Bad Metal in the Badlands
The Lone Ranger Rides Again
It was a hazy, white day on the chaparral,
me and the Lone Stranger were riding down from
the mountains down to Costa Mesa,
to buy some hardtack and some coffee,
and maybe see some of the ladies.
We heard some kind of ruckus off to the
East, and since we didn't have much else
to do, we headed over that way to investigate.
We do that, sometimes. He used to be a cop or
something. Guess it's a habit.
As we came over the top of the rise, Kemo
Sabe whispered "Better dismounto, little buddy.
Looks like there could be some trouble." He knows
that I hate it when he calls me that, but I don't
say anything. It wouldn't help.
Down in the ravine below, we could see three
non-creative types inflicting bad html on some
unsuspecting pilgrims, who were saying "ooh."
and "ah" like people will, when they don't
know any better.
"Looks like straight flat files," I
whispered back, "tiny letters and stupid
pictures. Should we go down there and break
it up ?"
"Contrarialto, my indigenous companion," he
replied. "Better to show by example, than to
control by force. Besides, the price of silver
is out of sight, and I can't afford to shoot
anybody for a while."
Swinging his laptop from the saddlebag, he
dashed off a few lines of code, and then used
ROCK-FTP to port it over to the side of the
canyon wall near where the banditos were
taking the pilgrims for a ride.
Then he hit reload.
"What's that ?" exclaimed the pilgrims. "How
come our page doesn't look like that ?" they
asked Morph, the head bandito. "Never you
mind that." he replied. "You don't want it
to look that way. People will be more interested
if they have to SQUINT to read it, and besides..
grey is better. Battleships are grey."
We could still hear them arguing as we headed
down the other side of the mountain, back on
our way again to Costa Mesa.
"You see, my native friend, it isn't necessary
to tell anyone their code smells.. All you have to
do is show them a better way, and they will
steal it from you every time. You just have to
keep coming up with better ideas, they can't
steal what you haven't thought of yet."
His quarter-horse knew what was coming, and so
did I. We both began to wince before he even started
to pull back on the reins, and to lift up his left
hand in that characteristic dumb flourish.
"HiYo Silver... AWAY!!! " he shouted, as he galloped
down the side of the mountain, nearly knocking me off
my palomino as he went.
"Yeah, right. Sure. " I thought to myself. "Let's just
get down to Costa Mesa." I hadn't had any coffee for
a while, or much of anything else, either.
Note: Inside jokes are only funny to insiders, so we'll let you in on it. We fondly refer to our HTML Editor, Bob Long, as The Lone Ranger, mainly because he keeps to himself and does his work in the dark. The best web presentations you have seen in the Journal in recent months have been Bob's work, and we have seen that his style is starting to show up elsewhere, in other pages. This allegorical tale is our little way of saying "Thanks, Bob." and also, to let people know that it's ok, we suppose, to use his techniques. He knows, we know, they know... and now, you do too.
March 3, 1996 Charles Paparella The Shore Journal
What, exactly, does all that mean ?