I finally installed FAlbum, Elijah Cornell’s plugin that integrates Flickr galleries into WordPress. It makes fabulous galleries; see how good my own galleries look.
Unfortunately, installation is a bitch. No matter what I did, I just could’t get friendly URLs to work, and attempts to troubleshoot it just broke the damned thing, again and again. So my advice for you is, if friendly URLs aren’t happening, don’t fight it.
Here’s how I got FAlbum’s galleries to look like my chosen theme:
You gotta love Glo’s on East Olive. Their breakfasts never fail to satisfy, even if you have to camp out for a table. I usually spring for the frittata, but today we had variations on Eggs Benedict. Halfway through Luna and I swapped. Luna preferred the salty bacon in my “Blackstone,” and I vastly preferred her “Californian” for its lemony avocado.
Sophie got two separate “Your baby is so beautiful” compliments. The guy, with his overbite and blocky glasses, was a natural comedian. “I mean it,” he said, “because . . . you know . . . so many babies are not!” Hilarious. He kept making teh funny with his breakfast companion, a rangy redhead. For once I loved the eavesdropping value of such a tiny restaurant.
I keep tweaking my WordPress blog, trying to bring it closer to some kind of ideal. Here, in list form, is what I did recently.
New banner photograph. I found a brilliant photo by scouring Flickr for Creative Commons, “BY-NC-SA”-licensed photographs. I tweaked it in Photoshop, then masked it into my banner image.
Began using <!---more---> tags in my posts. I’m inserting the tags manually for now. Aníbal Rojas has a brilliant plugin called More Paragraphs that “automatically inserts a <!---more---> tag after a user configurable number of paragraphs.” Unfortunately, it chokes on Flickr-generated HTML in certain of my posts. Aníbal is working on a fix that I look forward to using.
We hit the Intiman tonight to see Lynn Nottage’s play, “Intimate Apparel.” I liked it enormously. Its protagonist, Esther, is a humble, African-American seamstress in the New York of 1905 whose business—producing exquisite undergarments for her uptown and downtown clients—and late-blooming love life come to successfully dramatize a host of class, gender and race issues in a way that had me emotionally engaged from the first scene. The tender, unspoken, impossible attraction between Esther and Mr. Marks, an Orthodox Jewish fabric salesman, totally had me.
Superbrief weekend update:
Kha and Christine held their wedding last Saturday. Banquet at Hong Kong Seafood Restaurant. (pictures)
Sunday we had Jennifer C & Nathan, Jen L & Matt, and Rachel over in Rachel’s honor: she’s going back to school for Industrial Design up at Western Washington University. We fired up the grill and made margaritas for all. (pictures)
Sophie begins her tenth week tomorrow. A minute ago I watched her down four ounces of milk in one sitting (only last week her norm was half that). Luna and I have remarked on how much visibly bigger she is everywhere. Her hands measure 2.5″, wrist to fingertip. Her little feet, once “chicken nuggets,” are almost 3.5″. She’s long now (in my mind, a baby won’t have “height” until she can stand). Seeing her at full length, stretching out after a nap, is positively weird. I suspect she has the slender-tall genes that run through Luna’s side of the family.
Yesterday I needed a haircut and saw Oanh, my usual stylist. As she’s going to deliver a baby boy in September, we chatted about babies. (Where was Sophie? In her stroller with a good view onto my haircut.)
Then I pushed Sophie all over Broadway. Cal Anderson Park beckoned, but was still surrounded by chain link fencing. So the first stop was Half Price Books. I picked up Buffy the Vampire Slayer: The Magic Box, a supplement for the Buffy RPG. Then to the Liquor Store. The counterman was a gas. For the best margaritas, he said I’d want Sauza Hornitos tequila, triple-sec, and “the juice of 17 limes and one orange.” Purchases dangling off the Maclaren, I continued up the street.
Powered by WordPress, the ltlblg theme and the written word.
