BurningbirdIn an interview at WebScienceMan titled, XHTML Users: Grow up!, the interviewee, Sitepoint’s Tommy Olsson answers a question as to whether he likes XHTML with, Grow up! 🙂 Seriously, XHTML is long dead, due to a decade of horrible abuse. Not even the bleached bones remain..
Mr. Olsson believes that we should be using HTML 4, strict HTML 4, because HTML5 is still a bit of whimsy, and XHTML is a pile of dead bones. As I wrote in comments, HTML 4 is to markup, like 8-track is to music.
I have been scanning old negatives, many of which are starting to deteriorate, years earlier than I expected. The trouble with color film is that over time, the color fades and the film gets grainer and the picture can begin to degrade, especially if the film is not carefully preserved. The deterioration is hastened if the negative is put into an ill fitting plastic sleeve. No film does well when stuck to the sleeve and after having to be pulled out by force.
Luckily most of the negatives are salvageable, including some of my favorites. They are damaged, but a little careful work with Photo Shop hides much of the damage. It’s funny really how easy it is to fix a scratch with Photo Shop, because years ago, when I used to work for photographer in Yakima, one of my jobs was to use dyes and pencils to correct dust spots and damage in color photos or to add tints to black and whites. When I showed both an aptitude and interest for this type of work, the photographer had me trained in Seattle by a professional lab. It was less expensive to have me to do the work and I enjoyed it–better than doing books and waiting on customers, trying to get them to buy cheap wooden frames, while lying to them about how good they looked in their photos.
I worked for Bob off and on for four years, and in the last year all I did was freelance photo correction work for him, using a studio I created in my Dad’s garage. You couldn’t do the work in the house because the fumes from the sprays used to provide a work surface on the photo were nasty without a protective mask.
Now, tonight, a little Photo Shop magic helps me fix the scratches in an old photo in ten minutes that used to take me hours. Sometimes progress is a good thing.
This photo sure brings back memories.
I grew up in a small town dominated by an old fashioned saw mill. Some days the smoke from the mill would be so thick that our eyes would water, and an acrid taste would form in our throats, causing us to cough. Driving to and from our farm 12 miles outside of town we would pass big lumber trucks along the way; we kids would yank our arms up and down and the drivers would catch the hint and pull the cord for their horns, letting loose huge blasts of sound, smiling at our delight.
The risk and threat of fire was a part of our lives living in and among the trees of the national forest area. Once a fire got close enough to our place to leave scorching on our garage, like the dark spit from the tongue of a giant rapacious lizard. I grew up in and among those trees, spending more time in with them than with people.
(I imagine this accounts for my shyness at large parties and formal gatherings–after a few hours I am overcome with a strong urge to find the nearest stand of trees and quickly disappear from sight. Heck, give me a large enough bouquet and I’ll make a run for it.)
Of course, this explains my love of hiking. When I’m out on the paths, I’ll sometimes see a particularly big and beautiful tree, and I’ll just have to stop and admire it. After checking carefully around to see that I am quite alone, I’ll reach up my hand and touch the rough bark, lay my head against the surface, and listen to the heart of the wood; breathing deeply the wonderful brown-green and slightly pitchy gold smell. I used to think in more fanciful moments that I could actually sense the tree pulse with life.
Trees have the most wonderful feel to them.
I moved to Seattle in my teens, then away, then back after I was married. I and my husband used to explore all the wonderful forested area in and around the city and on the Peninsula. Driving toward the ocean, we’d see stands of trees surrounding the roads and it would make us itch to get out and explore.
One day we decided on impulse to follow a lumber road into the hills to see if there might be good hiking. After we crossed over a small hill separating the trees from view of the road, the sight that met us shocked us both into silence. Ahead of us was what was left of a once proud and old forest, now clear cut with only a few trees left standing among the barren and ripped fields.
We parked the car, got out, and just stood there, not saying a word to each other. I grabbed the camera I always carried with me and shot this photo along with others.
I’m glad I was able to preserve the image with my scanner, and correct the damage with Photo Shop. Wouldn’t want to lose it.
Yes, progress is a good thing.
Recovered from the Wayback Machine.
Some say our world faces the worst economic times since the Great Depression. Maybe so, maybe not, I’m not an economic expert. If we are facing the worst economic times since the Great Depression, then perhaps we should look to the lessons from that time in order to help us cope.
People did survive the Great Depression. Not only survive, but developed a physical and cultural heritage that still enriches us to this day. We ride on roads built during the times; our older citizens do no go penniless into retirement, nor lose everything they’ve saved when some bank fails; electricity spread, from city streets to remote farms, as did the population, from south to north, east to west. The greatest change of all, though, was in our government. The little fiefdoms of state, county, and town merged, under one federal government, which went from being a minor nuisance, to a major, and unifying, power. If you think that such action was wrong, spare a thought for the Civil Rights movement in order to understand why a strong, federal government is important.
The Depression inspired the writer, painter, and musician. John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath is still required reading in many schools, as is Of Mice and Men. Documentary photography reached its zenith in the 1930s, thanks in large part to grants from the US Farm Security Administration (FSA). The 1930s have also been termed the golden age of Hollywood, with the release of such classics as Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, The Wizard of Oz, monster favorites Frankenstein and King Kong, and dramas, such as Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Hell’s Angels, and Jezebel—not to mention Horse Feathers, from the Marx Brothers.
If people escaped the troubles of the times with movies, they embraced the Depression with the music of the time, including the bitingly satirical, We’re in the Money, and the song which became anthem for the times: Brother, Can You Spare a Dime, covered by artists ranging from Bing Crosby to Rudy Vallee, Charlie Palloy to Al Jolson. The reference to soldiers in the song reflects the anger felt by many World War I veterans, who felt betrayed by the country they served during war, and who participated in a protest now known as the Bonus March on DC in 1932, demanding immediate redemption of service certificates. Many of these veterans were now homeless, without jobs, and set up camp in a *Hooverville, a shanty town named for President Hoover, and located not far from the White House.
The lyrics of Brother, Can You Spare a Dime said much about the times.
"Brother, Can You Spare a Dime," lyrics by Yip Harburg, music by Jay Gorney (1931) They used to tell me I was building a dream, and so I followed the mob, When there was earth to plow, or guns to bear, I was always there right on the job. They used to tell me I was building a dream, with peace and glory ahead, Why should I be standing in line, just waiting for bread? Once I built a railroad, I made it run, made it race against time. Once I built a railroad; now it's done. Brother, can you spare a dime? Once I built a tower, up to the sun, brick, and rivet, and lime; Once I built a tower, now it's done. Brother, can you spare a dime? Once in khaki suits, gee we looked swell, Full of that Yankee Doodly Dum, Half a million boots went slogging through Hell, And I was the kid with the drum! Say, don't you remember, they called me Al; it was Al all the time. Why don't you remember, I'm your pal? Buddy, can you spare a dime? Once in khaki suits, gee we looked swell, Full of that Yankee Doodly Dum, Half a million boots went slogging through Hell, And I was the kid with the drum! Say, don't you remember, they called me Al; it was Al all the time. Say, don't you remember, I'm your pal? Buddy, can you spare a dime?
Like the literature, and the roads, the music survives to this day, as George Michael will attest. Fortunately, the song will survive the experience.
I created The Frugal Algorithm for the same reason people sang Brother, Can You Spare a Dime in the 1930s—to face today’s difficult times head on. Rather than curl up in a fetal ball, waiting for some miracle to make the current economic situation go away, the Frugal Algorithm embraces the economy of today, and celebrates it as a way to redefine who we are.
We are too often seen as consumers in a disposable society, whose primary interest is what new toy to buy, and how much garbage we generate. When faced with difficult times, we buckle down reluctantly, anxiously waiting when the times are better and we can return to a time of “prosperity”, prosperity in this context meaning buying more stuff. Our societies are based on the concept that worth is measured in goods, and the ultimate health of the collective is based in gross national product and balance of trade. We work to buy, and we buy to work.
But what if we broke the cycle?
Recovered from the Wayback Machine.
Once I decided on the Frugal Algorithm as the name of this new site, I checked to see if the domain was still available. It was, and for the trivial amount of $30.00 or so dollars for the domain, private registration, and ICANN fee, it would be mine.
Hold on a sec, though. Thirty dollars is a tank of gas, a donation of food for a family of four for a week, not to mention three albums of digital music, or a couple of DVDs. The money would be worth it, if the domain was worth it, but the question is: is the domain worth it?
At one time, it was important to have an easy to remember domain name for your site. After all, we had to hand type in the domain addresses when we wanted to visit the site. However, that was in the days before most sites were found via link from others, or search engine results. Having one domain is important, because you can’t depend on owning the same IP address forever. But you don’t need to have a domain for every interest, itch, and thought that crosses your mind. Big companies might need domains, but the small business owner, organization, or individual can get by with one domain. Just one.
It would be a sad commentary on this site if my first act in creating it was to spend money I didn’t need to spend. Thirty dollars doesn’t seem like much, but it adds up. Not only would I need to obtain the domain for The Frugal Algorithm, but I’d also need to renew my domain for MissouriGreen, Secret of Signals, and the domain, shelleypowers.com for Just Shelley. Yet, I doubt that anyone has ever looked at the domain names for the sites, much less typed the domains into a browser’s address bar.
I hestitated on not renewing MissouriGreen, as eventually I’d like to get a jacket with the name of the site embroidered on it, so when I take photos at events, people know where to look to see if their picture appears. But if I display “MissouriGreen” on the back. rather than “MissouriGreen.com”, people will just look up “MissouriGreen” in Google and find the site. And though it may seem as if my encouraging the use of Google will melt the polar ice caps and drown baby polar bears, I have a feeling from an environmental perspective, it’s all a wash.
Look how much money I’ll save buy not buying the new domain, or renewing the old ones. I estimate I’ll save about $150.00 a year in domain fees, and that’s a conservative estimate. That’s enough money to pay half of my annual server fees, sponsor Crackers for a year, or buy 15 books for my Kindle.
Ummm, 15 books for my Kindle…OK, OK, I’ll split the difference: Crackers gets half, the server gets paid this month, and I’ll get those three history books I’ve been wanting.
What ended up being the ultimate irritation of my brief foray into HTML5 land, is that I found out, after careful perusal of my original use of RDFa, that I wasn’t using it incorrectly. However, by the time I got through listening to all the arguments, back and forth, and round and round, I was beginning to doubt whether an angle bracket really looked like < and >. I am correct, aren’t I? These are angle brackets, right?
Of course not. I call them angle brackets, but others call them diamond brackets, and I’m sure someone else, most likely from the UK, calls them elbow brackets or the Queen’s brackets, or some such thing.
However, the back and forth, and round and round, wouldn’t be an issue, could even be a journey of discovery, if it weren’t for the arrogance of some of the participants. Or, what I perceive to be arrogance. Variations of, “But that’s wrong and here’s why”, followed up with references to other specifications that hurt, actually physically hurt just to look at, given in a tone of, “How could you think otherwise?” Or responses based on some absolutely obscene piece of markup minutia, repeated over and over again, in attempts to hammer the point home to we, the seemingly dense as bricks.
The end product of such discussions, though, is that people like myself flee the discussion—literally flee, as if the hounds of hell were chomping at our butts. The downside of running away, though, is we’re left feeling that we have no input, no control over what the web of the future will, or will not, allow. That the web of the future of the web is designed by and for the web designers, and not thee and me.
The real problem, though, has less to do with communication style, and more to do with differing levels of expertise and interest. People like me, who are consumers of specs, are mixed in with people who create the parsers and the browsers, and live and breath, eat and sleep this stuff. What else can we, the consumers, do, though? There seemingly is no way for those of us, on the dumb side of markup, to communicate our concerns, wishes, and desires to the other side. But when we do venture into the lists, we are quickly overwhelmed with the specs, the references, the minutia. Our interests get lost in the fact that we don’t have the language to participate. Worse, we don’t have the language to participate in a field notorious for being both competitive, and impatient.
Unbeknownst to ourselves, we have become Pinky to the markup Brains.
So we consumers flee the lists and leave them to the developers and designers, and the end result is that we have specifications, and eventually implementations, that, well, frankly, scare the shit out of most of us.
Don’t believe me? How else could you explain the Yellow Screen of Death that appears whenever you make a simple mistake in markup for the post you’re writing? Not a helpful error, or an error that gently points out where and why the problem occurs; an error that tries to work with you to correct the problem.
No, it is an ugly error, an angry error, with red on yellow, that screams, “Bad, Shelley! Bad”, before it invariably trails off to uselessness on the right side of the browser. You don’t think an actual person like you and me would have designed a specification that encourages this behavior, or a browser that implements it, do you?
The true irony, though, is when you do voice concerns, or criticism, you’re typically met with, “If you want something, you need to participate in the email lists working on the specifications”, and the cycle begins anew. Narf.