BurningbirdFor those who are interested in reviewing the Practical RDF book, I’ve finally gotten around to posting a new chapter, Chapter 4: Reification, The RDF Big Ugly”.
I had to rewrite the chapter to incorporate changes in the specification, and writing about reification isn’t trivial. The effort has slowed me down considerably and put me off my schedule. To those who are helping, sorry for the delay.
Recovered from the Wayback Machine.
Dave Winer starts a posting today with the title Whining Matilda, in response to the — legitimate — complaints of lack of coverage of the Bali bombing in the American press. He writes:
There are plenty of Australian weblogs. The Web is worldwide. Cover it, explain it, grieve it, if the US press isn’t covering it, route around them. Use the tools.
Dave, I’m sorry, but you sadly missed the point.
The vast majority of the people in this country have never heard of weblogs. It isn’t up to weblogs to provide the news because the American press focuses only on American pain. And by focusing only on American pain, we complete a picture that most of the world has of us: that we’re shallow, self-centered, egotistical isolationists who only care for our own dead, our own pain.
Dave, It isn’t that webloggers aren’t getting news; that’s not the point. It’s that the world sees that Americans don’t care.
But we do care. And we care even more every time we see a new face among the dead, read about someone else’s loss.
I’ve wanted to talk about this bombing for the last two days, but just didn’t know what to say. The words wouldn’t come. Today, though, I was reminded that, sometimes, it doesn’t matter that we speak eloquently, just that we speak.
To my friends who live in Australia and in Indonesia, and to all of those in the world who have lost loved ones, my deepest and most sincere sympathy. To all those who have been injured, my strongest hopes that you heal quickly, and find peace from the pain and the fear.
I just posted the first chapter of Practical RDF to the book review weblog. I plan on posting 2-3 chapters every day until all chapters are posted.
I cancelled family commitments as I need to have the chapter reviews finished by the end of the month — I’ll be losing my web server November 4th, when the end of my rental period is up.
(Note that I’m not letting the server go because I’m unhappy with Interland — the company has been great. However, I don’t need either the power or the size of server I currently have.)
Besides, nothing like a tight deadline to make a book review process flow quickly
I had hoped to have more chapters ready for review today but a couple of things came up this weekend that delayed me a bit. Still, better to start with one chapter than none.
My appreciations in advance to any and all who are willing to give me a hand with the review.
My father is an extraordinary man. He came of age in the depression, working in any job he could get — from timber camps in Alaska to being a railroad man. In fact, he was working for the railroad when he heard about Pearl Harbor. At the train’s next stop, he got off, found the nearest recruiter and joined the Army.
Dad was a paratrooper, part of the 82nd Airborne. He’s an unassuming man and doesn’t brag, but I saw his war scrap book — the field commendations and promotions. He started as a grunt and ended Captain, promotions made from equal parts death of others and my father’s ability. What must it feel like to be promoted because someone you know, respect, and trust, dies?
My Dad was joined by his brothers in WWII. My Uncle Cal was in the navy and served in the Pacific, and my Uncles Frank and Bob joined the Army, like my Dad. Uncle Frank fought the shortest length of time — he landed in Europe one day and was captured by Germans the next, spending the rest of the war in prison camp.
The brothers all survived the war. My Dad became a cop, a state patrolman, meeting my mother (over 20 years his junior) at a cafe where he used to eat. Uncle Cal continued working for the Navy as a civilian, and Uncle Bob stayed in the Army, stationed in Germany. Uncle Frank also went to work for the government.
We used to visit my Uncle Bob when he retired and moved to Seattle. A sweet, gentle, and loving man who treated my brother and I like his own kids. He died far too young, a victim of heart disease and diabeties.
Uncle Cal was a kick, full of life, with a huge sense of humor (a trait all brothers shared). Generous, kind, and also loving. But he smoked too much and didn’t exercise, both of which eventually took their toll and he died of emphysema.
My father called me earlier today: My Uncle Frank, the quiet one, the baby, just died from a long fight with cancer.
Of this band of brothers, only one remains — my father.
Recovered from the Wayback Machine.
My server is surviving the increased activity. Considering that the page getting hit is photo intensive and PHP-based, not to mention the strain the Perl-based comment system is adding, I think the server — and my host, Interland — came through nicely.
There are some great comments at the Slashdot site, as well as within my posting. Worth a few extra hits.
I’ll have to move my book development off the server, though. At least until things quiet down a bit, most likely later today.