From Flood Maps (about), three visions of the future of our house at 100 Prince Street in Charlottetown as sea levels rise 7m, 9m and 10m.

From Flood Maps (about), three visions of the future of our house at 100 Prince Street in Charlottetown as sea levels rise 7m, 9m and 10m.

I’m on the tail end of a 12-hour trip to Toronto, a day squeaked out of a busy week to let me spend some time with my clients Bill and Laurence, they of Coleman Lemieux & Compagnie.
We spent the day at 304 Parliament Street, formerly the Salvation Army Citadel and now in the process of being transformed into a palace of dance.
When I arrived just after 10 a.m., Bill’s brother Paddy and his crew were halfway through the conversion of the old sloped theatre floor into a sprung dance floor; when I left at 8:00 p.m. the sub-floor was in and a prototype of the bounciness juice was in place.
Laurence and Bill have jumped into a daring project, a project they’ve been keeping alive almost entirely through sheer force of will; it was equally enthralling and exhausting to spend the day with them.
In there somewhere I spent 15 minutes on the phone with Bangalore trying to get Bell DSL installed, only to give up and try it myself. Which worked. Then I dashed out and bought a wifi access point at Staples and returned to find a sweet spot of telephone jack, power, and avoidance of construction debris to connect wifi and DSL. Which partially worked (there is a DSL router in the middle of their kitchen floor for the time being).
We also picked up Jimmy and Juliet from school, shared a slice of pizza and a Brio for lunch and a family dinner of Greek salad for dinner, and concocted grand plans for colemanlemieux.com. And had another round of lofty discussions about best practices for running a dance company with no staff and endless ideas.
It was fun, pointless, and practical all. And proof, perhaps, that however powerful our e-networking tools are, sometimes it’s important to pop in for a visit to get a real sense of what’s going on.
The CBC reports that the “City of Charlottetown is looking at replacing its conventional holiday lights with LED lights to save energy.”
Excellent. Great idea. Go for it.
The report also suggests, however, that “city staff will travel to Toronto later this year to learn what that city has done with LED lighting.”
Huh?
Not only does this not seem “environmentally friendly” (to use the city’s words), but it seems, at least on the surface, the kind of thing that could be solved with a 30 minute telephone call.
Making Great Websites is a set of slides I used last night when I spoke to the Annual General Meeting of the Voluntary Resource Centre (which, as it turns out, doesn’t have a website).
I need a small bit of help: I’m building a PyS60 that needs to be able to send SMS messages. I’m sending the message as follows:
import messaging messaging.sms_send(recipient,message)
The problem I’m encountering is that this puts the SMS in the Outbox of my Nokia N70, and the application hands until I manually navigate to there on the phone, select the message, and then choose Options \| Send.
Obviously what I’d like this to do instead is “just send the message.”
This doesn’t seem to be something limited to my application: any other SMS-sending Python app I’ve tried suffers the same fate.
I’ve released a new version of PresenceRouter that includes support for Fanfou, a Chinese Twitter-like web service.
I’ve released a new version of PresenceRouter that includes support for Haru.fm, a Japanese Twitter-like web service.
Oliver’s Aunt Omie gave him $25 as a start-of-school gift and on Saturday we found ourselves browsing the shelves in Indigo with Oliver’s money burning a hole in his pocket. While various Dora the Explorer, Reading Rabbit and other age-appropriate titles were considered, Oliver decided, in the end, that the book he absolutely had to have was House on a Budget: Making Smart Choices to Build the Home You Want .
After no amount of “you realize that you’re going to actually be spending all of your money on this book, leaving nothing for impulsive Playmobil purchases at Owls Hollow” seemed to dint his resolve, I said he could go ahead, and we walked out of Indigo with the book in-hand.
Oliver’s been captivated by the book ever since, and insists on reading it often. You can see that he has grand plans for renovating our house using what he’s gleaned: he’s already talking about building a studio for Catherine in the back yard, connected to the main house by a bridge extending from the second floor.
However much I might protest at the extravagance of it all, I am, of course, secretly very proud of my son’s wide-ranging interests. If you’re in the mood for a renovation of your own home, please drop us a line; I’m sure Oliver can throw some sketches down on paper for you.
Using the same Industry Canada database that I experimented with last year, I’ve created a Google Map of Rogers Wireless Cell Phone Towers on PEI. Actually, it’s a map of cell phone tower licenses, so it’s possible not all these towers exist in the field.
The map handily comes with a companion KML file automatically, so you can fire up the same locations in Google Earth.
Because the satellite coverage for Google Maps on PEI isn’t 100%, the towers themselves are mostly invisible on the maps. However the Winsloe tower is clearly evident:
When Oliver was 16 months old we took him to Thailand where we rode an elephant, traveled in the back of open pickup-truck taxis, navigated the streets of Bangkok by tuk-tuk and jumped into still-moving klong boats with Oliver in a backpack. In the 6 years since we’ve taken him to Spain, France, Denmark, and twice to Portugal where we’ve engaged in all manner of daring pursuits.
And yet the trip that has attracted the most gasps of amazement from our friends was the trip Oliver and I took last weekend to Bathurst, New Brunswick. Go figure.
For those of you not from around here, it’s important to understand that most Prince Edward Islanders view our neighbouring province of New Brunswick as an unfortunate obstacle to be traversed on the way to more worthy destinations (Montreal, Boston, even Bangor). Or perhaps as a destination for back-to-school shopping. But certainly not as a vacation destination. It is my impression that those on the other side of New Brunswick feel similarly.
New Brunswick itself seems to tacitly acknowledge this fact by focusing its marketing efforts on trying to get passers-through to stop for a few extra hours of sea kayaking, whale watching or tide gasping.
I don’t believe it’s ever been suggested to me, either officially or not, that anyone would ever actually voluntarily spend time in New Brunswick. And for the reactions we’ve received since we returned we might as well have revealed that we’d spent the weekend in prison.
But here’s the thing: we had a really good time.
Why Bathurst?
Well, first, I’ve come to realize that one of the reasons that we parents feel so positively about taking road trips with our children is that road trips offer all the appearances of spending time with our children with none of the actual effort. With the kids roped into their car seats in the back, the radio on in the front, and the understandable stresses of the road to explain away any reclusive irritability, it may be co-location, but it’s not quality time.
I’m as much a practitioner of this as the next guy, and I decided that if my goal was to actually spend time with my son, strapping him into a moving straight jacket while I listened to The Current up front wasn’t going to do it. In for a penny, in for a pound, say I.
Second, having committed several years worth of crimes-against-humanity by jetting off overseas at the drop of a pin, my accumulated carbon-guilt wouldn’t allow, say, an impromptu weekend in Paris, New York or Milan. I have a lot of making up to do, so I decided that we had limit our travels to the relatively carbon-friendler bus and train.
With the anemic bus and train network we suffer from in Atlantic Canada, this necessarily limited our options.
We could have bused to Summerside, but, well, that would have left us in Summerside for the weekend, and while carbon-friendliest that would have completely lacked any sense of the exotic.
Moncton might have worked, but we’d been there three weeks before and while Moncton isn’t really as dreadful as everyone says it is, maintaining a friendly disposition toward it requires short infrequent doses.
The train from Moncton goes in two directions: go east and your options are Spring Hill, Truro and Halifax, go west and it’s Rogersville, Mirimachi, Bathurst and the Gaspé. Our natural inclination would be to go to Halifax, but it was a busy weekend over there, and the last-minute nature of our trip and the necessity of a walking-distance-from-train hotel left us unable to find anything for less than $200/night.
So I looked east.
The Gaspé looked most attractive, if only because it’s Quebec. But by the time the train arrived there it would have been midnight, and on the way back we would have had to catch the return train at 3:00 a.m.
Bathurst, as it turns out, is located in a railway sweet spot: the 5:00 p.m. train from Moncton arrives there at 8:00 p.m. and the return trains leaves just before 9:00 a.m. Perfect.
Which explains our transportation rationale.
But of course the shocked looks on the faces of our friends when told of our destination had nothing to do with that: they were simply wondering, beyond the simple New Brunswickness of our destination, what the hell there is to do in Bathurst.
As it turns out, not very much. But, as it turned out, that didn’t really matter.
We happily occupied ourselves at the fantastic accessible playground in Coronation Park. And having a cup of tea at the Coffee Stain (with its fantastic, enthusiastic owners). And eating excellent Greek food at the Resto Grec.
Our hotel was 2km from downtown, so we spent a lot of our time walking to and from; as such we had a long of time to ponder great questions like “if breakfast and lunch are brunch, what are lunch and dinner?” Oliver got to learn about reading maps as we discovered tricky shortcuts back to the hotel. And we both got to experience the upsides and downsides of navigating a car-addicted North American city on foot.
We bought a blank workbook and the Superstore and turned it into a trip diary. We bought a new pair of sunglasses. We spent a few hours wandering the aisles of Wal-Mart (where, on a Sunday morning, everyone in Bathurst seems to be too).
We saw The Nanny Diaries at the Apollo Cinemas (and were perplexed by their ban on backpacks) and watched Flushed Away, The Ant Bully and A Night at the Museum on our in-room DVD player, courtesy of the free DVD machine at the hotel.
We walked the Trans-Canada Trail (less “back to nature” than “littered with construction debris” but an experience nonetheless), had fresh blueberry cake and a piano serenade at Papa Joe & Evy’s and enjoyed cat (shaped) pizza at Pizza Delight.
All told I think we walked about 15km over the weekend, and saw almost every inch of central Bathurst.
And while there were no medieval olive groves, great cathedrals, children’s museums, or roller coasters (nor, indeed, much tourism infrastructure at all), we probably had as good a time, at least as regards father and son spending a lot of time together undistracted by the everyday concerns of the world, as we would have had most anywhere else.
So that’s how a weekend in remotest Bathurst can actually be a not-too-crazy endeavour. You should try it, really.
And if you do, here are some practical pointers: