Year: 2003

Semantic web, live and in color

Post author By Shelley Powers
Post date November 14, 2003

I’m taking advantage of this server move to make some pretty drastic changes in my own sites. For instance, I’m not going to try maintaining the old numbered system for my Movable Type page names because, to be blunt, it’s a mess.

What with my recent tax evasion weeding out, and my habit of splitting weblog entries across different sites, the numbering is completely out of whack. Enough to bother even me, virtual slob that I am; for the anal among you, it would be enough to send you into a coma.

I contemplated a weblog redesign — something all new. My first thought was to put a big graphic at the top of a half naked man, but then I thought, what does this tell people about my weblog? So I discarded that idea. The For Poets sites has a look I like and I considered using it with this weblog, but displaying different photos every time you access the page. However, this idea is too much like Jonathon Delacour’s and I don’t want to steal his mojo.

Besides, I like my weblog look. I’m used to it. It suits me and what I write about. I may, however, change the look of the photo blogs, and I’m definitely changing the rest of the sites, such as burningbird.net.

The photo blogs are going to their own domain, mirrorself.com. All my photographs are going to this domain, and you can imagine how interesting this is going to be with all the embedded photos I have in my pages, and the number of photo blogs I have (each with hardcoded absolute URLSs). The For Poets weblogs are also going to their own Movable Type installation, and will be using the new page naming system. There aren’t that many For Poets weblog entries so doing redirects could be handled manually. However, with Burningbird and the rest of my stuff, we’re talking a significant impact. I have an application that’s currently tracking requests for missing resources and all I can say is, you sure can tell I’ve been online a long, long time, and that I move things around a lot.

One challenge with splitting my weblogs into completely different MT installations is my current comment/trackback facility. Normally this goes across all the weblogs; through this approach, to be blunt, I own Blogdex, as a comment for one post is repeated across all weblogs and robots see this as a fresh link to the post. I’ve been in the top Blogdex ranks every weekend for two months (weekends are slower linking times.) I’m trying to decide if I’ll find a way to work across databases, or to be kind to Blogdex.

To handle the Burningbird weblog reorganization, I’m putting my little PostCon application into full gear. The only part missing on the application is the forms-based front end that allows you to create a PostCon RDF file from scratch. I really don’t like doing forms-based development — I like working backend stuff. However, I don’t need to have the forms-based component right now. It would be handy, but I don’t need it.

(What would be nice is a generic forms application that can be used to define a data model, automatically create the forms, and then record data to create the serialized RDF/XML files. Wait a sec, I do! It’s called Protege. I’m using Protege for my PostCon pages that aren’t being generated through Movable Type.)

I integrated PostCon into Movable Type some time ago, but now I’m increasing the integration and am using pieces of PostCon, as well as Movable Type to handle the redirects — from old numbered pages to the new page system. More than that, though, is that each page now has its own particular history — what did the resource used to be named, what is it now, who wrote it, what’s it about, and linkage info. All in a machine readable format, that can also be viewed by people pushing a button on each individual page and seeing the ‘hidden’ page self-description. There’s a little FOAF in this, as well as a few other odds and ends RDF vocabularies that I’m absorbing.

I’ll be writing all this up in my Semantic Web for Poets site. I hope to show that the semantic web starts small, and starts when each of us takes a little bit of extra time to record just a little bit of extra information that could be helpful down the road. Yes, PostCon uses RDF. But it also uses plain old, Perl, too, and is served through Apache, and run on Linux. The entire Internet did not have to be rewired in order to use it.

For those who like moving parts, yes, there’s even some moving parts, though my weblog still doesn’t talk to my toaster.

Caveat on all of this, though: There is going to be some major changes and expect a rough week for my sites. Not for anyone else — the other weblogs should move with a minimum of fuss and bother.

Burningbird

Burningbird Network Move

Post author By Shelley Powers
Post date November 14, 2003

This weblog and the rest of the existing Burningbird Network/Wayward Webloggers are moving to a new server this next week. As usual with a move, DNS changes take time to propagate so any comments made may mysteriously disappear during the move.

This weekend I’m moving Burningbird, For Poets, the RDF and photo sites, Joe Duemer, Farrago, Mike Golby and Si (AKMA’s son).

Next week, I’ll be moving Emptybottle (aka Stavros aka Chris), Loren Webster and Michael O’Connor Clarke.

We have new webloggers coming on board, including Frank Paynter, who should be livening up our environment considerably.

I’ll be posting notes and status of moves to the Renaissance Web site as I progress.

I am disappointed to be leaving our dedicated server at Rack Force — I did so enjoy tweaking it. But as I’ve said previously, the Internet is going to be taking a beating next year, and you all know that webloggers are now become a nice juicy target. (Anyone curious as to why I say next year’s going to be bad?)

I just don’t have the time to fight back the hordes. With the SPEWS blacklisting,not being able to use email with any confidence is also a continuing problem. However, I appreciate the professionalism and quality of support I’ve had with Rack Force.

(The problem with blacklisting is it can takes months to recover from what is a moment’s flick of a thoughtless switch. SPEWS is almost impossible to get removed from once added because of the distributed, non-accountability nature of the list. I know that Rack Force is trying, and I’ve tried, but I’ve basically been told by SPEWS, “tough titties”. )

I love Hosting Matters reseller software that allows me to add new Wayward Webloggers so easily! And the Waywarders are going to have fun with their new control panels. New toys. New buttons to push. New vistas to horizen or some such thing.

The move will be good. Be patient as things temporarily break.

Diversity

Hands gloved, legs crossed at the knees

Post author By Shelley Powers
Post date November 14, 2003

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

I appreciated the folks that commented on the Gender Ghetto and G Quotient postings. I am lucky to have thoughtful readers.

I have to admit, though, that I am disappointed by the lack of feminine response to the writings. I received honest, interested, humorous, even slightly angry responses from men, but few women, other than terrific posts from Maria and Elaine, and a comment by NetWoman. I don’t value less the comments made by men, particulary the excellents one that have been made; but this was an issue about women, and if they’re not interested, why am I wasting my time or energy.

(Perhaps the women think this is nothing more than a way to generate links for myself. A hell of a situation when one can’t start a conversation — or try and start a conversation — and be seen as nothing more than a link whore.)

More likely though, most women believe that the issue is either not of interest, or that my bitchy, non-feminine ways are not the way to go for women to make an impact. I’ve been told that my strident ways are off-putting to the men, and the men have been kind enough to let me know that my bitching isn’t going to win points with them. All that I’m doing is feeding their ego, and not helping the cause of women. Perhaps they’re right.

Today’s woman, at least in the countries where women have an illusion of control over their lives, wants to get ahead by focusing on women’s positive contributions, rather than men’s oppressive behavior. You catch more flies with honey and all that rot.

I am not a modern woman I guess. Or perhaps I’ve read too much history and seen that rarely does change occur by appeasing those in control. However, I am also not one to throw my good time away on bad causes, so to the appreciations of one and all, I’m sure, this will be my last posting on women and weblogging and women and technology and women in the Western World.

Rather, I’ll focus on those women for whom the issue of equality is one of life and death, rather than trying not to be strident or to offend the nice men.

Critters Photography Writing

Robin Redbreast

Post author By Shelley Powers
Post date November 14, 2003

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

We had another flock of robins come through again today. Many more females this time since they are on a southern migration, not northern. Robins are ground feeding birds, so it’s surprising how fast and agile they are in the air.

Robins have long been the harbingers of spring, but for some reason, the robin is also associated with war and even with death. I wonder if its because its a migratory bird, leaving in the winter and returning in the spring. Leaving and winter reminds us of loss, while spring and returning remind us of hope.

As coincidence would have it Loren discussed Stanley Kunitz’s poem “Robin Redbreast” this week:

It was the dingiest bird
you ever saw, all the color
washed from him, as if
he had been standing in the rain,
friendless and stiff and cold,
since Eden went wrong.
…

Loren covered the poem on Veteran’s Day a day when we honor our veterans from so many wars. When I was driving yesterday, the radio played a set of ads from different organizations and companies and people in celebration of Veteran’s Day. The word Freedom was central to each and every one.

Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.

At poets.org, I found Sara Teasdale’s poem “There will come soft rains” that references a robin. I liked it, but it, too, is somber:

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white,

Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

The page noted that this was a war time poem. My first reaction was: which war?

But robins are also a harbinger of spring, and they cheer me so with their puffed up chests of bright scarlet; like an old-time politician thrusting out his well-filled belly before shaking the hands of Father, while patting baby Suzy on the head.

Robins are also a contradiction: they’re a territorial bird, independent and individual, but they migrate in flocks. It’s comical to watch them when they fly as a group — they fly their own path within the flock’s path, and it looks like this big disorganized cloud of fast moving but fiercely chaotic smoke. When they land on the holly berry trees, they start to squabble when others land nearby but then remember, “Oh yeah. That’s right. Cooperate’, and settle in to feed.

Today though they picked a holly tree that has a large, well entrenched grey squirrel nest in it. The birds drove that poor squirrel to distraction — just as he chased one off, another would land.

Everything is a pest for something else.

P.S. Back online when the move and conversion are finished.

outdoors Photography Places

On a wing and a prayer

Post author By Shelley Powers
Post date November 13, 2003

Someday I’m either going to get shot for trespassing or hit a deer in the dark.

The drive to the wildlife refuge was longer than I expected, and cloud cover cut into the afternoon light. By the time I pulled in, it was too dark and too gray to get any pictures, though I did explore a trail by the edge of the lake, grabbing some pictures with the digital. Don’t expect much, the light wasn’t good. I’ll have to try another refuge next time, as this one doesn’t allow you to get close enough to the birds for photos.

Close enough to shoot though. On the other side of a stand of trees surrounding the lake was the area where hunters are allowed, and hunting season is in full swing. The sound reminded me of my childhood — walking along the edge of weedy ponds, on a cold and gray day with a slight smell of wood smoke in the air and the faint faraway sounds of shotguns and the bay of hunting dogs.

On the way back home I passed a field and in the sky were hundreds of Canadian Geese circling about preparing to land. They were as thick as starlings and you can imagine with the size of the bird what that was like. I didn’t even pull over, I just stopped on the road and rolled down my window and watched as several V shapes would meet and collide, only to break apart and swirl around each other.

Smart birds. Land in a farmer’s field rather than the shooting gallery waiting for them at the lake.

I used to watch the geese circle for a place to land when I worked for Boeing years ago, and would take my smoke break outside. We worked in a new building built on former wetland, in an area that formed the new industrial park of Seattle back when Seattle’s fortunes were just beginning to take off. I worked there for a few years and every year, there would be less green and more cement and it would be harder for the migrating geese to find a home.

Finally, all the geese had was a strip of green between two roads not far from where I worked, but my last summer there, they dug up the green and put in rocks and some tasteful everygreens. That Fall, when the geese arrived they circled about and we could hear them but not see them in the drizzle. Their voices became fainter and fainter as they looked for their little strip of land but couldn’t find it.

Luckily today’s geese had no problems.

There was an old house on the side of the road I’d seen coming down that looked perfect for photographs. The light was right for pictures on the way back, and I wasn’t worried about someone being there because the place looked like no one had lived there for years. I pulled over and grabbed a couple of shots before the door opened, and an old man came out on the porch.

“Can I help you with something?”, he asked and the way he asked it let me know that my answer better be, No.

“Sorry, I saw your house from the road, and it was so, uhm, pretty, that I wanted to stop and get a closer look.”

“Well, this is private property Miss. You’ll want to be moving on now.”

“Yes, uh, yes. Sorry.” I jumped in the car and backed out on the road, barely looking to see if anyone was around, all the time being watched by the man on the porch. It was only then that I saw the TV antenna on the old roof.

Today was my first long trip I’ve taken in some time and I found that I didn’t enjoy it as much as I usually do. I had another road trip planned for the end of the month but all I want to do now is stay home, go for walks in familiar, favorite places, and read.

I’ve been in such a quiet mood lately, and it seems worse tonight. Maybe its a combination of tooth and jaw ache — driving home in the dark on back country roads in the middle of hunting season is asking to hit a deer and I clench my jaw every time one jumps along the side of the road, or you see your lights reflected in their eyes. As much back country driving as I do, its only a matter of time before I hit a deer, they’re as thick as mice in the Missouri country side.

I did come close to hitting an animal today, but it wasn’t a deer, and it wasn’t at night.

On Highway 36 heading west I was going along at about 55 with a small white car hung off my back fender like a burr on a donkey’s ass. It’s never a good idea to tailgate in any circumstance, but its worse in the country because there’s always something in the road.

Sure enough we topped a small rise next to an overpass and I saw a dark four legged figure by the side of the road. I pumped my brakes to warn the car behind me of danger ahead and to get his butt back. Just when I recognized that what I thought was a deer was, instead, a large dog, the dog moved on to the road and just stopped in our lane and looked towards my car. I hit my brakes, hard, and the car behind me ran off the road on to the shoulder to avoid hitting me.

The dog didn’t move, just looked at me with its shoulders hunched, and tail hanging limply down. The driver of the other car, all blonde haired, blue eyed 30-something young privledged white mama’s boy of him, was quite agitated but I wasn’t going to run the dog over because he was driving like an idiot. I ignored him. He wasn’t hurt, just inconvenienced, and hopefully given a well deserved lesson. He took off while I was still in the middle of the road, looking at the dog, it looking at me.

When the shoulder was clear of the nuisance, I don’t know why I did it, but I pulled over, put on the emergency lights, got out of the car and called out to the dog, “Here puppy.” Puppy?

The old dog had walked to the other side, but stopped, turned around, and looked at me when he heard me call. Cars would travel between us, but we just stood there looking at each other. It was a very large dog, with grey matted hair that looked as if it was coming loose in patches. It was so thin, you could see its ribs. And its tail stayed hanging down, slight tipped in so that it was almost but not quite between its legs.

I’m not a city-bred girl and I know the dangers of an unknown dog on a back country road. It was a damn foolish thing to stop, and worse to get out of the car. I suppose there was something about its eyes that made me stop. I wondered though what I would do if he did come up to me.

He did this odd little dance, heading towards the hill, and then turning back to the road to face me, then back to the hill, as if he wanted to come to me but he’d been offered that hope before and it always came out false. Eventually he headed up the hill but partway up, he turned around one more time and just looked at me for a moment before disappearing over the top.

I didn’t do that dog a favor by slamming on my brakes.