10/24/03 Cavendish, Prince Edward Island, Canada
It’s time for Name That Picture™!
What do you think THIS is?
The girl in the magazine shop in Halifax, Nova Scotia kept referring to Canada as “we.” I bring this up because she did it the last time we were in Halifax, about two months ago, and I think she should be made Minister of Tourism for the entire country. When I think of the Maritime Provinces, sure, I think of Peter and that creepy Anne of Green Gables chick, but this cashier represents all that is good in the world. I thought about the last time I could say “we” about the United States and not have to apologize, or make a disclaimer, or just feel a little sick inside. Sorry, right wingers, you fill me with shame.
But it’s the essence of “community” that lies in her “we,” and perhaps America just has too many people in it for that to be true as a whole. We are satisfied with our balkanized, splintered tribes of like-minded friends, artists and businessmen, but I wonder what it must be like to “we” your country like that. I’m too much of a pinko leftist froth-mouthed freak to even contemplate it.
We pulled into Cavendish (after making the 7pm ferry by seconds, thank you very much) in time for the last talk of the evening – we’re attending the Zap Your PRAM conference up here at the top of the island. Fortunately, the attendees and I don’t care what you think of the name, it’s still an amazingly cool gathering of technology-savvy thinkers that have been kind enough to import us for a showing/Q&A of “The Pink House” tomorrow night. In any other circumstance, we would never show the film like this, especially during the late trimester of its possible distribution, but we knew the crowd might enjoy the myriad techie aspects of the movie, and besides, I basically trust Peter with my first-born.
Anyway, tonight’s talk was a well laid-out metaphor of the Web versus a public library, a discourse so rife with cool emerging internet stuff that Tessa leaned over and said “I wish Steve were here.” Actually, she didn’t say it with a hyperlink like that, but wouldn’t that be cool too?
The topic devolved into the moral quagmires of Kazaa-esque file sharing, the impermanence of data (which interests me, if I want my grandkids to read these words) and then someone said that people were typing certain things into Google, and getting his blog, when they really shouldn’t be.
I have exactly the same problem. One of the top Google search terms that brings people to this blog – is “rimadyl overdose.” Rimadyl is basically doggy Advil, and is given to most dogs for hip problems, dysplasia, and lots of other painful afflictions. It comes in biscuit form, which means that dogs will find the bottle, eat the whole damn thing, and then act very strangely as their livers and kidneys begin to fail.
In desperation, their owners type “rimadyl overdose” into Google, and instead of getting Pfizer, or a vet, or a FAQ on aging dogs, they get… my story of Chopin eating 80 tablets. This ain’t right. Fortunately, I saw how many hits this was getting and inserted another blog about what to do. That can be found here, but since you’re already reading this: if it’s less than three pills, don’t sweat it. If it is any more, you need to take your dog to the animal emergency room right away so they can force him to vomit, and then treat him with fluids and “activated charcoal.” If you don’t, you risk serious kidney damage and even death.
Anyway, the idea is that the Web will have to be smarter about how it parses out information. Although I do appreciate everyone who has stuck around here because their dog couldn’t control himself. Howdy!
Another cool thing about Cavendish, Prince Edward Island is that it is not only the ancestral homeland of that little-bit-nutty, little-bit-slutty Anne of Green Gables, but that the lodging is totally sweet! Each room is marked with a letter rather than a number, and we got room I. Do you know how rare that is? Everyone in the States always skips I, afraid it will be mistaken for the number 1. Not just in room numbers, anything. There are no key chains, letter openers, backscratchers, knick-knacks, NOTHING with the letter “I” on them.
As an Ian, I always grew up with a bike license plate that said “JAN” with half the “J” erased. It looked like shit. As for all Ians, Irenes, Ivors – the Man told us to blow ourselves. “No ‘I’ keychain for you. We’re going straight from ‘H’ to ‘J’.”
Well, not anymore. I am reporting to you from Room I.
“I” for “IN YOUR FACE, MOTHERSCRATCHERS!”