Today's email to Paul Ford at ftrain.com. Posted as proof, if I was to drown today in Islais Creek, that I'd gone totally insane at the very end:

I bet you don't mess with schemas...

It's pretty hard designing a data structure while working with something like XML schemas. They're so flexible that while trying to define my blog data, I felt like Sam Lowry trying to eat his soggy morning toast in Brazil.

I think I was doing alright until the point that I tried to add a definition for A links. I was confused how to make it so you couldn't put A tags inside of A tags. Well, I'm too tired now. I read about XML schemas for about 5 hours and then spent another 5 writing my first schema for the blog. Check it out. I don't know if it means anything to ya. I chose to start with schemas instead of Dtd's because I'm starting fresh and everyone is recommending it over Dtd's. It was actually a little easier for me to comprehend. And what I learn making schemas translates to doing other types of XML.

I really didn't know how to put in markup tags like <b> and <p> and <br>. (or even if I needed to) I just threw them in where they looked good. Didn't even try div and span... I chose to describe things with attributes where I could instead of lots of elements. The books I read seemed to lean this way. Also, didn't see any need for groups with my type of structure. But, if I could get the body text described I would like to make that into a type.

I used HTMLSpy and it made it pretty damn easy to just drag stuff around and get it spelled right.

Funny, I couldn’t get any straight info about how you create a schema to describe regular old xhtml markup. There's a million ways to do "customers...order....addresses" Maybe I just reference XHTML and forget about it. I have no idea. My little brain tried to map out structure of the limited set of tags that I used and quickly got buried.

Here's the report of what I did.

http://primco.org/testblog/schema/beginning_blog_schema.html

davep

I didn't say anything about last Thursday and it's kind of late now but I did take this picture on the roof of the Grotto. And, I was truly impressed with the performance at the library. The reading and photos were fantastic and as the night wore on the party on the roof got fun for me. With so many rich and successful people around I admit to going into a corner. I'm not afraid of crowds of people but there was only one guy who even looked like a writer there and he was French. The party was exactly like the old dot-com catered bashes of a couple of years ago. There was a pro videographer and a photographer documenting it. You could either say these guys know how to work it or that they're pompous bores. It's too easy to accuse these guys from my perspective. They're probably both. I hope someone stops me next time I go on about how many thousands of dollars I left behind to go make art. I now know how bad it sounds to someone who doesn't make shit. I think the hardest thing was seeing myself in all the schmoozers. I felt repulsed by everyone except my close friends. Mental illness or a moment of clarity? Hmmm. Seems I've asked myself that question on more than one occasion.

Review of Wahl Wet-Dry Personal Trimmer
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Wahl Personal Groomer-Ahhh, the Joys of Aging
by _______ | Apr 09 '01

Pros: Does the job
Cons: I can't believe my husband actually needs a product like this...
The Bottom Line: Nostril hair? You need it!
Recommended: Yes

I've been buzzing around Epinions during their temporary/permanent shut down this weekend looking for some new topics to write about. Since I can't write about all the new toys my kids got for Christmas, or even the new beauty products out on the market, I started looking for some other products that we own. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd be writing about my husband's personal nose and ear groomer. I mean yuck!

So with my brow furrowed and with the disgusted look on my face, I'm going to attempt to tell you all about my husband's Wahl Personal Trimmer.

The Product:
The Wahl Personal Trimmer is a five-inch long, hand-held, battery operated nose-hair and ear-hair trimmer. It takes one AA battery that slides right into the bottom of the round torture device. The Wahl has a stiff on and off switch and at the top is a half-inch long metal blade cover protecting the blade on the inside. The way it works is you actually stick the metal apparatus up your nose, or in your ear, and turn the product on. Two small blades wiz around on the inside of the metal protector, much like an electric razor, and cuts the hairs away. It can be used dry or wet, and you can rinse the stubble away when you're done.

Our Experience:
My husband and I have been married for almost 10 years now. Even though my husband was "mature" when we married, his hair follicles weren't. Can you say no chest hair? Which was actually fine with me, I prefer a hairless chest. But he also couldn't grow a full beard either. That too was ok with me. And I wasn't marrying him for his facial hair anyway.

But something happens to men as they age. They loose hair in places they shouldn't, and grow hair in places that weren't meant to have hair. Now lucky for my husband, his DNA prevents his hair on his head from turning loose, but darned if hair started sprouting out in the funkiest of places. Two of those places being his nostrils and his ear. Isn't the word nostril icky? I mean who thought of that anyway?

So I walk in the bathroom one day and there stands my husband with my cutical scissors up his nose. "What in the heck are you doing!?" I ask. Like I was some idiot he replied "Baking brownies...what's it look like I'm doing? I'm cutting my nose hairs." I knew right then, there must be other men with this "disorder", and more than likely they made a product for it. A few weeks later while at Wal-Mart I purchased the Wahl Personal Groomer for him. It's black with gold letter and quite masculine in nature. Actually, I have to admit I used it as a stocking stuffer at Christmas for him. When he opened it, he had no idea what it was, but after a brief description he raced to the bathroom to personally groom himself.

He likes the fact that The Wahl is wet and dry. For him it's a sanitary thing, he feels like the groomer is cleaner when you use water. It makes a whirring sound when in use and within about 30 seconds a nostril (there's that word again), the job is done. It's that easy, and it's that quick. Although I suppose if you're an older man, you might have more to groom, than a younger man like my husband (he's 33), therefore taking longer. I actually use the groomer too. No, not on myself. My husband can't see the fine hairs growing on the tops of his ears, so he asks me to buzz them off for him. I happily oblige him. The Wahl ran me $10, and we're very happy with the results. Although my husband never thought he's be sticking anything up his nose that has whirring blades. Ahhh, the joys of aging.

I stole this plimp daddy shit off of some other website. Viva la web.

Super Video Arcade figures look like real people. They have heads plus arms and legs that move; they run, jump, dribble and pass. And the landscapes are in perspective and proportion to the players.

My friends Mondo and Mario had Atari 2600, Intellivison, an Apple II, AND a Texas Instruments TI99/4A home computer thing. They said it was because their dad worked at Sears and he got stuff for a discount. Dad said he wanted his sons to be ready for the future. It was pretty obvious that he was a big nerd and was way into this stuff like us kids. Is it any wonder that I spent every single evening over at their house? They'd leave me with the games in the rec-room while they went upstairs and ate dinner. Mr. Vasaya used to make Mondo (who was the same age as me) quit, take a bath and go to bed at 9, but let me keep playing. Then, he'd have to wake me up off the couch where I'd fallen asleep with the joystick in my hand and tell me to go home. I can still remember the firm distance of his voice and pitiful grimace when he looked at me. Imagine having a little kid hanging out at your house and never wanting to go home. You'd get sick of it after a while but what if you knew the kid's dad was a fuckin alchie?