Three Web App Redesigns & Three Favorite Sites

Posted in odds and ends with tags , , on April 2, 2014 by Tim R Wilson

The app I would most like to redesign is Trimet. Since I don’t have a car here in Portland I use this thing a lot and there are times it frustrates the heck out of me. Some flexibility on finding the most desired method of travel would be nice especially on the front page. The page and site in general is quite boring as well.

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Next up and running neck and neck with Trimet is Portland States Gmail account.  My God what a mess! After two years I am used to this thing but it is highly inconvenient and insanely boring. There certainly has to be a more user friendly and elegant solution to enhance the users experience of reading and composing their mail.

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The third site I wouldn’t mind having a go at is Amazon. It just looks cluttered to me and can really use a makeover with balance and be a whole lot more fun to use.

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Now to my three favorite sites for being a Graphic Design major at PSU. My first one is Pinterest which was something I avoided for the longest time as I mistakenly thought it was a site for old ladies to share recipes. Now I go on the site nearly daily as there are a wealth of design ideas which I find quite inspiring and challenging!

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My next choice, DeviantArt, is a site I’ve been on for many years mainly for my photography and poetry. There are many extremely talented artists who post on this site and I find a lot of inspiration here for my own work.

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My third choice is one relatively new to me, Behance. I have found some great ideas on here for various projects in other classes.

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I am looking forward to learning a whole lot of new things in my ART 299 class at PSU!







Posted in Christianity with tags , , , on February 1, 2012 by Tim R Wilson


Can’t Live Without

Posted in Philosophy, quote(s) with tags , , on November 24, 2011 by Tim R Wilson

Can't Live Without

Just no other way really is there?

Thinking of Mexico

Posted in story with tags , , , on November 22, 2011 by Tim R Wilson

Another short story from the archives ….

Thinking of Mexico

A cacophony of noise rumbled around the small area, everything from the cluster around the pool table to a few random knots of people ‘covertly’ glancing at those in other groups. The lighting was dim, except for a few neon signs here and there. The mirror behind the bar reflected the stories of another day. It was pretty much the same tapestry every night; all the other things can come either as bonus, or disappointment.

“You want ‘nother Sunrise?”

“No, I probably should be getting home.”

“Family waitin’ on you?”

“Just three obnoxious kids and an unappreciative significant other. Let’s not forget old Buddy-dog with a bladder control problem.”

“You don’t wanna another drink? I’d be drinkin’ the whole night if I had that waitin’ for me!” A bar rag swiped across the counter, chasing the stains.

“If I could lose myself in sweet Sunrises, I’d be swimming by now. A crumpled ten spot drops on the counter. “But, may the good Lord help me, sometimes I still love the mess called home.”

“Ever think of just getting’ out, just packin’ and leavin’?

“Every time me and Brawny are picking up another puddle.”

He chuckles, picks up the wadded bill. The cash register sings its tune and receives its prize.

“Say you pack up, no regrets, no guilt. Where’d you go?”

“Some place warm like Arizona, sunny Southern California, Mexico … Somewhere to get out of this god-awful weather for sure.”

“Gets to a person don’t it?” Nothin’ but dark, grey, ugly sky. Mexico sounds nice … I’d love to have a bar down there on the beach.  Dazzling women wearing next to nothin’ asking for drinks. Me a flirtin’, them leaving big tips. Man … That would be nice!” The bar towel traces three circles around an adjacent peanut bowl.

“Beachside. That sounds real good! I can feel the rays splashing on my skin, the water tickling my tootsies, and the drinks being brought out to me nonstop. Let’s not forget the cabana boy.” She glances at the vintage Budweiser clock on the wall with the Clydesdales which reads 5:45. “I guess I have time for one more. I’ll just say I had to work late. Not that dinner would be waiting for me or anything like that.”

“Ain’t that the truth.  Comin’ home to a home cooked meal, not some boxed food comin’ out of a microwave.  People just don’t know how important that is no more. Last time I had home cookin’ was when Mom died three years ago!”

“Anytime I get a home cooked meal is when I cook it myself. Even on Mother’s Day. Everybody has their excuses why they can’t do it. Yeah … Mexico does sound nice. Hand ground tortillas filled with fresh beef, homemade salsa and garden fresh veggies. Someplace where the family appreciates all that you do for them”

“At least you have a place with a family to not appreciate you. I go home to a dead house.”

The bar towel finds a resting spot over his shoulder as he saunters down the bar to serve two suits that just sat down. She swept the ends of her side bangs over her ears, and watches the proceedings reflected back in the mirror. On his way back he fishes in the peanut bowl and fishes out a few.

“In Mexico I wouldn’t have to listen to the kids whine that they don’t have the latest X-Box game, or that they can’t find anything to wear. Or the dog barking at its shadow, or not making it outside in time yet again.” The tête-à-tête continues as though there has been no break. That would all be drowned out by a Mariachi band, or perhaps Jimmy Buffet, and the waves crashing on the white sands.”

“You’d have the sand and the sea, palm trees and sunshine. None of this concrete, insane traffic or crappy weather.”

“No flipping deadlines, no 8 to 4:30, no business lunches to wear a smile to and listen to the same lame jokes, no little league mothers, no grumpy ass husband. My toughest decision would be to wonder which sunscreen level to wear with each swimsuit.”

“There would be fresh ocean breezes to inhale ‘stead of stale cigarette smoke, there would be these fire tiki torch things ‘stead of neon lights.”

Sighs echo, the now quiet jukebox is changing songs, the only sound the thwack of the nine ball zipping towards the corner pocket. They exchange glances …

“We could do it don’t cha know.”

“Do what?”

“Well … You got the business know-how, I got the bar know-how. We could take all the money in this till and make a dash for Mexico. It would take less than two days.

“That would make for one hell of a road trip wouldn’t it? No looking back until the Mexican stars are over our head, and Mexican sand under our feet.”

“How ‘bout ‘La Cucaracha’?”

“Why name the place after a cockroach? That can’t be good! Eew!”

“How ‘bout ‘’Livin’ La Vida Loca’?”

“That has a good ring to it.” She gave a laugh that left champagne bubbles and giggling thoughts in its wake. An audio work of art.

“Leave behind the arguin’ kids, the sexless nights, the pissin’ dog. Leave it all behind!”

*sigh* Walks on the beach under a full moon …”

“Homemade food every night.”

“Sounds good don’t it?”

Very good!

The jukebox and erupting cheers fill the silence. A few more bills find their way to the counter. She glances over at him, looking at him critically as he prepares a round for those at the pool table.

“Nah this ones on me.” A pause … Then a sigh to expel the thought. She looked at the floor, half expecting the dark wood to have an answer. “No … My husband would kill me if I left him with the kids. I guess that I probably would MISS them too.”

“Kinda grow on ya huh?” The towel folds into a neat square. “Well I understand.”

”You always do.” She scooches of the stool, reaches to up her purse and jacket, and turns to head towards the door. “Same time next week?”

“You know where to find me love.”

My Sorry State of Mind

Posted in story with tags , , , , , on November 20, 2011 by Tim R Wilson

A story for a Saturday Night ….


My Sorry State of Mind

     Escaping into the night from room 114, embarking on another adventure alone in another lost coastal town, I entered some strange and grungy little leisure pit on the Highway.

     “What a mess …” This was my first thought as I entered this god-forsaken squalor of a diversion. The Sailor Jack. That was the designation of this woeful excuse for a tavern. The roadhouse had been well named, for all of its patrons appeared a bit crusty around the edges, save the business type lurking at a corner table close to the door. Why not, can’t dance. I staggered boldly forth into the unknown, receiving strange hesitant glances from the onlookers.

     “Ciao!” I shouted to a group of bystanders over the uproar. They seem taken aback by attempt at human contact. So I shuffled on over to the at home with comfort of a nearby bar stool.

      “Barkeep. I’ll take a shot of your finest tequila and a glass of Bud.”

     “Are you certain Sir?” He asked in his shady backwater accent.

     “Yes, I’m sure dammit!” In fact I wasn’t all that sure, having consumed my personal weight in alcohol watching a large slice of a “Law and Order” marathon in my motel room prior to arriving.

     I turned to soak up my surroundings as best as I could. Somewhere in here lay the solution to my problems tonight. Something or someone in here would be my muse. A lady, a tête-à-tête, a portrait of a far off, nonexistent seascape. Or perhaps a view from a clandestine, untouched, moonlit veranda submitting some place with a fractured glimmer of romanticized illusion, left slightly still contained and cherished within it.

     Yet, it seemed I would find nothing of the sort in here. This ignoble hell-hole seemed to be sucking the very life out of me with every breath I took.

     “Where’s my goddamned tequila?” I slammed my palm on the bar.

     And then he door opened and she entered. The sultry temptress of my dreams. Could she be it? The muse I have so desperately been searching for? Could it indeed be that at this very moment as she seemed to approach? Law and Order be damned!

     Her walk was intoxicating, with an extraordinary, almost hypnotically enchanting effect. Her eyes look as if to contain their own peculiar prowess, and yet simultaneously a suggestion of naïveté as though she was lost in this angst-ridden world, just as I was.

     She drew near … Closer … Closer … Very much in front of me. Directly in front of me. My eyes widened in expectation as to what words those delicate lips would form.

     “Hiya doll, know where a girl like me could have a little fun?”

     It was as though the shear sonic force of her voice was going to shake me off my seat. It was like nothing that I’ve heard before. Her voice fractured all enchantment surrounding her. Her tone was jarring and nasal, and gave the same impression of as that of a drug addled socialite sent to live with the huddled masses as a part of a cruel social experiment.

     “Pardon me Ma’am?” I uttered aghast at this spectacular paradox of beauty.

     “Care to dance sailor?”

     Again her voice pierced my auditory canal, and rattled my skull. I looked her up and down and measured the conflicting qualities of this living; breathing proof that god had graced me with his sense of humor. While her physical beauty in my besotted eyes was unquestionable, nonetheless I determined she was no muse. Still I concluded that she would in fact make a suitable companion for the night. On one small condition …

     “I would very much love to dance, but only if you promise to say as little as humanly possible.”

     There was a moment of silence between us. This crass but inviting strumpet seemed to be sizing me up, determining what purpose swam beneath my alcohol enriched veins. And then …

     She responded nonchalantly, “Sounds good to me.”

     And then we danced, my inebriated state filling me with a furthered passion, my limbs flailing wildly and enmeshing themselves with hers. We were like two frogs caught in the intimate hold of a net. We ordered another round and laughed, chortled, and yes talked and danced some more.

     It seemed that I had in fact been graced with a temporary cure for my sorry state of mind.

Perfect Parts

Posted in odds and ends, quote(s), thoughts with tags , , , , , on November 11, 2011 by Tim R Wilson

A really cool quote I found along the way, which in retrospect is so very true …

“Life’s not perfect, but there are some perfect parts in it.”

                                                                                    ~ Author Unknown strikes again


Thank God for those!



Do It Anyway

Posted in Christian, Christianity, Philosophy, poem, quote(s), scripture, thoughts with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 9, 2011 by Tim R Wilson

I got this poem off my ex-wife’s Facebook of all things! It is something I have to take to heart for sure and just wanted to share it with you all!

Mother Teresa wrote this poem –

People are often unreasonable,
illogical and self-centered;
Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind,
people may accuse you of selfish ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.

If you are successful,
you will win some false friends and true enemies;
Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank,
people may cheat you;
Be honest anyway.

What you spend years building,
someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness,
they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.

The good you do today,
people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have,
and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you’ve got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis,
it is between you and God;
It was never between you and them anyway.

Read more at Mother Teresa Poem : Do It Anyway