telecom, technology and the occasional floobergeist

I’ve got an abundance of bits and pieces of canadian telecom and internet experience, and I am thrilled to be in a place in time when all is changing, technology is developing, and the status quo is being disrupted. 

Floobergeist is a word that is beginning to defy definition.  The more I roll that smooth pebble around, the more it becomes to mean. Floobergeist started out as the magic dust that turns dreams into ideas.  And then it began to encompass the zing that happens when you have conversations about those ideas. And now, it’s the whole evolution from dream to conversation, with each step improving the later and the former along the way.

Everyone aspires to good conversations. They can lead you to adventures you’ve never imagined, and to people you can twig with.

Let’s have a good conversation…


My Beef About CanadianTire.ca

I’m planing the weekend, actually, I’m planning the next 3 weekends, and they contain a significant amount of time dedicated to outdoor, spring-type activities: grass care, flowers, tree planting, mulching, raking, weeding. (Liberally sprinkled with the occasional snack and beverage suitable to the warming weather).  There is a list as long as my arm of stuff I need to get.  Stuff that I’m sure would be Canadian Tire worthy.

Imagine how neat it would be to go onto the CT site and make a *grocery list* of all the stuff I want to check out.  Things that I’ve done a bit of research on, so I don’t need to spend 4 hours wandering through the huge maze of aisles, not to mention the weekend melee that defines spring at Canadian Tire.

I don’t need to buy all the accoutrements on line, in fact, I want to see them *in real life*…. but I want a list in hand that I can work off of, without the analog pain of creating a list. Alas, Canadian Tire doesn’t want me to make a list. They want me to futz around for 4 hours in the store, hopefully faking me out enough so I will buy excessive products that aren’t on my list.

And for that, I’m going to go to the local, wee greenhouse for the majority of my goods, and CT for the lame-o pieces that I can’t get somewhere else. For shame. Remember, hell hath no fury like a gardener scorned.

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