWest is ceasing publication of Saturday Night magazine. I’ve been a reader, off and on, for 25 years, through many owners, editors, formats and approaches. The most recent National Post-insert incarnation had its problems, but on balance it was an interesting read from week to week, and certainly a reason to pick up the paper on Saturday.

According to Masthead magazine, Saturday Night ranked 27th in the country on the the list of magazines by revenue.

Sad to see it go.

Fountain Pen Hospital, where I bought my Waterman fountain pen last year, is closed this week. It’s inside the Secured Access area about 3 blocks from the World Trade Centre site, just about where the C in City Hall is on this map.

Their website says their facilities are unaffected, but that they’ll be closed for a few days.

One of my favourite bookstores in the world is the Indigo in Burlington, Ontario. One of my least favourite bookstores in the world is the new Indigo in Charlottetown.

I’ve been to the new Charlottetown store twice now — it opened last week with much fanfare. It is disappointing. Here’s how, in no particular order:

1. The automatic wheelchair accessible doors don’t work. Or rather the first set of doors works, and the second set of doors doesn’t. In my mind, this isn’t a “fix it Monday” kind of thing because it excludes large numbers of customers from an easy means of ingress.
2. The marquee says Books, Music, Café. As far as I could tell, the Music part of this consists entirely of two meagre racks of CD’s near the front of the store. There is nothing special about these, and there’s no method for listening to them. In other words, the Music part is a lie for all practical purposes.
3. The Café part is a lie too. My brother Johnny says the best sandwich he’s ever had came from the Indigo in Vancouver. I’ll never know, for the Indigo in Charlottetown doesn’t serve sandwiches. It serves banana bread and cinnamon rolls and coffee. If you go in expecting Upper Canadian delights never seen before on PEI, you will emerge diappointed. In other worlds it’s a feeble imitation of a café, and pales when compared to any other café in Charlottetown.
4. Which is to say nothing of the fact that the café is crammed over into the corner with the magazine rack and contains two or three dinky tables and a couple of seats at the bar. You can’t eat or drink (such as it is) in the café without having magazine browsers in your face. And you can’t browse magazines without feeling as though your stepping into the middle of someone’s conversation.
5. The central payment mechanism for the for-pay Internet terminals is broken, rendering all four unusable other than to browser the Indigo website. They are a week old. This doesn’t bode well for the future.
6. The staff are inept. I went in on Thursday looking for a copy of a book I’d heard a discussion about on CBC Radio. All that I knew about it was that it contained an essay by Peter Gzowski and was about addiction. The clerk took this information and searched for keyword addiction on her terminal and gave me information about an obviously clinical book called Addiction which was nothing like I’d described. I asked her to be more creative in her search, but she just gave up. I went over to the otherwise-broken public Internet terminal myself and found the book, called Addicted: Notes from the Belly of the Beast in 3 minutes. When I came back to the desk with this information in hand, they looked it up in their system and told me they didn’t have it in stock. But, they happily said, they could order it on the Internet for me. Huh? Yesterday I made the same inquiry at The Bookmark, our smallish downtown Charlottetown bookstore and the clerk immediately led me to the location of the book on their shelves (they had about 5 copies). It was exactly the same price as on the Indigo website, and I didn’t have to pay shipping.
7. The store is physically cramped, and so feels less like an endless wonderland of books than an over-crowded grocery store. I found this not only this morning when I tried to wheel wee Oliver around the store in a stroller on a busy Saturday morning, but also on Thursday night when I showed up close to closing time and there was almost nobody around at all. To make matters worse there’s no special area for their public events — readings, signings, etc. — so they just set up the chairs in amongst the stacks and aisles. This all wouldn’t be so bad if they actually appeared to have a wonderful selection of books unavailable elsewhere, but my experience was that The Bookmark — of which I’ve never been a great fan — has an equal or better selection in 1/32 the space.

I actually like big-box bookstores, and I’ve never decried them, in a You’ve Got Mail-like way, as being evil just because they’re all big and corporate. I can happily spend 3 or 4 hours in the Borders in Bangor or the Barnes & Noble in Manchester. Or even at the aforementioned Indigo in Burlington, which is open and airy, has a well-stocked cafe, and excellent magazine section and attentive staff.

But, somehow, we have ended up with the worst situation of all here in Charlottetown: a big-box bookstore that’s just big and alluring enough to drive any remaining independent bookstores out of business but which, in the end, is a mediocre runt of the big-box litter itself. In 6 months to a year we’ll be left with our mediocre, cramped, sandwich-less Indigo as the only place to buy books on PEI.

There is, of course, a simple solution to this problem: buy your books and magazines at The Reading Well or The Bookmark in Charlottetown. These are small and imperfect stores, I grant, but at least they are run by our friends and neighbours and — who would have ever thought! — it looks like they might actually be better bookstores that their new big-box cousin. Don’t like their service? Have a long-term grudge against them for their old “we can order that, but it will take 6 weeks” attitudes? Take the owner aside on your next visit, and tell them they you’ll promise to abandon Indigo in their favour if they get better at what they’re doing. And make sure you tell them what that means.

In the end, we get the mercantile world we deserve.

Diet Coke is described on the Diet Coke website as follows:

What is diet Coke? It’s a snowstorm, massages, and bubble baths. It’s love handles, freckles, and bunny slippers. It’s a sense of humour, a sense of style, and a sense of self. It’s whatever makes you happy. Enjoy.

Carbonated water, caramel color, phosphoric acid, sodium saccharin, potassium benzoate (to protect taste), natural flavors (vegetable source), citric acid, caffeine, potassium citrate, aspartame, dimethylpolysiloxane. Phenylketonurics: Aspartame contains phenylalanine. Use of saccharin in this product may be hazardous to your health. This ingredient has been determined to cause cancer in laboratory animals.

My brother Steve says that we’ve all grown older as a result of the “attack on America.”

There is no joy to be taken from the death of so many and the suffering of so many connected to them.

But I am heartened to see that people are starting to look at why this may have happened. Not why in a “crazy whacked out terrorists” way, but in a “how did we create a world where this is possible?” way.

For example, Dave Winer says:

People don’t sacrifice themselves for no reason. Let’s find out what it is. And if we did something wrong (no doubt we did) let’s apologize, ask for forgiveness, and then ask how we can do better. It’s clear now that when we screw up we’re going to feel it. And let’s not waste the unity in the rest of the world. We now have the attention of the leaders of all the other countries. We’ve got to find a better use for it than use it as an excuse to unleash our anger through military force. (read more)

And Michael Moore says this:

We fund a lot of oppressive regimes that have killed a lot of innocent people, and we never let the human suffering THAT causes to interrupt our day one single bit. We have orphaned so many children, tens of thousands around the world, with our taxpayer-funded terrorism (in Chile, in Vietnam, in Gaza, in Salvador) that I suppose we shouldn’t be too surprised when those orphans grow up and are a little whacked in the head from the horror we have helped cause. (read more)

Maybe we are all so angry because we know, deep in our heart of hearts, that we are at least partly responsible for letting it all come to this. As it says in The Pogo Papers:

There is no need to sally forth, for it remains true that those things which make us human are, curiously enough, always close at hand. Resolve then, that on this very ground, with small flags waving and tinny blast on tiny trumpets, we shall meet the enemy, and not only may he be ours, he may be us.

So maybe we have grown older. But this doesn’t mean we have to sink on the weary weight of age: maybe this means we can take the maturity of age and use it to good end.

It is becoming more apparent that Henry Smith, brother of Isaac Smith (architect and builder of Province House and Government House here in Charlottetown) was the original resident of our little house here at 100 Prince St.

Henry Smith, after living in Prince Edward Island for some 30 years after emigrating from England, picked his family up and sailed on the Prince Edward for New Zealand, where he spent the rest of his life.

Since I learned this, I’d wondered what would drive a man to pack up his family and step aboard a sailing ship for a precarious sailing journey half way around the world to a country he’d never visited. I can hardly imagine doing this myself today, and I could be in New Zealand tomorrow if I really put my mind to it.

Some evidence emerged on this topic from recent trip to the Provincial Archives which, in turn, pointed me to a book called New Zealand or Zealandia: Britain of the South. While there is no copy of this volume, published in 1857, on Prince Edward Island, there is a copy in the National Library of Canada.

My operative Gary visitied the National Library on my behalf, and describes the volume as follows: “It is a beautifully bound 2 decker… 650 pages… full of detailed tips for prospective emigrants.” I tracked down the following quotation from the book in this paper:

New Zealand is an integral part of Great Britain - an immense, sea-joined Devonshire. An Englishman going thither goes among his countrymen,he has the same queen, the same laws and customs, the same language, the same social institutions and save that he is in a country where trees are evergreen, and where there is no winter, no opera, no aristocracy, no income tax, no paupers, no beggars, no cotton mills, he is virtually in a young England.

While freedom from opera and aristocracy, to say nothing of winter, does sound very appealing, I still don’t think I have the full story. I will dig on.

The 2002 edition of the The Old Farmer’s Almanac goes on sale today. This is the date that is imaginatively called the “on sale date” in the hallowed Almanac offices in Dublin, New Hampshire.

The Almanac is North America’s oldest continuously published periodical, having been released each year since 1792. I’ve been stoking the e-fires in the boiler of the Almanac.com website for the last 6 years, which means I’ve been involved for a grand total of just under 3% of the Almanac’s existense. For that matter, I’ve only been alive for 17% of its days!

My favourite page on the website, a page for which I can take no credit at all, remains The Hole Story, the only link on the website to which is the “hole” in the top-left corner of the site’s front page.

You can buy your copy of the 2002 printed Almanac starting today, either online or at your local Shoppers Drug Mart or fine local bookstore.

You can take some comfort that through your purchase of the bona fide Old Farmer’s Almanac, you are not only keeping 209 years of tradition alive, but also, in your own small way, helping to put food on wee Oliver’s table, and that of his slightly less wee parents.