Not every idea, that I put forth, will work in the interface of the WordPress blog. For those instances, I will insert screen captures–instead of relying on such devices as rollovers. Just click on a screen capture image. It will then burst to life on a separate Web page.
At other times, instead of screen captures or html, I will rely on Scribd. Occasionally, I will ask you to simply view the text, with highlightings. This gives me more. I can then embed the text in an iFrame, and it will look reasonably the same as the .pdf. That’s easy enough. But, once again, this will be a flat file, with no pop-up rollovers.
My greatest frustration is that the “underlinings” or “rollovers” do not work. The text is flat. Please do not bother to click on anything. I could change some to hypertext in html, but I’m giving myself a lot fo work for only an approximation of the experience. Please open up the .pdf and follow along for a great time.
Just to show you that I am game, I’ve taken the first half page and done it up with HTML rollovers. Just these four exhausted me. I can’t believe I “grew up” coding this stuff by hand. If you “hover” your cursor over “this dogsbody to rid of vermin”, you will see a “hoverover” the way HTML does it. But the meter is not respected at all. This only increases the difficulty of reading the citation. Grrrr!
Stephen, an elbow rested on the jagged granite, leaned his palm against his brow and gazed at the fraying edge of his shiny black coat-sleeve. Pain, that was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart. Silently, in a dream she had come to him after her death, her wasted body within its loose brown graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath, that had bent upon him, mute, reproachful, a faint odour of wetted ashes. Across the threadbare cuffedge he saw the sea hailed as a great sweet mother by the wellfed voice beside him. The ring of bay and skyline held a dull green mass of liquid. A bowl of white china had stood beside her deathbed holding the green sluggish bile which she had torn up from her rotting liver by fits of loud groaning vomiting.
―Look at yourself, he said, you dreadful bard!
Stephen bent forward and peered at the mirror held out to him, cleft by a crooked crack. Hair on end. As he and others see me. Who chose this face for me? This dogsbody to rid of vermin. It asks me too.