Back when I made my living in print publishing of one kind or another, I was only expected to handle the right-brain stuff--things that were usually colorful and pretty. The programmers, the engineers, the mechanics--in short, the left-brain guys--these were the wizards behind the curtain. I paid little attention to what they did back there, though I saw them daily, huddled over calculators, poring over blueprints, speaking in acronyms. I refused to even so much as glance at a line of COBOL, and I tactfully but firmly steered the wizards away from discourses on the history of tappet valves or the atomic structure of molybdenum.

As I eased into a new career as a web designer, however, a terrible truth dawned. No longer could I avoid that most dreaded (at least by me) of all beasts: The Technical Stuff. While my right brain was dragging me all over the internet to marvel at new design possibilities and graphic wizardry, my left brain was force-feeding me HTML.

Bit by bit, I learned to think in black and white. Had I not spent so many hours editing copy in my former life, I might have despaired when confronted by HTML’s persnickety syntax and puzzling yet unforgiving rules. Few things are more frustrating than searching for the elusive jot or tittle responsible for making a whole table disappear. And unlike a good typesetter, HTML never says, "I knew what you meant to say." On the contrary; it’s frustratingly literal in executing orders. When I gasp, "But this is absurd! How could you think I wanted this entire page bold?" HTML doesn’t flinch. It simply waits until I say,"</B>." And then it obeys.