Remember my SoundCloud + Pachube + Energy mashup? Well I recorded an interview with Nora Young for the CBC Radio One program Spark this afternoon where we talked about it, and, in general, about mashups and APIs and ambient information displays.

Seemingly within seconds of the end of our interview, Dan Misener worked his audio magic routing machine and the raw interview’s audio appeared online. You can listen to our chat there, or in a SoundCloud-enhanced bootleg I created that has time-coded links to the things we talked about.

Five years ago in Copenhagen I went cycling with my friend Olle for the first time and when I remarked at his (and everyone else’s) religious adherence to traffic safety issues – cyclists, pedestrians, motorists, all seemingly working in harmony – he said, to paraphrase, “everybody has to follow the rules or the system falls apart.”

Here in Charlottetown, the system has fallen apart. Especially as regards cyclists.

I’ve had my bicycle back on the road for just over a week now, and here are just a few of the things I’ve witnessed from other cyclists in the city:

• riding the wrong way up a one-way street,
• riding behind parked cars on the wrong side of the street,
• riding on the sidewalk (by far and away the most prevalent misdeed),
• blowing through stop signs and traffic lights.

I’m not going to even mention the lack of helmets (especially important given all of the above and the attendant certainly of eventual death), the almost total absence of hand signals, and cyclists riding at night without lights.

I’m not being a effete cycling purist here: irresponsible cycling in Charlottetown is all over the place, all the time; just sit on a park bench at any downtown intersection for 5 minutes and you’ll be almost certain to see one or more death-defying moves.

Now the libertarian in me says “cycle however you want – it’s your life,” but the problem with that is that the bad cycling behaviour of others has a direct impact on my life: it motorists and pedestrians lose respect for cyclists (and I can’t imagine how they haven’t at this point), then, like Olle says, the system falls apart. Motorists and pedestrians stop looking for cyclists in expected places because “expected” places could mean anywhere. Kids see cyclists riding up and down sidewalks and think it’s okay; parents, afraid to let their kids on the road (where they would learn to be responsible), let them ride on the sidewalk. And so on and so on.

Somebody is going to be seriously injured or killed soon if this keeps up.

I promised to report back after a few weeks of using Remember the Milk as my to-do-list manager. That I’m writing this post is a testament its continued role in my life, as the “report back” reminder popped up yesterday in myriad places (on my Mac, in my email, in the Remember the Milk iPad app).

The application seems to be filling a useful space between the heavily-structured project management work that we manage in Trac with our clients, and the “you have a meeting with Bob at 2:00 p.m. on Monday” I track in a Google Calendar-iCal combo. I’ve been using it to help me remember things that otherwise I was juggling in the periphery of my mind, things I’d jotted notes down about, and things I never had a system to remember at all.

In the Getting Things Done religion they talk about the need for a “trusted system” to route the things that would otherwise pile up in your mind, your email inbox, your voicemail, and so on. I’ve been doing a pretty good job of keeping my email inbox at zero with Remember the Milk: rather than letting things languish there untended, I’ll create a task so that there’s a record, and then delete or archive the email.

In short, Remember the Milk, at least so far, is hitting a nice sweet spot of “simple enough that I’ll use it” and “complete enough that it lets me track what I need to track” without venturing into the woods of project managementy overkill.

On June 23, 2011 Kwik Kopy in Charlottetown is having an open house, and they’ve invited me to come and demonstrate their 1890 Golding letterpress, a press that came from Dillon Printing by way of Island Offset and currently sits in the window at the corner of Queen and Euston Streets in downtown Charlottetown.

The press is in remarkably good shape for something that’s 121 years old: it could use some oil, some tune-ups to the roller-grippers, and maybe a new set of rollers. But it prints, and that’s the whole point.

This afternoon I went over for a sort of beta-test of the press in advance of the open house, taking with me the Kwik Kopy logo I received in the mail last week from The Augustine Company in Iowa (in the running to become my new favourite company). After a few false starts, I managed to print off a not-too-bad copy of the logo:

The press is a thing of beauty, and wonderful to operate: after a year with my Adana Eight Five, it feels like driving a BMW after a year of driving a pedal-cart.

On the day of the open house our hope is to be able to print off take-away items for visitors – something like a coaster or a heavy card – with this logo imprinted.  I’ll even give you a chance to spin the flywheel (as long as you agree not to hold me responsible if you lose control and it takes your arm).

So today ended up being a morning of Drupal tuning and PHP coding followed by lunch, and then a couple of hours of time travel back two centuries. Hard to say which I enjoy more…

I remember that my father used to have memo pads, from the federal government where he worked, that had Don’t Say It, Write It printed at the top; I presume these were part of some sort of federal efficiency drive at the time. For some reason the slogan has stuck with me.

Oliver is much better at communicating his thoughts and feelings in writing than he is verbally, and so I’m always encouraging him to channel his frustrations into writing when he can. This morning when he got up and went downstairs to use his computer he found that the Internet wasn’t working, something that, for him, would feel like having his oxygen supply cut off. Frustrating, in other words. So he sent me an email:

the internet is off not the computer it self.
and your not helping it because you were in the shower
and you not helping it.

I was, as you might intuit, in the shower during this calamity. The grammar and spelling aren’t all there, but it was a pretty clear statement of the problem. I’m proud of him.

Turned out that the iMac just needed to be rebooted for everything to start working again, and so the email he sent eventually arrived at the office a few hours later. Where I read it just now.

It’s not news that I’ve been flirting with the city of Berlin for several years now. I visited the city for the first time back in 2007, a trip tacked on to the end of my yearly trip to Copenhagen for reboot, to allow me to see the Plazes operation close-up. Among other things, that visit netted me some work with Plazes, and that work took me back to Berlin the following January for PlazeCamp.

Two years later I was back in the city with Oliver for our spring vacation and much father-and-son merriment, and this February I seized the opportunity to return yet again, this time for the Cognitive Cities conference (a conference organized in part by Igor, who I first met in the lobby of the CAB INN City hotel in Copenhagen during reboot, proving that life is indeed a Möbius strip).

Suffice to say the every visit to Berlin I uncover another layer of interestingness, meet another group of great people, find another great place for coffee, and generally fall for the place a little harder.

When I came back from Berlin this spring, my brother Johnny suggested, over coffee one morning, that Catherine and Oliver and I should just pick up and go to Berlin for the summer; little did he know that he idle suggestion proved the catalyst for exactly that.

Choosing to leave Prince Edward Island for the summer is, on many levels, completely absurd. It’s not hard to argue that the only time of the year that PEI is actually habitable by humans is from June through October, especially coming off the end of the winter-of-snow-ice-and-perpetual-illness.

We love summer on the Island. But you can’t spend the summer in two places at once, and so after 17 summers spent here, we’re going to take one summer off and beta test both living in Europe and living in a big city.

Catherine and I both have the benefit of being able to work anywhere (although Catherine’s artistic endeavours do make it harder to take all her gear – looms, sewing machines, easels, anvils – with her, so she has to be more improvisational). And Oliver, after years of intensive training-through-travel, is quite happy to pick up and leave home for his summer vacation. We’ve worked hard to forge this flexible life framework, and so this summer’s the time to take it out for a ride.

We land in Berlin on July 12 and are renting the same Kreuzberg apartment I stayed at in February through until August 18. I’m hot-desking at Betahaus to avoid the ergonomic hell of trying to work from the dining room table (and to afford the possibility of a work social life), have been in touch with the folks at Druckwerkstatt about using their letterpress for part of the summer, and Catherine is busy ferreting out all the radical craft laboratories in Berlin to try and carve out a space for herself (if you happen to run an anarchist weaving coop in Berlin, please get in touch!).

No summertime trip to Europe would be complete without a swoop up to Malmö, Sweden, so from August 19 to 26 we’re pickup up and relocating the operation, affording us an opportunity to spend some time with Olle and Luisa and Morgan and Jonas and, I hope, with Henriette and others on the Danish side. Morgan had made promise of crayfish, and Luisa of a craftmaking workshop in the countryside.

We’re back on the Island for the tail-end of summer; a week later Oliver starts school again, leaving us a week to cram in all the beach-going, seafood-eating activities we’d otherwise have several months for.

For all the years I’ve been involved with Prince Street School I’ve been hearing tales of these great, tears-streaming-down-cheeks assemblies that students put on throughout the year to do things like mark events and recognize volunteers.

Indeed I’d been receiving an invitation to come to the annual volunteer recognition assembly for the past few years, but I’d never made the time to do so (perhaps because I didn’t consider myself a real volunteer).

But this year I had a special task as the home and school association was recognizing teacher Philip Brown with the Teacher/Staff Appreciation Award. And so this afternoon at 1:00 p.m. I joined all of the real volunteers (like Shirley, who’s in the school every day helping kids learn how to read, or Dana who keeps hotdog day running, or Catherine, who’s always doing fun and interesting art projects with Oliver’s class) in the Prince Street gym for the assembly.

It turns out everything they say is true: the assembly was a panorama of heartfelt cuteness, with classes singing songs (including two versions of Thank you for being a Friend and a rendition of With a Little Help from My Friends that cleverly omitted the line “I get high with a little help from my friends”), slide shows of kids and volunteers, and various and sundry words of thanks to all the volunteers who work in the school throughout the year. Tears did indeed appear in the corners of my eyes.

And Philip Brown got recognized. Those of you who only know Philip from his role in municipal politics may not know how deeply involved he is in the life of Prince Street School; he truly does go above and beyond the call of duty, and it was good to be able to thank him for his efforts (no matter how you feel about Philip, you may welcome the opportunity to come to the Prince Street School Spring Fling next Friday from 5:30 p.m. to 7:30 p.m where you can take a try at plunging him into the dunk tank!).

The fire insurance maps of Charlottetown from the early years of the last century – the maps I mentioned here last week – are some of my favourite maps of the city: they’re not only beautiful, but they’re packed with all sorts of information about buildings here and gone. The Island Imagined project at Robertson Library has made high-resolution scans of a set of these maps first created in 1903 and evolved, through patch-and-paste, through 1917, and you can view them all at IslandImagined.ca.

Jumping off from some experimenting I did with the 1878 panoramic view of Charlottetown a few years ago, I did some experimenting over the weekend with using Zoomify and OpenLayers to create an alternative way of viewing the maps. What I really wanted to get to was a way of being able to bookmark maps at specific locations and zoom-levels, so I could reference locations.

Like Spring Park Tannery or the Egg Warehouse or the Electric Light Station or the Round House.

So I started by grabbing each of the 20 fire insurance maps from IslandImagined at a zoom-level of 7, which results in a nice, large image about 7,000 pixels wide, like this:

wget -O fedoraimages/firemap-01.jpg \
  "http://137.149.200.109:8080/fedora/get/imagined:208604/ilives:jp2Sdef/getRegion?level=7"

Here’s a Bash script to do this automatically if you want to do it yourself.

This resulted in 20 large images that I then ran through the free-to-download Zoomify tile-creator, which resulted in 20 directories filled with tiled images.

At this point I could simply drop the Zoomify Flash component into any of the directories and have a Flash-based map viewing solution, like this one for the main index map to the fire insurance maps. This is certainly more usable than the IslandImagined viewer, but it relies on Flash and it doesn’t make for bookmarkable maps.

From there it was a simple matter of crafting (crufting?) some PHP code to create an OpenLayers-based viewer for the same tiles, which has the added features of creating an index page linking to all 20 maps and the ability to bookmark any of the maps at any zoom-level and position.

You can take a look at the resulting map viewer or grab the the PHP code here in github; it’s by no-means feature-complete, but I enjoy the map browsing experience, and I really like the ability to bookmark.

As announced on the Phoenix Medical Practice blog and acknowledged in a Health PEI news release, Charlottetown doctor Robbie Coull is shutting his medical practice, letting go his 14 staff, and leaving his 4,500 patients without a family doctor.

Dr. Coull showed up on my radar last fall: I was intrigued by some of the novel aspects of his practice, like publishing patient wait times on his website, operating a paperless office, and, perhaps most novel of all, expressing social policy ideas in public. It was clear the Dr. Coull was not your regular everyday Island doctor, and when I received an email from him in reaction to my blog post about his practice, I took the opportunity to suggest that we get together for a chat about his approach to medicine, health and technology.

Which is how, about a month ago, I ended up spending a very interesting afternoon with Dr. Coull and some of his senior staff, learning about how they view the world.

Suffice to say that they view the world in a decidedly “not like everyone else” kind of way.

There’s no denying that Dr. Coull is a bull in a china shop: he has strongly-held set of views about the right way to practice family medicine, and it’s a model that doesn’t seem to have much in common with the kind of medical care we’re all used to receiving.

The first thing you see when you enter his office, for example, is a fridge full of fresh vegetables, free for the taking by visitors. The waiting room itself is unusual: most medical waiting rooms on PEI are designed, it seems, by the same design firm that designs underground prisons. Dr. Coull’s waiting room is actually rather pleasant. There are couches. Lots of natural light. It’s the kind of place you wouldn’t mind hanging out for a while.

Beyond the technology, the vegetables, and the sunlit waiting rooms, however, lies this simple, radical notion, laid out in the practice’s Guide to Patients:

Health Starts With You
We want to work with you to keep you healthy. We can help you stay healthy with education, health promotion, screening, and monitoring.

The general attitude that pervades the health system on PEI, especially the consumer-facing end of it, is “you should count yourself lucky that we’re taking time out of our busy, overworked schedules to spend any time with you at all.”

The notion that a family medical practice should actually want to work with you to keep you healthy shouldn’t be a radical notion – you’d think it was the whole point – but the siege mentality that’s gripped the medical system for as long has anyone can remember has meant that, somehow, this basic idea seems unusual.

There are many passionate, caring practitioners working to keep us all healthy on PEI, and I’ve benefited from their efforts time after time.

On a systems-design level, however, it’s clear that they’re working a framework that hasn’t been significantly re-examined in several generations: a fee-for-service system that incentivizes illness, a customer service model that strips us all of our dignity more often than not, and a human resources model that places too much emphasis on physicians and not enough on the team backing them up.

I’ve no real idea whether Dr. Coull’s ideas about family medicine are the right ones for Prince Edward Island, and even if they are the right ideas I’ve no idea whether it’s even possible to install a brand new operating system on such an intractable and complicated organism. I suspect that that approach Dr. Coull takes to his practice won’t work for every patient.

But I do know that the three hours I spent with Dr. Coull and his staff are the only three hours I’ve ever spent on Prince Edward Island with a group of people who had thought so long and hard about a new way of doing things, who were so passionate about not only talking about it but about listening to others, and who had built constant re-examination and improvement into the very core of how they worked.

Dr. Coull likely doesn’t have all the answers for Prince Edward Island, but I suspect we’d be better off listening to him than casting him out as an irritant.

When I left our house at 100 Prince Street this morning Catherine was set to launch herself off on another day of spring cleaning – she’s got the kevorka for the flotsam this week, and as we’re thinking of letting out our house for the summer she’s going at it with extra verve.

Thirty minutes later I found myself in Casa Mia listening to DB relate the story of the late Eunice Reid’s mad dash to clean up the same house at the end of World War II in anticipation of the arrival home, after 6 years overseas, of her husband Brigadier Bill Reid (punchline: he showed up earlier than expected, and found her in mid-cleaning).