When Dan and Steven and I recorded a new episode of Live from the Formosa Tea House last week one of the things I was reminded of is that it’s been almost 8 years that Reinvented has been resident in 84 Fitzroy Street with silverorange as our landlord. Here’s what my office looked like the day I moved in:

Since that day my office has seen the gradual accumulation of cruft: piles of file folders tucked into the corner with my 2004 tax receipts and cancelled cheques, transit tickets from Copenhagen, ferry tickets from Venice, currency from a half dozen countries, boxes of various cables and connectors that I might someday need again, a closet full of boxes for things like “iWork ‘05” and the Linksys router I bought 7 years ago. And install CDs from Mac OS X Tiger, Leopard, Snow Leopard, etc.

I’d mostly thought of this digital and analog detritus as benign and inevitable; I reasoned, in the rare occasions I noticed it all, that when I had a free moment I’d clean it all up and return the office to its virgin state. And then I wouldn’t.

This week, though, circumstances conspired me to action. First, I leave in a week for almost two months, and there’s nothing like the procrastinatory energy of an impending immovable deadline to get one moving (in this case I should be doing the corporate year-end paperwork, but I’m not). Second, I was reminded of Bruce Sterling’s take, which I was first exposed to at the closing of reboot 11 two years ago and more recently in his The Last Viridian Note where he writes, in part:

The hours you waste stumbling over your piled debris, picking, washing, storing, re-storing, those are hours and spaces that you will never get back in a mortal lifetime. Basically, you have to curate these goods: heat them, cool them, protect them from humidity and vermin. Every moment you devote to them is lost to your children, your friends, your society, yourself.

It’s not bad to own fine things that you like. What you need are things that you GENUINELY like. Things that you cherish, that enhance your existence in the world. The rest is dross.

Do not “economize.” Please. That is not the point. The economy is clearly insane. Even its champions are terrified by it now. It’s melting the North Pole. So “economization” is not your friend. Cheapness can be value-less. Voluntary simplicity is, furthermore, boring. Less can become too much work.

While a lot of my accumulation of dross was due to sheer laziness, a lot of it was, indeed, routed in this false notion of “economy.”

What if I ever needed to return that mixing board I bought; shouldn’t I keep the original box around just in case?  What if Oliver wants to see what the original iPod looks like; shouldn’t I keep it around, even though it doesn’t work any more? You can never have too many cable ties! Or 4-foot lengths of Ethernet cable. Or CDMA mobile phones from the 1990s. Or John Kerry for President buttons. Or Altoid tins.

Well, actually, it turns out that you can.

So yesterday I spent much of the afternoon in a wild cleaning frenzy. And I lowered the economy bar much, much lower than I ever had. I threw away those shoes that I loved but that were worn out. And that electric fan that wobbled too much. And all the software and hardware empty boxes. And the Altoid tins (“but what if I want to hack together an Arduino-based geolocation device and house it in an Altoids tin” my mind screamed; I ignored it). And the John Kerry for President button.

I shredded two bags worth of paper (scanning what I needed to retain for posterity or legality), almost burning out the shredder in the process.

My office isn’t quite back to its virgin 2003 state, but I’m getting closer than I’ve ever been, and the number of piles of things on the floor has diminished greatly and I can actually use my office closet to store actually useful things for the first time.

Today’s task is to attack the tower of CDs still lurking in the closet, and then to look at the 3 or 4 linear feet of files piled over there in the corner. With those done, and a rationalization of the milk crates and cardboard boxes filled with serial cables and broken routers and old copies of The Old Farmer’s Almanac, I’ll perhaps be as close as it’s possible to get.

On April 21, 1959 Prince Street School presented Rumpelstiltzkin in the Prince of Wales College Auditorium.  My friend G. was in the cast and, as is his wont, he saved the program, which he loaned to me to scan and preserve online.

Among the cast and crew you’ll find the names of many people alive and well and still living on Prince Edward Island today.

You can read the entire thing in this PDF file of the Rumpelstiltzkin program.

The common thread running through a lot of my work recently is this: if we become more aware of the metrics related to our everyday life we gain a deeper understanding of our behaviour and are more likely, and more able, to affect positive change.

Whether this so-called “personal telemetry” concerns bandwidth or energy, or physical fitness, being directly or peripherally aware of our consumption and action patterns is a useful tool for understanding more about ourselves.

In 2010 the Province of Prince Edward Island spent $3,655 per capita on operating health expenses. Health spending consumes 30% of the provincial budget every year, over $444 million in last year; it’s the largest slice of the provincial budget by far.

So you’d think it might be a good idea, personal telemetry-wise, if we all were more conscious of our personal impact on this budget item. To that end, back in May I sent an email to Health PEI, the provincial body here on Prince Edward Island that manages the health system:

I’m interested in obtaining a digital record of the transactions under what I would call, for lack of knowledge of the terminology, my “health care account” — in other words, all of the payments to doctors, specialists, hospitals, labs, etc. paid out by Health PEI attached to my Health Card account for as long as records are available.

I had no idea what I’ve been costing the health system; if you told me it was $10,000 over 18 years I’d be as likely to believe you as if you told me it was $2 million. I figured if I had a greater sense of what ever visit to the doctor was costing the system, I’d factor this into my decisions about, say, whether that head cold really warranted a trip to the doctor or not.

A few days later came a reply to my query:

Our Information Co-ordinator has indicated to me that you should submit a FOIPP (Freedom of Information and Protection of Privacy) request. Attached is the Access to Information form which you can complete and submit to our co-ordinator.

And so I that same day I sent in my FOIPP request:

What I asked for was:

Digital record of financial transactions related to my health care (PEI Health Card # XXXXXX). I’m interested in all financial transactions related to doctors visits, hospital care, emergency room visits, lab tests, etc. with as much detail as available (date, amount, description, account, etc.). I would prefer the information in an open digital format, such as CSV or XML format.

I received a quick response to my request, saying, in part:

We will provide the information available to you under the Act as quickly as possible. Although the Act allows a maximum of 30 days to respond, we will reply sooner than June 27, 2011, if possible.

A month to the day after I sent my request I received the formal reply to my request:

The response included a two page print-out (ignoring my request for digital information) that listed my “resident history” of health transactions from January 1, 1996 to June 20, 2011, like this:

There are 58 transactions in total, covering visits to my family doctors, to walk-in clinics and to the Queen Elizabeth Hospital. There are several pieces of information that I know to be inaccurate – procedures that happened at Prince County Hospital in Summerside, for example, that are listed as having happened at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Charlottetown; or an item described as “abnormal weight loss” that was actually my annual physical (that involved no weight loss at all) – but otherwise it seems like a pretty complete review of my interactions with the health system.

But no financial information was included at all, which defeats the purpose of my request.

This was explained in two parts; regarding hospital visits:

In response to your request for financial transactions related to hospital care, emergency room visits, lab tests, etc., the PEI Health Plan does not reimburse hospitals or health facilities within PEI for specific services/procedures. Instead, hospitals receive a global funding allotment as part of the approved budget of Health PEI and provide all services under this global budget. The PEI budget can be obtained on the government web site at www.gov.pe.ca/budget/2011/index.php 

Although it’s an unsatisfying response, if they don’t track spending on a patient-by-patient basis there’s nothing that they have that they’re not providing me, so nothing more that I can request.

The response regarding payments to physicians, however, revealed information that they do have but they’re specifically denying me access to (emphasis mine):

In response to your request for payments made to physicians, we have enclosed a hard copy of all services provided to you under your health card number from January I. 1996 (the first date for which we have data) to June 10, 2011. However, a payment made to a physician is the physician’s personal information and is therefore not ours to disclose. General information related to payments for physicians can be found in the Master Agreement between the Medical Society of PEI and the Government of PEI which is available on the government web site at http://www.gov.pe.ca/publications/getpublication.php3?number=1415 

The “Master Agreement” referenced in this explanation is a 205 page document containing a 149 page Tariff of Fees. The “description” column in the list of transactions I was provided with doesn’t relate directly to the tariff – for example, I had my gallbladder out in April of 2003 and this is listed on the sheet that I was provided as four items:

There are two “Cholelithiasis Nos” items, a “Oth Spec Prob Influenc Health” item and a “Day Surgery - Hospital Payment” item. None of these are tariff descriptions, and so there’s no way for me to determine what the cost to the health system of each was.

I dispute the assertion that “a payment made to a physician is the physician’s personal information and is therefore not ours to disclose.” The Freedom of Information and Protection of Privacy Act, section 15, paragraph 2(f) reads:

A disclosure of personal information is not an unreasonable invasion of a third party’s personal privacy if the disclosure reveals financial and other details of a contract to supply goods or services to a public body.

That description seems, to my eyes, to map directly to this situation.  I have 65 days from the receipt of Health PEI’s response to as the Information and Privacy Commissioner to review the response, and I’m drafting that letter now. I’ll report back when they reply.

Well, that was disconcerting: I was looking for a link to “Green Mountain Letterpress” in Google, and between search results pages two and three Google appears to have launched a redesign of its search results page:

My favourite acquisition at the Printing Arts Fair in North Andover, Massachusetts a couple of weeks ago was a wooden tray of letterpress line rule I purchased from Robert Metzler from Green Mountain Letterpress. He sold me the entire tray for $1.

Line rule is lead or press rule that’s “type high” – the same height as letters that you’d use to print – and so it’s used, as the name suggests, to make tables, lines and other “rules.” There’s a smattering of “perf rule” in the tray as well; this is made from harder metals and has a jagged edge and is used to cut perforations in printed matter.

The $1 deal turned out to be a rather expensive dollar in the end, as I then had to pack and ship 17 pounds of lead to Canada via UPS (there being a postal strike on). But it arrived quickly and in good shape and today I brought it to the office for opening. Here’s the “unboxing” photos:

If you read this blog in a web browser (and not, say, via RSS, or, in the future, via a mind meld with my petrified brain), then you’ll notice that I’m doing some experimenting with Google Web Fonts for styling headlines and body copy. Right now there’s OFL Sorts Mill Goudy TT in the body and PT Sans for headlines. Only an experiment for now, and may disappear or change. Bear with me.

Oliver and Catherine leave Tuesday for a couple of weeks in Ontario. Then, in mid-July, we all rendezvous in Halifax to fly to Berlin and we’ll not be back from Europe until August 26th.

Which meant that yesterday was the last father-and-son Saturday of summer for Oliver and I. It was rainy and chilly and not really all that summery at all. But it was all we had, and I resolved that we’d try to squeeze a whole bunch of our summertime activities into a single day.

We started at the Charlottetown Farmers’ Market, as we usually do on Saturday mornings, having our smoked salmon bagels and saying good-bye to all our regular vendors and friends.

From there it was out the Brackley Point Road to the Brackley Drive-in; it was the daytime, so no films to be seen. But I took the opportunity to shoot some new photos for the drive-in’s website, so it was sort of like going to the drive-in.

Next stop was a walk through the gardens at The Dunes and a look around the shops.

Then along the north shore through Oyster Bed and Wheatley River for a stop at the PEI Preserve Company for an unsweetened strawberry-kiwi iced tea on the front porch (where we watch untold hundreds of visiting cruise ship passengers pass through the doors in amazement) and a walk through the Gardens of Hope next door (if you’ve never walked those gardens you should; it’s a truly magical place).

Down Route 13 into Hunter River and Hartsville and then the back way on the red clay heritage road to the Appin Road and out onto Route 1 to Victoria by the Sea where we had an excellent meal at the Landmark Café (I had the meat pie, which was fantastic, and Oliver had a grilled cheese sandwich, which he gobbled up quickly) followed by dessert across the street at Island Chocolates.

By 3:00 p.m. we were pulling into the driveway at 100 Prince Street happy and exhausted.

After 10 years, the owners of Formosa Tea House are packing up shop and moving to St. John’s, Newfoundland to start the next chapter of their lives.

The Formosa has been important to Charlottetown in so many ways: it was the bellwether of so much of what’s happened in the city’s restaurant scene in the last decade; it’s hard to remember that when they founded the tea house on University Avenue back in 2001 most everyone thought they were crazy – a tea house… in Charlottetown!?

But they persevered until customers found them, and then expanded into the bright yellow house on Prince Street where they found an even wider customer base. Along the way they created the kind of “third space” that was almost completely novel for Charlottetown: a peaceful, comfortable place with low prices and a welcoming attitude where you could just go and hang out for a while.

Rumour has it that the last day of operation in its current form will be this Tuesday, so if you’ve ever been a Formosa regular, you have two days to stop in an pay your respects.

As Chien and Fen move on, a new group of owners – monks from The Great Enlightenment Buddhist Academy in Little Sands – is gradually reshaping the place, and today was the day to start the repainting.

I’ll be operating the 1890 Golding letterpress at Kwik Kopy this afternoon from 4:30 p.m. to 6:30 p.m. as part of the open house at their expanded facility at the corner of Queen and Euston in Charlottetown. Please come along and see the press in action, pick up a letterpress-printed something and see behind the scenes at Kwik Kopy.

Later the same day…

I did some letterpress printing today, taking the things I acquired last weekend at the Printing Arts Fair out for a ride.

A caution to those of you who might someday have cause to transport metal type in your carry-on luggage through airport security: when the security agents look at it on their X-ray machine, like Superman being protected from Kryptonite, it shows up as an impenetrable blob and makes them them “hmmmm….” and proceed to disassemble the carrier’s luggage, the packaging around said metal type, re-X-ray and so on. The TSA agents at Logan Airport who did this on Tuesday were extremely careful and pleasant about this, and although I was delayed 20 minutes, it was about as pleasant a 20 minutes as you can imagine spending at a TSA checkpoint.

When I came to pass through security at Trudeau Airport in Montreal on the next leg of my journey I removed the type from my luggage and placed it in the tray with my liquids and my laptop and the security people didn’t bat an eye or ask a question.