I had lunch on Monday with a small group of Island entrepreneurs. At some point in the conversation we realized that none of us had completed a university degree — we had each started university, but left early to do something else (for me it was “wander around for a while, and eventually start a business” and for each of them it was “ramp up the business”).

We compared notes on the flack from our parents brought on by our “early school leaving” decision. While it varied in intensity and duration, each of us experienced some variation of the “you’re ruining your life” treatment. Let’s just say that our decisions to drop out weren’t warmly embraced by our parents.

It has been 17 years since I left university, 4 or 5 since they did. We agreed that none of us have regretted the decision, and that, perhaps because we’ve achieved some business success, our parents have eventually come around.

I’ve obviously had some time to think about my decision, and our conversation crystallized some of that thinking.

Here’s the thing: for us, sons of upper middle-class professional parents each with a university degree of their own, the great roles that university played for our parents — establishing their credentials, outfitting them with professional skills, and, most importantly, bootstrapping them up a social class or two (or three), with all the self-confidence that such a change brings — are no longer of any relevance to us.

My father, for example, was born to working class parents. My grandmother worked in restaurants, grocery stores, and tractor and blanket factories. She used to tell stories about working during the depression for 25 cents a day. My grandfather, whose immigration records list him as a “farm labourer,” worked in the gold mines of Northern Ontario, and later for Massey-Ferguson.

For my father, university was, in no small way, his ticket out of a working class life: he became a professional, a scientist, and as a result lived a life completely different from that of his parents.

There’s no way that university could affect such a profound social transformation on me because I was already among the “university educated” class, and had been treated that way all my life. Combine that sense of entitlement with the work ethic that my parents inherited from their parents, and I inherited from them, and suddenly university becomes mostly about, well, learning. And if you’re sick of learning, at least in the “listening to tweed-suited people expound” way, the motivation to stick around isn’t great.

Add to that the world of technology offering exposure to interesting people, projects, and ideas, exposure previously unavailable to people like me without education or experience, and university never stood a chance.

For the longest time after leaving university I was convinced that there was something inherently wrong with formal education; looking back, I realize that sort of thinking was necessary to make leaving possible, especially because I was leaving, against some resistance, something concrete to enter something of a void. And I needed a reason besides “well, that was boring wasn’t it.”

From the more rational perch of later life, I realize the short-sightedness of that point of view. I don’t regret my own decision to leave, and would do so again if I could go back in time, but I realize both that there are people who actually enjoy structured learning, or at least require the skills and approaches it offers to be able to follow their dreams, and also that university continues to afford people the same socially transformative opportunities if offered my father.

What I’ve really come to understand, and I would hazard a guess the same would apply to my luncheon colleagues as well, is that my opportunity to thrive without a university degree is something I was able to do almost entirely because of the determination of my grandparents and parents. It was only through their efforts that I gained the self-confidence, the understanding of the pleasures of hard work, and the ability to learn on my own that I was able to do what I did. In a sense, the echoes of their university educations were powerful enough to let me ride on their crest.

My brother Johnny has been without reliable DSL service since Sunday — he’s had periods of 12 hours without any service at all, and it has been on and off at random intervals otherwise. His service provider is Telus in Vancouver; Telus technical support has told him it could be a couple of days before they solve the problem.

By way of trying to help Johnny self-diagnose, I came across this this page at Telcordia, which summarizes the technical challenges for telephone companies providing ADSL service. My favourite paragraph is:

It’s been much smarter, so far, to not even try to sign up any customer whose loop is the least bit questionable, even though you’ve already invested the cost of qualifying that loop. And if such a customer asks for ADSL, it’s smarter to just say “You can’t have it” and let the customer’s frustration end there. You’re in the very awkward and unwelcome position of having to try to discourage customers from buying a service they want and you want to sell them. You’re lopping off chunks of your customer base at both ends, maybe losing a quarter to half of your potential ADSL market before you’ve started.

David Neeleman, CEO of JetBlue is scheduled to appear on Charlie Rose tonight.

As reported in Hansard, in a letter to Bernard Landry, Premier of Quebec, Brian Tobin, then a member of cabinet, wrote the following:

On April 29, 1999 the Newfoundland House of Assembly unanimously adopted a resolution authorizing the Governor General of Canada to issue a proclamation amending the Constitution of Canada by changing the name of the Province of Newfoundland, where it occurs in the Terms of Union of Newfoundland with Canada set out in the Schedule to the Newfoundland Act, to “Newfoundland and Labrador”.

And so began the process of officially changing the name of Newfoundland to Newfoundland and Labrador.

Last night I went to write “St. John’s, Newfoundland” in a sentence, and realized that perhaps I should write “St. John’s, Newfoundland and Labrador” instead. But that seemed an odd thing to write, so I decided to check with the Protocol Officer in the Province of Newfoundland [and Labrador].

This morning I received email confirmation that the proper way to reference St. John’s is, indeed, “St. John’s, Newfoundland and Labrador.” Right now it seems as awkward as “flight attendant” or “people of colour” did when they first came on the scene. And I expect that, like those phrases, “Newfoundland and Labrador” will come to sound normal with time.

In the meantime, perhaps I should be pushing for a constitutional change to recognize the name of our fair province as “Prince Edward Island, and 100 Prince Street?”

Dave Hyndman pointed out that The Guardian has a new website. This presumably a result of their “guess who owns us this week?!” situation no longer making them eligible for inclusion in the Canada.com portal family.

The site is obviously a work in progress (although not as much as when Dave grabbed a screen shot). The “Bus Routes” link provides bus information for St. John’s, Newfoundland. The Classified section is “coming soon!” There are no restaurants in the restaurants listings. The photos appear to have been scanned with a 1932 Cockshutt tractor. And so on.

And then there are quality Microsoft errors like this one.

While the site is not “well designed” by any meaning of that phrase, it’s nice to see The Guardian break out of the Big Portal and into a smaller one. Although why exactly The Guardian should be part of a portal at all, especially one as wonky as Transcontinental’s, is beyond me (does Transcontinental actually expect that people will have brand loyalty to “Transcontinental papers?”)

Here’s hoping that Transcontinental holds on to The Guardian for long enough for the bugs to wear out, for the design and navigation on the site to improve, and for the paper to get used to this new medium. Again.

On June 22, 1973, thirty years ago, I received my final report card for Grade One at Rolling Meadows Public School. My teacher that year was Mrs. Kemp. Here is what she said about me.

Under the section Language Arts (this was a new term in 1973, and meant “Reading”) she said:

Peter listens attentively but is not always willing to accept what he hears such as the correct answer on a work sheet. He is still reluctant to accpt constructive criticism in correcting mistakes.

Under Speaking, I was rated as follows:

Peter speaks clearly and distinctly. His thoughts are very well organized and presented accurately. He has a vast knowledge which he courteously shares with others in discussions.

I think that last bit there means “thinks he is a know-it-all” in pleasant language.

Under Self Expression Through Writing Mrs. Kemp writes:

Peter has a great imagination when it comes to writing stories. We are still working on capitals and periods.

For Art she simply indicates:

Peter is showing improvement in picture making.

And for music:

Peter participates very little in singing.

My Physical and Health Education progress is described like this:

Peter has shown improvement in large muscle activities.

I honestly have no idea what a large muscle activity is, but it sounds very impressive — perhaps I could lift other kids over my head and twirl them around?

Finally, under General Comments, Mrs. Kemp signs off:

Peter is making good progress in the year two program. He seems a little happier.

A little happier? I guess this means I was a sad kid earlier in the year, which does jibe with my recollections.

The odd thing is that you could take Mrs. Kemp’s point-form summation of my progress 30 years ago, and most of it applies, in one form or another, today. I’m still not willing to accept what I hear, I’m still an annoying know-it-all, I’m still working on capitals and periods, working on my pictures, and participating very little in singing. I’ve been working hard on the large muscle activity, and every day I try and seem a little happier.

As if it’s not bad enough that Charlottetown is clinging to the sinking Spectra raft, this situation is now inspiring Spectra spam. I received this unsolicited commercial email this morning. Wasn’t even addressed to me personally, and the “To:” address was of the person who sent it — classic “send to lots of people with bcc:” signs.

We are a graphic design/web page development firm in Charlottetown currently seeking individuals who possess development skills in the ColdFusion/Spectra environment.

We are not sure if you are aware of the ‘Request for Qualifications’ that the City of Charlottetown has issued regarding the design and development of a ‘Public Web Interface to Historical Property Information.’ Perhaps your company is already preparing to submit an RFQ independently.

[Firm name removed] has a successful track record with the City in development of their interactive, touch screen kiosk last year as well as the design of all the templates for the TownSquare initiative.

We are therefore interested in submitting a proposal in conjunction with a company who has the one element our company lacks; a background in ColdFusion, in particular, familiarity with the TownSquare Spectra environment.

Spam is spam, and it’s as distasteful when it’s seeking Spectra life rafts as when it’s hawking cheap Viagra.

The irony in all of this is that I’m on record as saying “I would sooner cut off my nose than have anything to do with this RFQ.”

Will this ever end?

The best household investment Catherine and I have made so far, save the dishwasher, has been the purchase of four Duracraft Twindow fans from Canadian Tire. These are dual-fan units that sit in an open window. They have a good range of fan speeds (and each side can be set independently), and a thermostat so that you can have them shut off when it gets cool. They’re relatively quite, and they just work and work and work summer after summer.

I keep an AOL account around for testing purposes, so I was able to take their new blogging tool our for a ride. The result: My AOL Blog. Coolest feature is that you can post to the blog from Instant Messenger (and from iChat, if you have a Mac). The templates they provide are banal, but there is some customization available. High marks on the “grandmother test.”

News here has been light of late, mostly because I partially blew out my right hand in an binge of late-night work last week, and I’ve been trying to keep typing to the absolute minimum required. But you can only shut up for so long, so here are some random notes from the middle of the summer.

There’s nothing like a Strawberry Sunrise from COWS on a hot summer night to cool you down. It’s the lower-fat alternative to the Iced Cowpuccinno, which is so much better than the Tim Horton’s alternative that it should really have a better name.

Speaking of COWS, I’ve never been a big fan of the “parody of the moment” style of T-shirt making that they’ve turned to in recent years (witness Amooican Idol). While I’m sure that these shirts sell well, they don’t have the wit of the classics (and I notice that even “Common Cow pays homage to local literary hero” has been rebranded as “Anne of Green Stables”). That all said, I must admit a weak spot for Moora the Explorer (not sold online, so no link).

The general consensus on Cora’s Breakfast and Lunch seems to be: excellent service, good food, a little pricey. I had a bad solo dining experience there last week — basically felt invisible to all wait staff for the duration — but two other visits have been fine. The fruit shakes are very good, as is the mushroom/swiss burger.

Both Atlantic Superstore and Sobey’s (at least in West Royalty) have fresh sushi counters now. After extensive testing, I come out in favour of the Superstore variety: we’ve had too many experiences where the Sobey’s variety is dry and bland. The Superstore has a wider variety, it’s always fresh, and they’ve a good assortment of Japanese accessory foods too (the wasabi dressing is very good).

Interlude, the new cafe on Kent St., has an annoying habit of closing right in the middle of the day on Saturdays. If you’re going to locate mildly off the beaten path (and I admit, it is only mildly off), you have to have consistent, reliable hours. I recoiled to the Formosa on Saturday, and will probably think twice before I Interlude on a Saturday afternoon again.

And finally, after twenty-four hours to think about it, I’ve come to the conclusion that The Russian Ark, which played last week at City Cinema, may be the most boring movie every made. I find going to art galleries a boring and lifeless activity at the best of times; here was a movie that largely consists of film of people walking around an art gallery. So the experience of watching the movie involves watching people watch art. And they’re speaking Russian. And 5 or 6 people are speaking at once. And there are vast and important themes of Russian History being alluded to (well over my head). Call me a plebeian, but after a while I just wanted to shout out. Or hit my head against the wall.

More news once the hands heal…